#that tab is like my long term boyfriend or some shit at this point i can't abandon it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

miracleonice87 · 3 years

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Secret

a Mathew Barzal one shot

a/n: and here it is! the recent news-inspired secret baby fic. Huge thanks to all who reached out and encouraged me to write it and to those who gave me ideas and advice. completely fictitious timeline and hockey-related events here, and we’re pretending the pandemic is not a thing in this one.

summary: Mat Barzal and his longtime girlfriend welcome their first baby after keeping her pregnancy well-hidden from the public eye.

warnings: morning sickness and childbirth (nothing graphic or detailed). dad Barzy, which deserves a warning. swearing. super fluff.

_____

Never in your life did you imagine that you would be attempting to conceal your first pregnancy — or any pregnancy — from members of the media.

Then again, you never could have predicted that you would end up being the long-term girlfriend of one of the most recognizable figures in the National Hockey League, and, more specifically, on the New York City sports scene. But if there’s one thing you had learned over the course of your more than four-year relationship, it was that life is full of the unexpected.

Currently, that aforementioned figure was whipping his car as quickly as possible into a private parking area at New York Presbyterian, glancing at you every ten seconds as you breathed through the early stages of labor with your firstborn baby, your water having broken just as you and Mat were settling in for sleep around midnight.

Only a small, select group of people knew that you and Mat were expecting, and as you checked in to the maternity ward just before one o’clock in the morning, you were grateful that there were very few people around you. You were hurried to your private room, Mat faithfully carrying your bags and nearly stepping on the heels of the poor nurse pushing your wheelchair, refusing to let you out of his sight for even a second.

Only once you were settled into bed, changed into a most unflattering hospital gown, hooked up to several monitors, and examined, did you allow yourself to look up at Mat and announce your practically inevitable victory.

“As long as that nurse doesn’t moonlight as a reporter, I think we did it,” you ventured with an incredulous chuckle. Mat shook his head in disbelief as he stood next to your bed, holding one of your hands in both of his.

“Don’t wanna speak too soon, but yeah, I think we did,” he agreed. “I can’t believe we managed to keep this a secret.”

_____

Six weeks

It certainly wasn’t the first time you’d ever had your head hanging above a toilet bowl on New Year’s Day.

But it sure as hell was the first time it had ever happened when you had no hangover to speak of.

In fact, you’d only had two sips of champagne the previous night before you felt weirdly dizzy and passed out in bed watching the Isles battle the Bruins.

The next thing you knew, you were being gently roused from deep sleep by your boyfriend, whose brow was creased with concern as he leaned over you.

“Sweetheart?” Mat spoke softly when you finally opened your eyes, his fingers smoothing your hair against your heavy head. “You okay?”

You inhaled deeply, feeling completely off. “Yeah... yeah,” you insisted softly. “What time is it?” you asked, discombobulated.

“It’s almost midnight,” Mat answered. “How long have you been sleeping?”

You slowly pushed yourself up on your elbows in bed. “Uh... I don’t know,” you admitted. “I watched the first period... I think.”

That wasn’t like you, and Mat knew it. A lifelong hockey fan, you kept close tabs on not only Mat and the Islanders, but the scores from around the entire league each night. Coming from a hockey-loving family, watching highlights on NHL Network was your late night routine. On top of that, you looked flushed to him, and dark circles hung around your eyes, a rarity for you except when you were ill.

“Baby... are you sick?” Mat shrugged off his suit jacket, tossing it on the end of the bed and quickly taking a seat next to you on the edge of the mattress. He put the back of his hand to your forehead and studied you carefully. “You don’t feel fevered.”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s just a cold,” you replied, remembering the strange feeling that had overcome you when you sipped your champagne earlier. “I do feel kinda dizzy... nauseous.”

Mat nodded, eyes still full of worry. “Maybe you’re getting the flu,” he suggested. “That’s been going around lately.” You nodded too, yawning.

“Well, listen,” Mat continued, motioning for you to lie back as he pulled the covers over you again. “Go back to sleep, and tomorrow if you still aren’t feeling well, I’ll run to the pharmacy and get you some medicine and stuff. Okay?”

You nodded again, overcome once more by exhaustion as you settled back into your bed. “Okay,” you whispered. “Thanks, babe. Hey, did you win?”

Mat smiled. “Yeah, baby, we won. Now get some rest. I love you, sweet girl,” he said, pressing a warm kiss to your temple.

“I love you, Maty,” you breathed. “Happy New Year.”

“Happy New Year, my love,” he whispered, his thumb tracing your bottom lip slowly as you immediately drifted back to sleep.

And now here you were, seven hours later, heaving into the toilet as Mat dropped to his knees behind you on the tile, gathering your long hair into his hands as quickly as possible.

“Oh, honey,” he groaned, rubbing your back. “You poor thing.”

After flushing the toilet several times to get rid of the contents, you finally sat upright, cautiously, slowly.

“God, I feel like shit,” you whispered, pressing a hand to your forehead as Mat ran his hands back and forth down your legs, trying to soothe you.

“I can tell,” he said sadly, standing. You looked up at him helplessly as he said, “I’m gonna go get you flu meds from the pharmacy. Let me just get dressed.”

You nodded once, feeling too lightheaded to move your head any more than that. You didn’t budge from your place on the floor as Mat took his robe from the hook on the door and wrapped it around your shoulders, kissing the crown of your head before exiting the bathroom. You heard him shuffling around in his drawers as you closed your eyes, willing the queasy feeling in the pit of your stomach to cease.

Moments later, Mat called out to you from the bedroom.

“Do you need anything else from the drugstore while I’m there, baby?”

You opened your eyes to glance around the bathroom, trying to keep your head as still as possible. You saw toothpaste, Tylenol, and... did you have enough tampons?

You reached next to you to open the drawer that held your monthly supplies, and you were surprised to find two boxes of tampons, not even opened, along with a plethora of pads and liners.

Finally, it hit you like a crashing wave. Suddenly, your world started spinning, and it wasn’t because of the nausea.

“Holy fuck,” you whispered, slamming the drawer shut.

“Maty...” you called out hoarsely, causing him to rush back toward the bathroom. Your heart was racing.

“What’s wrong?” he asked anxiously as he appeared in the doorway, ready to take up residence on the floor with you again if necessary.

You bit your bottom lip and inhaled a shaky breath before answering, sounding much more calm than you felt.

“I need you to buy me a test,” you said matter-of-factly.

At first, Mat wore a blank expression. “What kinda te— wait…” he said as you watched the wheels turning in his head. You couldn’t help but allow a small smile to spread across your lips as the realization hit him, too. He froze, mouth slightly agape, wide eyes searching yours to try and determine whether you were serious. Reading him, you nodded, which caused his eyes to widen even further.

“A pregnancy test,” you confirmed in a shaky voice.

“Holy fuck,” he whispered familiarly, his own smile beginning to play on his lips.

_____

“That was Liana,” Mat said, sliding his phone back into the pocket of his sweats after ending the brief call. “She’s catching a flight in the morning.”

You nodded gratefully as Mat returned to your side, dutifully grabbing your hand and running his other over your rounded stomach.

“She said to tell you she loves you, and baby, too,” he added with a warm grin. “And that she—“

Mat stopped short the second he heard you groan softly, the smile you’d worn upon hearing Liana’s name having morphed quickly into a wince.

“Another contraction?” Mat asked, hastily pulling the stool by the bed closer and taking a seat.

“Mhm,” you confirmed tightly, rolling on your side to look into his eyes, seeking a diversion. The pain in your face absolutely shattered Mat’s heart. He despised how helpless he felt watching you.

“Just look at me. Breathe, baby,” Mat coached before breathing in and out just as your Lamaze instructor had taught you both, nodding his head to urge you to mimic him. You did your best, squeezing his big hand hard enough that Mat saw his fingertips turning white, though he was too smart and too concerned with your labor pains to point that out.

“Good girl. Breathe, sweetheart. Good girl,” Mat encouraged. “That’s my girl,” he added softly, lightly dragging his fingernails along your scalp, combing his hand through your hair, in an attempt to comfort you.

“I seriously hate you right now,” you spat between pants and gasps. “You did this to me.”

Though he tried to hold back, a breathy laugh passed through Mat’s nose. “Yeah, my mom warned me you might say that,” he told you. “I’d hate me right now, too,” he added, running his fingers along your forearm lightly as you grimaced in agony.

Finally, your muscles relaxed as the contraction passed. Your face softened and your eyes fluttered open to see Mat staring at you intently, concern etched into his gorgeous features. You reached out your hand to run a thumb over his strong jaw.

“I’m okay,” you whispered, giving him your best smile as you caught your breath.

Mat nodded. “I just hate seeing you hurting,” he whispered back. You gave him an understanding look and then grinned brightly.

“But it’s gonna be worth it,” you assured, making Mat’s eyes light up. He kissed your palm and you asked, “Now what else did Liana say? Distract me.”

With a smile, Mat said, “That she can’t wait to meet this little one.” He leaned his head forward to kiss your belly sweetly as you smiled softly, leaning back against the mattress to rest up momentarily before the next wave, as the memory of telling Liana the news months ago came to mind.

_____

Twelve weeks

Your phone buzzed on the dining room table, vibrating against the glass top. Normally, you would never answer a call during a Valentine’s Day dinner with Mat, even at home, but these particular circumstances allowed for an exception.

“It’s Liana,” you smirked, swiping to answer the FaceTime call as Mat muttered, “Nice of her to call you and not her own brother.”

You ignored his complaint and smiled at the woman who was basically your sister-in-law.

“Hi, Li,” you said happily. “Happy Valentine’s Day!”

Liana didn’t even let you finish your greeting before she asked hurriedly, “What the fuck is going on?”

Mat leaned closer into you in order to be included in the camera’s view. “That’s rude,” he chirped, trying to sound angry, but being betrayed by the smirk twitching at his pink lips.

“No, seriously, you guys,” Liana continued, sounding anxious. “What does this mean?” She lifted the card from the full bouquet of blush pink roses before her. “‘Happy Valentine’s Day, Li,’” she read. “‘We’re so excited to give you another member of the family to love this August.’ And it’s signed from you guys and ‘Baby B...’”

Liana’s eyes flicked back up to your own and she couldn’t stand still, pacing her kitchen. “It’s not funny to joke about this,” she insisted, sounding confused and slightly offended.

“It isn’t a joke, dude,” Mat giggled. “We’re having a baby.”

Liana started screaming after “having.”

Laughter racked your body as you watched her jump up and down, tears streaming down her face as she squealed and asked a dozen times whether you were serious. You nodded each time until her hysteria finally subsided.

“Do Mom and Dad know?” Liana asked with a quaking voice, wiping the dampness from her cheeks.

“Yeah, they know,” you confirmed, swiping at a couple of your own fallen tears. Damn hormones.

“But listen, Liana,” Mat interjected, putting on his most serious tone. “They know, and her family knows, but past that, we haven’t told a soul. We honestly might not tell anyone else, depending on how soon she starts to show. We don’t want crazy fans or, God forbid, the media to get ahold of it and just be intrusive. We’ve seen how that goes. We just want this to be as private as possible. So you can’t post anything, can’t tell any of your friends. Okay?”

Liana nodded, sniffling throughout her brother’s command. “Yeah, totally,” she immediately concurred. “I get it. I think you guys are smart for doing it this way. This is like Kylie Jenner shit.”

You and Mat both snickered at that comparison for multiple reasons, then Liana began truly processing the news.

“Wait... so,” she began. “How far along are you?”

“Twelve weeks,” you replied. “So barring anything out of the ordinary, that kind of means we’re in the clear, risk-wise.”

“And you’re okay? Everything is okay?” Liana asked nervously.

Mat nodded, appreciating his little sister’s obvious concern for you and the baby. “She’s okay, Liana,” he assured as you smiled at him. “She’s perfect,” he added, picking up your hand to press a kiss to your fingers, causing Liana to tear up once again.

“You better take such good fucking care of her, Mat. You hear me? She doesn’t have her mom or any of us nearby, so she needs you,” Liana said firmly to her brother. You warmed at her display of womanly solidarity, ever thankful to have an ally in her.

Mat rolled his eyes. “Yes, Liana, I’ve been taking care of her for years,” he said, unamused.

“Yeah, well, it’s different now,” Liana pointed out. “Now she’s carrying my niece or nephew!”

You and Mat grinned at each other once more, Mat rubbing his hand slowly across your lower belly, which was mostly still flat, save for a slight, bloated curve.

“Yeah, she is,” Mat said airily, gazing into your blue eyes deeply as his sister resumed her squealing in the background.

_____

“Can I please have more ice chips?” you asked as you came down from yet another contraction, sounding whinier than you meant to and slightly hating yourself for it.

Mat smiled warmly down at you, pushing some of your hair back from your forehead and tenderly placing a kiss to your temple.

“Yes. You get all the ice chips you want, sweet girl,” Mat cooed, nuzzling his nose in your hair before stepping back and winking at you, grabbing the ice bucket from the bedside table. If there was one thing you had enjoyed most about the experience of pregnancy and labor, it was the way Mat spoiled you, ever attentive to your needs and wants. “I’ll be right back. Don’t have that baby while I’m gone,” he instructed, pointing at you.

Despite the discomfort you felt, you still breathed a laugh and rolled your eyes at him, Mat positively beaming at you as he walked backwards out of your suite, then turned down the hall.

As you rested your hands against your belly and your head back on the pillow, spotting the big bouquet of flowers Tito had sent for you, another memory from the past several months flashed in your mind.

_____

Twenty weeks

“I’m sorry,” Tito choked out once he stopped coughing on the Easter ham you’d made for a small group of the Isles boys, who had just begun playoffs and therefore weren’t traveling for the holiday, and their significant others. “You’re what?!”

You and Mat giggled, Mat squeezing your thigh under the table reassuringly. Sydney, late in her own pregnancy, jumped from her seat, tears springing to her eyes, and squealed as she ran to you, throwing her arms around your shoulders as you sat grinning at the others — Tito, Marty, Anders, Grace, Josh, and Meg — whose mouths hung open as they tried to process your announcement.

You turned back to Mat, the same broad smile seemingly permanently plastered on his handsome features the past few months stretching across his face once again.

“You wanna show them?” he asked softly, the tone in his voice telling you the decision was yours completely. You nodded, grasping the fabric of your knit sweater, the same casually chic, baggy style that you’d stocked up on to hide your growing stomach.

Sydney let go of you, allowing you to stand from your chair, as she nearly shouted, “What do you mean, show us?! How pregnant are you?!”

You bit your bottom lip, still smiling from ear to ear, and turned sideways, lifting your sweater to reveal your noticeable, ever-rounding bump beneath your high-waisted leggings.

A collective gasp sucked the oxygen from the room, Mat smirking at your friends, as you quietly admitted, “I’m twenty weeks...��

Tito pounded a fist to the table in disbelief and let out a holler. Anders raised his own fists over his head so fast that he knocked off the black baseball cap he wore. Josh and Marty couldn’t stop yelling, “No!” and “No fucking way,” respectively. Meg and Grace immediately leapt to their feet, too. “You’re halfway?!” they shouted in unison.

All Mat could do was beam proudly at you, bringing your waist close as he pressed a reverent, chaste kiss to your stomach over your sweater.

“Surprise!” you sang softly to the onlookers, your voice watery as a couple of happy tears escaped your eyes. The girls all embraced you, taking turns rubbing your belly, as the guys uttered boyish praises to Mat, joking that they didn’t know he had it in him.

Besides your and Mat’s parents and siblings, you still hadn’t told any friends of your pregnancy — making this sacred time that much more special for you and Mat.

But it was time to tell this circle. It had gotten more and more difficult and complicated to refuse drinks when the wives and girlfriends met for brunch, and even Mat was struggling to come up with excuses for why he wanted to rush home from the arena when the rest of the guys his age wanted to go to the bar to celebrate big wins. This close-knit group knowing the truth would help combat that.

You certainly didn’t plan to tell the whole team — quite frankly, there were some recently-added guys you just didn’t know well enough yet, along with some newer girlfriends who seemed a little suspect when it came to keeping team matters close to the vest. You and Mat agreed that you’d tell your close group of Isles friends and leave it at that. And that group, this group, these friends who had become much more like family — these felt like the right people to let in on the secret.

_____

“I’m scared,” you whimpered. “I don’t know if I can do it.” The pain was excruciating now, the pressure was building, and your doctor had just informed you that it was time to push. You felt like crying, but you were so paralyzed by the fear that gripped your chest that no tears were flowing.

“Hey…” Mat began softly, gently taking your face in both of his hands and angling it to look up at him, his eyes radiating confidence and pride. “Listen to me, okay? You’ve been so strong throughout this whole pregnancy. I know better than to believe that that’s gonna end now. You can do this, my love. I know you can,” he encouraged. “And I’ll be right here the whole time.”

You nodded, still feeling completely unprepared but somehow strengthened by Mat’s faith in you. As the doctor approached, gowned and gloved, she looked at you with anticipation.

“You ready, sweetie?” she asked. With one last look up at Mat, who nodded and kissed your knuckles, you turned back to her with a nod of your own. She patted your knee and said, “Okay, let’s have a baby. On the count of three, I want you to push, just the way we talked about. Daddy, you hold this knee. Ready? One… two… three… push.”

_____

Twenty-three weeks

The Isles had lost in the second round of the playoffs. Mat was obviously disappointed, but he was also more excited for this offseason than he’d ever been for a summer before, which certainly softened the blow. You were having his baby in just three more months, and he absolutely could not wait. Mat was ready to commence full dad mode — getting the nursery ready, reading the books, and most importantly, keeping a close eye on you every moment that he could.

On the same day the guys were cleaning out their lockers and giving final interviews following the end of the playoff series loss, Mat had scheduled a meeting with the coaching staff and team public relations executives to inform them of your pregnancy. He wanted them to be aware of the situation in case the news got out before the birth, especially as your baby bump was getting harder to hide. Since the two of you had decided to stay in New York for the summer instead of returning to British Columbia, to avoid travel late in your pregnancy, he knew that the chances of someone spotting your round stomach and starting to talk about it was higher on Long Island than in Coquitlam. It wouldn’t be the end of the world if the news got out, but if you and Mat could help it, you’d much prefer that it didn’t. He wanted this experience to be peaceful for you and as enjoyable as possible.

The meeting had gone well, which was unsurprising. The staff was thrilled for the two of you and promised to keep a tight lid on the information until you were ready to share it publicly after the baby had been born — they also agreed to evade any questions that their office might encounter on the topic during the summer.

Mat had thanked them profusely and said his goodbyes before leaving the building, heaving his heavy equipment bags into his trunk, and heading back home to you. A few minutes later, his phone dinged with a text from you and he glanced down at it at the next stoplight. It was a photo of the two of you in front of Big Ben on a rare sunny day in England, Mat hugging you close to his chest.

“This just popped up in my memories. Four years ago today we were in London and you told me you loved me for the first time. Look at us now. 💋”

Mat grinned at the message before returning the phone to his cupholder, his mind traveling back in time to that first big vacation the two of you had taken together. He knew your affinity for English culture — the fashion, the history, and, of course, the royal family, so he decided to take you on a trip across the pond a couple of months after you started dating.

It was one of the best decisions he’d ever made, as it brought the two of you much closer in those early days of your relationship — so close, in fact, that he found himself professing his love for you over a candlelight dinner on your last night in London. You had frozen, just for a moment, before a broad smile lit up your face, your eyes sparkling.

“I love you, too, Maty,” you’d said softly, allowing Mat to finally exhale as he basked in the knowledge that you felt the same way as he.

London was a landmark in your love story. Mat blinked a few times at that thought, an idea suddenly coming over him.

London…

_____

London Riley Barzal, named for the city where you fell in love and given your current last name as a middle name, was born August 15 at 8:13 p.m., after twenty hours of labor.

You and Mat had never known a love like the one you found the moment your baby girl was laid on your chest, and he had never been more fiercely in love with you than he was as he watched you snuggle her close.

“God, she’s so beautiful,” Mat breathed, voice quivering as he realized that this tiny girl belonged to him — to both of you.

“She’s perfect. Just perfect,” you agreed as her strong cries suddenly quieted into small whimpers.

Immediately, Mat looked you in the eye. “She knows your voice,” he said in astonishment.

As your baby blinked and squinted before opening her eyes for the very first time, she seemed to look directly up at her daddy. You smiled knowingly at Mat, who was frozen in place as he locked eyes with his baby daughter for the first time.

“I think she knows yours, too,” you suggested, the two of you smoothing your fingertips over her tiny face and hands in wonder.

You spent several minutes soaking it all in as a brand new family of three, both talking to London softly and placing kisses on her tiny head, before the nurse took her from your arms to take her vitals and give her a brief exam.

As you watched your healthy, gorgeous baby being fawned over by the medical team, you breathed a deep sigh of relief and a silent prayer of gratitude before opening your eyes again to see the love of your life staring down at you in absolute amazement.

“You did so good, baby,” Mat said through tears of pure joy. He pressed his lips to your damp forehead, cupping your cheek in his hand. “You did so good. You’re unbelievable, you know that? I’m so goddamn proud of you,” he praised.

“We have a baby, Maty,” you said with an awestruck, tearful chuckle. “I just had our baby.”

Mat nodded, grinning. “We have a daughter, my love,” he said. “Our little London.”

_____

One week later…

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tsuumu · 4 years

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good intentions.

kuroo x reader

your long-term boyfriend is perfect. i mean perfect. he excels at basically everything he does. well, except one thing. at least he has good intentions, right?

based off of a request found here.

word count:

tags/tw: y/n & kuroo are uni students, lots of playful insulting, kuroo is perfect, well not really, y/n is a mess, y/n is me doing any kind of work, domestic x1000, kuroo cooking is so cute.

You know those people who just seem to have it all?

No, not literally, but it’s so sickeningly easy for them that they might as well be arms reach of anything they want.

Usually we tend to dislike people like that, mainly because... well, we’re not them (much to our abysmal dismay, too). They end up taking a spotlight of jealousy in our lives and we find ourselves constantly thinking: Man, i’d love to kick their asses, but would alternatively jump at the oppertunity to switch lives with them ‘Freaky Friday’ style.

These people are the embodiment of admiration.

Young. Good looking. Fit. Successful. Socially conscious. Killer smiles. Can always hold a drink. Never seem to embarrass themselves even a little, but on the off chance they do, everyone adores them more and sees it as a cute little incident or quirk of theirs.

Just thinking about it makes you want to build yourself a bunker, deep underground, just to sulk in for a decade or so, lamenting angrily at the dusty walls.

Yes. You know the truth is that there will always be someone better than you at simply existing, but that doesn’t stop that simmering of content from rising within. Realistically speaking, you’d avoid these people like your life depended on it because they’re so... detestable.

So who would have known that you —of all people— would end up falling in love with one?

Well, you did. As much as they repel you, you find that they weirdly attract you too.

That’s right.

The man who stole that pretty little heart of yours, who’d caught your attention indefinitely with his cut-throat prowess and charisma. He’d approached you one fine evening at some bar you’d never been to before, ordered you your favorite drink because he’d seen you order it twofold previously (vodka cranberry, heavy on the juice) and chatted you up the way you’d always wished a guy would.

The appalling epitome of cliche.

The whole encounter practically ran like he’d planned it before-hand. It’s almost infuriating, how easily he swept you off of those tipsy feet of yours.

Something bumps lightly over your head as a shadowy figure passes by. You groan lightly in response.

“Hey, cut it out!”

Somehow, you’ve found yourself on the floor, crossed-legged, pen in your mouth and both your hands. One is furiously scrawling something down, the other flicking the cap off to highlight. It’s an understatement to note that you look like a bit of a mess, brows scruched up in an untidy pile in the middle of your forehead, dead-focused on the first draft of your thesis that was due weeks ago.

Yeah, you were one of those people.

A mocking string of apologetic noises come from the figure in front of you as he chucks his keys onto the kitchen counter.

Kuroo Tetsurou. That’s your A-list Boyfriend.

A-list of what? Of life, for god’s sake.

If it were him that’d been assigned a task with this ridiculous deadline, he’d probably have handed it before it was fucking given to him in the first place! Not only is he academically adept to the point of pure indignancy (on your part, of course, you’re too prone to jealousy for your own good), but his organisation is nothing short of freakishly unnatural.

He says he’s minimalistic, you say he’s an alien.

If someone had told you that the man you loved was actually some kind of secret government- made equipment to survey you, you wouldn’t bat an eyelid. He’s that good.

He chuckles at his own jeers, slipping a hand through the fridge handle. It unlatches with ease and he takes a cold can of beer out, pulling the tab back and allowing it to hiss open satisfyingly. Your eyes flicker upwards, gnawing at your knuckle, you’re not only stressed out, but unbelievably embarrassed that you’re at it again. He’s seen you like this countless times, after promising to clean up your act and follow in his footsteps.

Following in his footsteps. Well, that’s how he described it. You were close to socking his arm.

“Shut up.”

Tetsurou tilts his head back, drinking to his heart’s content before catching your eye. You’re correct. He has seen this before, so he knows not to take your off-handed comments to heart. Instead, he’s rather bemused.

“Your scruched up nose.” He begins, setting the can down to the side, crossing one leg over the other. “That’s your classic concentrating face.”

You’re not even listening if you’re honest. You’re trying to understand what this section of the task even means after re-reading it for the fifteeth time. The responses you give are made absently.

“Hm.”

“You look like a cat that’s been forced to wait to eat. That little glare. It’s cute, kitty.”

Your head jerks up questioningly. Did he call you cute?

His head tilts.

“Oh, you’ve relaxed your face now. It’s gone back to being ugly.”

You scowl and throw the highlighting pen at him.

“Go away! I’m almost done!”

Your fingers move to your lower back, pressing on your spine in hopes it’ll crack and relieve some of the tension in your body. Kuroo retrieves the pen, sweeping the can up with his spare hand. He plods over, craning his neck down to study whatever it is that you have on your lap.

“It’s too dark in here to see that properly.”

“I’m fine!”

“Well—“ He leans back to switch the overhead lights on. “—now you’re finer.”

You turn to him, pausing for a moment.

“Oh, thanks.”

It’s like you fall into this crazed state when you’re overworked. Frantic. Snappy. Cowering in the dark like some sort of parody Dracula— that is, if Dracula were three weeks late on his university assignment worth a disgustingly high percentage of his final grading. If Kuroo came too close, or said something a little too sly, you’d probably bite him. He knows this too, opting to keep quiet from now on. Instead, he sits leisurely on the floor, just behind you, placing his hands against your propped up body and gently pressing his thumbs into the blades of your back.

“Drop it a sec, yeah?”

Your body’s stiff, but you can tell he’s shocked at just how stiff it is. For a moment, you’re caught off guard, before rolling your shoulders back forcefully.

“Can’t... gotta finish—“ and you gesture wildly at everything around you. That answer was to be expected. You weren’t as academically driven, sure, but you weren’t one to give in easily. Or fail, for that matter.

Tetsurou plants a gentle kiss onto the nape of your neck, mumbling into the ridge of your spine.

“That—“ he copies your movements. “Can wait. I know you think it can’t, but it can. And you’re going to stop now.”

Your eyes lower a little, vision blurring.

“But—“

“Nope.”

You twist yourself to look at him, giving him another sour look.

“I’m serious!”

“So am I.” It rolls off the tongue so easily for him. He’s utterly calm. But then again, he’s not the one that needs to be on bloody ‘X-Games’ mode.

He’s never the one. Damn it.

You lift yourself up a little by placing your palms under you, wincing at the twinges of pain it induces. You’d made friends with the floor for a little too long, butt totally numb.

“Fine.” You resign, suddenly falling back onto him. “I’ll email my professor for the tenth time this week and wait as he rips me apart. Shall I?” Kuroo tuts, snaking an arm around your upper-body, the other brushing at your baby-hairs so he’s able to see your face a little clearer.

“He wouldn’t do that.”

“Uh— yes he would. Would you like front row seats to my untimely demise?”

“You’re so dramatic.”

For the first time through that entire day, you smile, even if it’s just a little. And to him, he’s managed to fish you out of that downward spiral you’ve been plunging into. Job well done on his part. He softly runs a his palm down your side.

“Your professor covers mine when she’s busy.” He states matter-of-factly. “Let me email him. It’s not ludicrous to say that i’m your boyfriend and you’re a little troubled at the moment.”

You’re slumped over, at the moment, chin buried into your chest.

“Troubled sounds like i’ve lost my mind.”

“Well not like that—“ The eager boy begins sifting out your laptop from under the seemingly endless piles of paper. “Let’s think of a better excuse.” Your body doesn’t move an inch, fiddling with the cap of the pen lid. You throw it by accident and it bounces too far to reach comfortably. Shit.

“Mmm.” He buries his nose into the crown of your head. “Shall I tell him you got into a car accident?”

“What? Tetsu, that’s stupidly unbelievable. I don’t even drive.”

“I guess... maybe not a car.” His fingers teasingly splay over your stomach, body bent intrusively over yours. They move against the softness of your flesh, dipping down slightly.

You suck in a breath.

“I’m sure I can do something for you that’ll keep you from walking for quite some time.” Tetsurou hums deeply, and it feels like he’s talking directly into your brain.

Your fingers fumble for the pen he just gave back, before hitting him square on the forehead with it. It ricochets back perfectly onto your chest with a loud snap.

“Ow!”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Geez.”

“I don’t need excuses. I’ll just come back to it later.”

“Oh— yeah. That too.”

With a heave, you sit up, rubbing the side of your head as the blood rushes back.

“I’m kinda hungry.” You’d been so distracted with this work that even simple, human needs took a backseat.

This is why Kuroo doesn’t like it. At times like this, you’d barely eat, sleep, breathe. Seriously. Sometimes you’d hold your breath for absurdly long periods of time whilst reading, only to hack and gasp and apologise because you were so into it.

That’s... extreme. And he does not approve in the slightest.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm...” Your eyes sparkle hopefully. “Did you get me something to eat?”

Tetsurou scratches his neck timidly.

“Well, not exactly.”

Immediately, your face drops and he protests wildly.

“Don’t look at me like that!”

Well— well— you couldn’t help but be disappointed! You were starving and tired and ready to email your professor a string of rather unpleasant curse words instead of another half-assed excuse. Your fingernails had been worn down considerably from all the abrasive biting you’d done, aching and red.

Being a full-time student was covert self-destruction. You heavily relied on your boyfriend to bring in food because you didn’t have the time to do so yourself. This had been discussed and agreed upon prior though, since along with Tetsu’s many formidable talents, a balanced work to school life was yet another.

He ambles back to the kitchen area, gesturing to the island smack bang in the middle.

“That doesn’t mean I came empty-handed.”

Oh. You hadn’t noticed it before, but he’d come home with groceries. Um. Groceries?

“What’s that?”

“Stuff I picked up on the way back.”

“Like, ingredients?”

“Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

The both of you are quiet for a moment, and you’re eyeing the bag like it’s appeared out of nowhere with something potentially life-threatening inside it. Yes, that sounds stupid. But the truth is... you guys never really got groceries. Not actual groceries with actual ingredients. Because that is a strong indicator that they’d have to be cooked.

And god, neither of you knew how to do that.

You’re a student who’s barely stepped into adulthood, not Gordan Ramsay.

Okay. You sound ridiculous. Cooking isn’t that complex. It’s actually quite simple if your heart’s in it.

“I figured i’d be able to do something with these.” Kuroo pats the bags and they crinkle a tad.

Of fucking course he’d ‘be able to do something’ with them.

He’s Kuroo-Genius-Tetsurou!

CEO of doing things with other things and it actually working out. Building cabinates, lock-picking, gardening, guitar, skateboarding, poker. Since you’ve been together, these are a few of the varation of things he’s naturally picked up.

You? You’re a more do-it-once-it-fails-and-never-do-it-again type.

In your mind there’s literally no doubt he’d ace cooking and list it under the other fifty(billion) things he’s also capable of, just so he can mention it off-handedly to other people at parties or something.

If there’s something to criticise about your boyfriend, he’s awful at shutting up about himself. He’ll go on forever, as if he’s showcasing his entire life to strangers in some desperate attempt to sell them his excessive excellence.

Is he arrogant? Maybe. But is he able to do it in a manner that’s utterly bewitching? Absolutely. He’s not gloating, you see, he’s ‘modestly sharing’. And you find yourself wanting to praise him, you want to hear about how much better he is than you.

Let’s be honest. Kuroo and modesty were not made to be placed in the same sentence, any humble talk of his is utter bullshit.

But everyone loves it all the same.

That’s what you mean about perfect people. They spark something in others. It’s almost hypnotic. And when you snap out of it, it’s like it’s been confirmed that you’re undoubtedly inferior. Post-Kuroo-Encounter depression. PKE. You having a devastating case of it.

Maybe you have a bit of a complex about this. Ugh.

He’s lucky he’s so damn loveable.

And that you’re so damn hungry.

“Okay.” You state.

Plus, you are a little curious to see what exactly will unfold with his newfound persuit in the culinary arts.

You haul ass to get up, audibly cursing, hopping around from foot to foot to get your blood-flow back in action. Eventually, you’ve nestled yourself onto a stool, hands propping your chin up, observing expectantly.

“What are you making, chef?”

“Uhh..” He’s rolling his sleeves up, eyes glued to the screen of his phone that’s placed facing upwards. “Chicken Alfredo.” Tetsu sounds a little uncertain but you’re staring into his head and you can almost hear the cogs turning. Really, it’s only a matter of time until the bastard works his Area 51-esque magic and concocts the dish.

He takes a little more time to familiarise himself with the recipe, before looking up, giving you a wicked grin.

“I’ve got this.”

You’re sure he does, smiling back.

Whilst he’s preparing god knows what, you peek into the grocery bag to see if there’s anything you can nibble on. You recieve another gentle smack to your head. Tetsu’s holding a packet of dry pasta.

He’s hit you with pasta.

“Nu-uh. I didn’t bring any kitty treats for you, be patient.”

“Stop hitting me like i’m a fly, or a cat!”

“Don’t be silly. I’d never hit a cat! They’re precious, adorable, i’d protect one with my life. And you—“ He hits you again. “—well, you’re you, baby.”

You snatch the packet forcefully and lob it at him again.

“You have a death wish, Kuroo-san.”

“Eesh. The formalities! I’m kidding!”

You cradle your cheek in your palm, sighing tiredly. The two of you usually ordered in, or got something you’d be able to set up pretty easily. Neither of you were particularly passionate about cooking, hence its absence in your routines. Yes, it’s excessively healthier than your current lifestyle, but you weren’t suffering. And even now, watching Tetsurou fill a pan with water, muscles firm against the shy of his shirt. You know he isn’t either.

Now that you’re looking, and looking some more, it’s pretty hot, seeing a guy cook.

“You know, you should make breakfast shirtless so I can tell my friends my hot boyfriend cooks me breakfast shirtless.”

He laughs.

“You’d enjoy that too much.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“Yes. I can’t keep indulging you.”

He means that your desire for immediate gratification is your biggest weak-point. Kuroo’s recently been trying to teach you the art of patience. Abstinence. You don’t get it. Apparently perfect people believe in ‘self-control’ crap.

“Also, oil.” He adds.

“Oh, I suppose it’d hurt, right?”

“Mhm.”

Your boyfriend alternates from his phone to the actual practice in short cycles. To you, he looks like he’s on track, though you’re not quite sure what to be looking for in the first place. These things usually came ready and steaming on plates in restaurants. Even now, having to wait, it’s so difficult. But you’re enjoying the light conversation it brings, so it’s whatever.

Though, that lasting etch of confusion and concern on the boy’s face leaves you wondering if actually, this is proving slightly difficult for him.

“Is everything okay?” You pipe up.

He doesn’t answer at first.

“Think so.”

“Oh— i’ve never heard that from you before.” It’s usually straight confidence from this man.

“Shut up.”

From the stool, you slip, dragging your hand over the counter as you walk around to see it up close. You don’t really know what you’re expecting, but... it’s not this.

“Tetsu, that’s boiling a little violently, don’t you think?”

“...No?”

“Yeah. It is. That’s not a good sign.”

He bats you away.

“We can’t both stand here!”

“Why not?”

“Spaaace.” He whines. “And if we both stay crowded around it’ll—“

And it happens, exactly what you’d predicted.

You, of all people, had made an assumption your boyfriend hadn’t. Ain’t that crazy? The water rises up too high, boiling over and spilling absolutely everywhere. The gas flame heightens all of a sudden, curling up next to the fabric of a dish towel next to it. In a panic, you pull him back.

“What the fuck—“

There’s no time for you to think, your hands fumbling to close the stove, you hadn’t realised the water had seeped over it, causing you to cry out in pain in the process, hand burnt silly.

But you do it. Quickly too. And Kuroo’s utterly dazed, like he hadn’t even thought to react. Your immediate response post-injury is to suck on the wound, trying to suppress the pain with the soothing movements of your tongue. That doesn’t do much, so you flap it about like a mad man, that only instigates more irritation.

Tetsu snaps out of it when he hears your hissing, grabbing onto your wrist and pulling you to the sink forcefully, apologising profusely as he does.

Cold water hits you. It’s instant relief.

“God— i’m so sorry, (y/n)—“ He stumbles, still panicking, he seems to be experiencing everything five minutes too late. “I don’t know why that happened, I swear to God i’ve done that before but it just—“

You let out a giggle, and it shuts him up.

Another one slips. It gets louder and louder, harder to suppress until you’re full on belly laughing, hunched over. He stares at you, wordlessly surprised.

“T-Tetsu— you burnt water—“ You try and stifle your laugh but it only shakes your body more. His deep shame morphs into relief when he sees you’re okay. Tearfully making fun of him, but okay. He pulls you into a tight embrace, ignoring your remarks and still feeling unbelievably guilty.

It’s okay. You’re still chortling, holding him just as tight.

“Here, let me— let me bandage this.” In a cupboard somewhere, he pulls out a small wrap of fabric, proceeding to do just that. You watch happily enough, before turning to the boiled water that had completely stilled.

“Thanks. Let me do this.”

With considerable time and effort, you’re able to clean up the haphazard mess and start afresh, filling his place. Yeah, Kuroo is pretty humiliated, but he was more concerned about your wellbeing at the time than anything else. Seeing you unwavered was enough to make him feel like things were good.

It’s a miracle really, that you do end up filling two plates with delicious smelling pasta.

That lingering look of sorrow is still plastered all over the poor boy’s features, watching you with wide eyes.

“How did you manage that?”

You just shrug, licking a smidge of sauce off of your thumb.

“Dunno. Guess I have potential.” Your gaze moves up to his, pinching his cheek and blubbering jokingly. “Baby. What’s with the long face?”

“Feel bad.” Tetsu looks so glum. It’s adorable.

“Hm.”

The scrape of the plate against the counter is clear as bells as you urge him to eat.

“I should thank you, dumbass.” Admiring the bandage work, a grin settls upon you. This ordeal helps you to see that, actually, Tetsu wasn’t good at everything. In fact, for once, you were better.

And God. That’s— that’s different. You don’t want to be as cocky as him, but it feels nice for a change. He admires you.

“Got an excuse for that late assignment now.” You muse.

“Oh my god.”

You’re always going to be a handful.

“Ugh. Tetsu. Something good always come out of your actions. It’s sickening!”

“I hurt you, silly!”

“I’m feelin’ pretty good about it, regardless. Plus—“ You jump up, leaning over the counter to flick his forehead. “—i’m going to tell everybody this pretty little golden boy set our kitchen on fire because he tried to boil water.”

“Cruel. You’re cruel.”

“The cruelest.”

#haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu #kuroo headcanons #kuroo x reader #kuroo fic #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo testuro #kuroo fluff #hq #kuroo x y/n #cool this was fun 2 make #y/n is cute #kuroo is cuter

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libsterslobsters · 3 years

Text

The Wanton Song

Summary: How do you broach the topic of sex with the 90-something super soldier you've found yourself dating? That's the reader's question. Luckily, she and Bucky are no strangers to awkward conversations...

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x fem!enhanced! Reader

(Reader can see bits and pieces of the future in visions and understands all languages)

Warnings: SMUT, tiny bit of angst, lotsa fluff, maybe some past dub!con if you squint

Author's note: Wow... here I am posting smut on the internet. Never thought that would happen. Tmi, but I'm married, so I have a good amount of sex 🙀 and I actually had a great first time, but some people don't, and that's what I tried to represent. That, and CONSENT!!!! Consent is sexy, y'all. Safe, sane and consensual all day every day.

As always, the reader's name isn't stated so that you can read as a self insert, but I've written so much at this point that I refer to the Reader as Violet in my own mind.

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

Life has been going swimmingly these past few months. Better than ever before in fact, or at the very least, better than in a long time. She’s still a fugitive, living life looking over her shoulder, but now she has a steady job, a steady paycheck, and oh yeah, a steady boyfriend. Those three things have never aligned for her before (especially the last one). Overall, she’s pretty happy. But, because she’s her, there’s still a question niggling at the back of her mind.

The transition from “you’re my only friend” to “we’re together now” went smoothly, helped in part by the fact that Barnes had been at that particular juncture the whole time. From the outside looking in, the only major changes have been the addition of those three simple but very key words and an upping the anti in the cuddles department.

Speaking of cuddles, that’s a very mild term for what’s going on these days. It starts out innocent enough. The usual location is on the couch at one or the other’s apartment. There hadn’t been much distance between them since that first time where they ended up talking more than watching the movie playing from her laptop, but now, the space is nonexistent. As a general rule, within the first ten minutes, her legs somehow end up over his lap or in some way intertwined with is. The intention is always to pay attention to what’s on the screen but, well, when you’re that close, it would be rude not to snuggle up. And, when the other person looks that damn kissable, it would truly be insulting not to take the plunge.

Now, considering the angle, one of them has to lean in. Otherwise, it would be awkward. That generally determines who, somewhere from two to ten minutes later, is on top of who. Of course hands wander, and even though it’s understood that the word “no” can be employed at any time and immediately obeyed (not to mention the copious amounts of “Is this okay”’s being asked), she can’t remember a time either of them have said it.

If she had to attach a term to what comes next, it would be ‘dry humping.’ And then… nothing. It always ends far too soon, leaving her flustered and with her heart racing. At first she thought it was because he simply didn’t want her, but, well, there’s certain physical signs that point to that not being the problem. Her next guess was that he’s simply being respectful. Well, as sweet as that is, she’s ready to get on with it. She’s only human after all, and as such, has needs. Sure, she could take care of them herself, but if she had to guess, he’s experiencing those needs too, and from what she’s heard, it’s more fun to take care of it together.

The only issue: how the hell do you bring something like this up, especially when the person you’re bringing it up with grew up in a much more repressed era than you did? She’s been debating it for the past week, and despite having multiple visions, none of them have given her that key insight into what to do.

Finally, she decides to just say it. They’ve made a point to be honest with each other, and it’s probably best to get it out of the way. They’re adults, after all. They can have this discussion. She’s going to come straight out with it.

“Hey, can I ask you something? It’s kind of personal, and maybe a little uncomfortable.”

“Sure, Doll.” The response is immediate. “Fire away.”

Glancing up to make sure they’re not at a pivotal scene in tonight’s movie (they have a system; at his place, watch something he grew up with, at hers, something made literally anytime after 1945), she spits out the whole sentence in one breathless go. “Are we ever going to have sex?”

It feels like a branding iron where his arm is still wrapped around her shoulder. Still, it’s comforting. At least he’s not moving away.

“I gotta admit, that’s not the question I was expecting. What brought this on?”

She shrugs, carefully keeping her eyes trained on the wall behind his head instead of on him.

“Nothing in particular. Just…” is there a delicate way to put this? “...I think things are going well between us, and sometimes when we’re together… I’ve noticed that there’s a physical response.” She’s really hoping that’ll suffice, because she can’t think of a good way to say “I can feel that you’re hard when you’re on top of me”.

“Oh.”

Apparently, her meaning is indeed clear enough, because he removes his arm from her shoulders. She’s about to apologize (all the while mentally berating herself) when his hand closes over hers.

“I’m sorry about that, Doll. I’ll try to stay calmer.” Wait, that’s not- “It’s just an issue guys have. Don’t think it means you have to do anything that you don’t want to, because I would never-”

“I know you wouldn’t.” Without thinking, she cuts him off. “And I want to.” It feels like she’s sitting in a sauna, she’s so flustered from this conversation. “But only if you do, and I understand if you didn’t-”

“No.” It’s abrupt, cutting her off. A definite answer that leaves no room for questioning. “No, I do. I just-” He clears his throat. “-I didn’t want to bring it up, in case we weren’t on the same page. “ This seems to be a recurring theme, so far. “And it’s not a must. If you change your mind-”

It’s pure instinct. There’s no thought involved as she closes the gap between them, this time with her on top, and presses her lips against his. The response is immediate and enthusiastic. She considers just going on, not putting a stop to things, but realization hits that, although overall she’s ready for this to happen, she’s not ready for it to happen tonight. There’s still things she needs to take care of. Most importantly, protection.

So, gasping for breath, she pulls away. “I’m calling for a rain check, but if after that, you still think I’ll change my mind-” she pushes back her hair and forces herself to take a deep breath. “-then you may just be beyond help, Barnes.” If the chuckle is anything to judge from, she’s made her point.

_________________________________________________________________________________

Wow. Bucky thinks to himself as he exits out of the browser tab on his phone. That’s enough internet for one day. Too much, actually. He knows that it’s the information superhighway, but good god, no one needs THAT much information. He really needs to be more specific with what he googles… or less… or just not at all.

He’d never admit it (and really, who the hell is gonna ask him anyway), but he spent the last hour looking up how to have sex. He’s engaged in the act before, yeah, but it was seventy years ago. Plus, it used to be this huge taboo thing that you suspected was going on behind closed doors, but no one (not even the married couples) owned up to it. If you were ever found out, there were severe consequences. As a man, he didn’t have to worry as much, but if whoever the woman was had her dirty laundry aired… oh boy. She’d be a pariah, a “scarlet woman”, unfit for marriage or to even give the time of day. That led to limited encounters, and, well, it just seemed smart to brush up on what information is out there. As it turns out, people have written a lot about the fine art of love making. Unfortunately for him, most of it is absolute garbage. Some of the positions he just read about (because at that point, the article was like a train wreck; he badly wanted to look away, but he couldn’t) don’t even sound possible, much less pleasurable. He’s all for society being freer, but good grief!

He’s halfway through a bottle of straight vodka (it won’t have any effect, but he’s hoping maybe the alcohol will travel to his brain and sanitize his eyeballs from most of the shit he just read) when his phone rings. Great. He’s always happy to talk to her, but right now… wow. It’s gonna take him some time to recover, so he hopes she doesn’t need him to say much.

“Hey, Doll.”

“I am so fucking pissed off right now.” That sounds promising.

“At what?”

“The city of Bucharest, my apartment, the landlord, whoever the fuck did the plumbing in this building! God!” She’s clearly out of breath, so it takes a minute before she can speak again. “I’m sorry, Buck. It’s just that I came home from work, and one of my neighbors told me the entire sixth floor is under a good inch, inch and a half of water.” Wait-

“How-”

“I don’t know. Busted pipe. It’s leaked down onto the fifth floor, so I’ve got about fifty other pissed off people for company.”

“Jesus.”

She chuckles harshly. “Yeah, we could use him right about now to perform a miracle. This is a shit show, and I haven’t even told you the best part.”

“So the spontaneous flood wasn’t the highlight of your day?”

“I fucking wish! So, naturally, I tried to call the landlord, along with basically everyone else. Get this: since it’s after five o’clock on a Friday, he’s not gonna do anything. Told us collectively to suck it up! And of course, when there’s a leak, they have to cut the power…” He’s starting to see a pattern here.

She sighs. “I really needed to get that off my chest. How are you?” Still slightly weirded out by the information overload, but feeling a little more steady now that he’s got a good catastrophe to concentrate on. However, that’s probably not the best answer to go with.

“Better than you are.”

“What, the sky isn’t falling where you are?” He chuckles.

“No, it’s right where it’s supposed to be.” Which reminds him… “But since it seems like you’re short a functional home, why don’t you just stay here until they sort things out?” He’s got a couch that, while it doesn’t have anything on an actual bed, he can manage to sleep on for the next few nights. Or maybe they can share his bed. He shakes his head. That thought needs to be put to the side, even if it’s meant in the most innocent way possible. Of course, in case she decides to cash in that rain check…

“Yes. I mean, that would be great, if you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.” Actually, he can’t think of a better way to spend the weekend. The plan was to meet up either Saturday or Sunday, possibly both, so this isn’t that far out of the ordinary.

“Okay, but just a warning: They’re not letting us go up to our floor in case there’s been electrical damage as well-” That’s smart. If the pipes are in that bad of condition, who knows what the wiring looks like. “-so all I have is my purse, backpack, and what I wore to work. No toothbrush or pajamas, or anything like that.”

“That’s alright. All you have to bring is yourself.” He’ll have to look, but he’s pretty sure he has something in his closet that’ll work okay for her until she gets the all clear to go into her apartment. Plus, there’s a laundry mat just around the corner, not to mention a pharmacy.

“Thank you. I really appreciate it.”

“Not a problem.” He glances at his bedside clock. Five thirty-four. It takes roughly half an hour to get across the city by bus, so… “I’ll see you around six fifteen?”

“See you then.”

As soon as the line goes dead, he springs into action. First thing’s first: make sure there’s no dirty clothes, old dishes, or trash laying around. That takes all of five minutes. He should probably check that he does indeed have something she can wear so they won’t have to fumble around later. Tshirts are pretty universal and… yes, he has a few pajama bottoms that have a drawstring waist. How much time does he have left? The phone screen lights up, giving him his answer. Twenty-seven minutes. More than enough time to run around the corner and pick up a few things.

His intention is to buy the basics: spare toothbrush, deodorant, hairbrush, maybe a different shampoo than his three-in-one body wash (it’s convenient for him, but she might prefer something designated for hair specifically). But, well, there’s quite a few aisles, and he gets sucked in. Does he need to buy razors, or is that rude, like he thinks she’s hairy? What about aspirin? How often do most people get headaches? He honestly can’t remember.

By the time he realizes that he really needs to get a move on, his basket is full and he has no idea what aisle he’s on. Desperately, he looks around, and his eyes land on… huh. So they just have them out in the open these days. Last time he was in the market for that, he had to beg a married friend to make the purchase for him. He briefly wonders if he’ll need to produce proof of marriage or something similar, but pushes the thought to the side. It’s the 2000s. He can probably just go up to the register and pay, and no one will give him a second look. But there’s just one problem: which brand? He should google… suddenly remembering his adventure from earlier today, he decides to just go with his gut and pick one. There. Now, he needs to pay and get the fuck out of here because there’s only ten minutes left, and he’d rather not have these out in the open, in case she thinks that’s the reason he’s asked her to stay over. If it happens, great. If not… well, he’s made it for the past seventy years. What’s a few more?

___________________________________________________________________________________

She was still pretty shaken up when she arrived at his apartment, carrying her backpack and purse, slightly damp from the drizzle of rain now covering the city. But immediately receiving a long hug, being instructed to make herself at home, and hearing the offer to take a shower so she could warm up did a lot to restore her good mood.

It was one of the sweetest thing she’s ever experienced in a lifetime where most people have showed her their worst, going into that bathroom and finding a new toothbrush, stick of deodorant, nail clippers, hairbrush, and even shampoo. That and Barnes bashfully informing her that, “I’ll stay in the living room until you’re done. Take your time.” She almost suggested that he just join her in an attempt to broach the subject they left off on two nights ago, but thought better of it. She’s just started to strip when a knock comes from the other side of the wall.

“Sorry. I just remembered that I forgot to give you a change of clothes. Can I leave them outside the door?” A smile forms on her face.

“Sure. Go ahead.” No one’s given this much thought to her comfort or boundaries before. Yet another reason she knows this is the right decision.

She doesn’t stay in the shower for long, just enough time to wash and stop shivering. After toweling off and brushing out her hair, she cracks open the door. Sure enough, a worn but clean tshirt and pair of pajama bottoms are waiting for her. The familiar scent of the laundry detergent he uses envelopes her as she dresses and, at long last, leaves the safety of the bathroom.

True to his word, he’s still sitting on the couch, thumbing through a book she gave him some months back (he’s missed so many feats of literature that have made their way into pop culture; today’s choice is The Hobbit because, while it was out before everything happened to him, he’s never read it) when she emerges. Just in case he’s so absorbed that he hasn’t heard her, she repeats his gesture from earlier and knocks softly on the wall.

“Hey. I’m out. You can have your apartment back.”

“Hey.” That smile always makes her feel slightly unsteady on her feet. “Find everything okay?”

“I did.” She settles into the place next to him. “Thank you, by the way. You didn’t have to go out and get supplies.”

“I know.” He nods, hand closing around hers. “But I wanted to make sure you had whatever you needed.”

They chat for a while about their days, discuss what they should do with the weekend ahead, even throw out ideas for dinner. The entire time, she’s trying to figure out the best way to bring up that she’d really like to finish what they started the other night. However, by the time he’s left to grab some sort of takeout, she’s still no closer to an answer.

Fortunately, their dates usually follow a pattern. Food, a movie, and then the not-so-innocent cuddles. This time, he’s on top of her when she feels the tell-tale sign that he’s as fired up as she is, so she suggests,

“Do want to maybe move to somewhere more comfortable?” His already dilated pupils grow even larger, and he nods.

“Yeah. That sounds like a plan.” She waits for him to roll off of her and head towards the bedroom before she grabs her purse and, digging around inside, grabs one of the foil packages she bought after their last date.

It’s only once she closes the door behind her, shutting them into an enclosed space with a bed (not to mention it’s pretty damn clear what both of their intentions are), that nerves get the better of her. He takes a step towards her, and she leans up to kiss him, but he ducks his head out of the way.

“You’re shaking.” His hand ghosts over her arm, making it obvious that, by comparison, she’s practically vibrating on the spot.

“Sorry.” She chuckles nervously. “It’ll pass.”

“It’s alright.” As he says it, he meets her eyes. “We can stop. Nothing has to happen.”

“I know.” She nods, swallowing hard. “But I want it to.” Their lips briefly meet before he pulls away again.

“Let me ask you, just before we get started, is this-” He stops short, eyes darting from her face to the wall and back again. “...have you… before?” Oh. “Not that it matters, not to me, I just wanted to know so that-”

“I have.” She nods, feeling heat rise to her cheeks. “Once. I was eighteen, and-” It was awful. She’d been seeing the guy for a few months and he kept whining about her not putting out, so she decided to get it over with. He went in dry without any warning, and when she asked him to stop, give her a second to adjust, he told her he couldn’t. She was bleeding and in pain for days afterwards, and to top it off, when her period was late, she thought that, even though he’d pulled out, she was pregnant. That turned out not to be the case, but it, along with the fact that she usually doesn’t stay in one place for very long, has put a damper on her ever wanting to do that again. Except for now. “-it wasn’t a great experience.”

“I’m sorry.” On instinct, she searches for the judgment in his face, the disgust. It’s nowhere to be found, only genuine sympathy. “I’ll do my best to make sure this time is better. That is, if you’re still up to it.”

“I am.” Not waiting for a reply, she wraps her arms around him and starts trailing kisses up his neck towards his ear. “I am. I trust you.” She hears his breath catch, but before she can comment, he’s hoisted her up and is carrying her in the direction of the bed.

As he sets her down, she pulls him on top of her, letting her hands wander over his sides, up his back. After a few moments, she feels his fingers move from her hips to toy with the hem of her… his.. shirt.

“Is this okay? Can I take this off?” She starts to nod, but remembers just in time that he’s so close, they’d butt heads.

“Please.” She expected to feel exposed once she was at least partially undressed, but instead she feels… adored. His eyes are roaming over her newly exposed skin, though his hands have respectfully returned to her waist. In a moment of confidence, she reaches behind her and unhooks her bra. There. Now she’s completely shirtless.

“You’re so beautiful.” The flush from her cheeks is spreading down her neck, but she still smiles.

“Care to make things even?” It’s brief, but she catches the look of hesitation.

“Sure.” Before she can offer to do it, he shrugs his shirt over his head, revealing to her, for the first time, the entirity of his metal arm. She must look for a moment too long, because with a shrug, he informs her, “I can put my shirt back on. No big deal. I know there’s some scarring…” That’s not going to fly. She needs to reassure him, make him feel as desired as he’s made her feel.

“Or if you want to stop-” She stands and, after briefly making eye contact, places a kiss on the most prominent scar.

“Don’t you dare think that way for a second.” They’re flush against each other, chest to bare chest. “Not for one.” Slowly, she slides her hands from his shoulders down to his waist, hesitating just over the button. “Is this okay?” Another shakey breath.

“Yes.”

Going forward, it’s much less awkward. The rest of their clothing is shed, and soon they’re back to their previous position; on the bed, with him on top of her. She feels his fingertips brush the inside of her thigh and gasps.

“May I touch you?” She nods.

“You’d better.”

It’s gentle, more of him feeling her out than anything else. Still, she can’t help but think this is infinitely better already than last time around. Suddenly, he pulls his hand away, and it takes all her effort not to whine at the loss of contact. Before she can ask if something’s wrong, does he want to stop, he’s flat on his stomach, head between her legs.

“Tell me if you need me to stop.”

“What-” Her breath catches as it becomes infinitely clear what he’s doing.

Again, she’s expecting pain when, after several minutes he eases a finger into her, but at this point, she’s so wet that there’s absolutely no difficulty.

“Are you okay?” She nods.

“Don’t stop.”

The process is agonizingly slow, he’s so intent on his task. When, finally, he pulls away, she’s so close that she can almost taste it.

“Do you still want to-”

“If you don’t stop asking me that, I’m gonna slap you.” It’s a joke, and she thinks he knows it, but just to be sure, she siezes his hand (the metal one, which is usually cold but has now warmed from being held close against her body. “I’m ready, so long as you want this too.”

“I do. You wouldn’t believe how much.” Yeah, she thinks she would. “Just give me a second.” Perfect timing. He rolls off of her, which gives her the opening she needs to grab the packet she managed to hide under the pillow while he was… otherwise distracted. When he returns from digging inside the wardrobe, she holds it up, only to realize-

“Oh.” He’s got one as well. “Seems like we both came prepared.”

He chuckles. “Just in case, although that wasn’t why I asked you to stay.”

“I know.” She nods and pats the space next to her. “Not why I said yes either, although I can’t say I’m disappointed.”

He returns to the bed and drops his packet onto the nightstand. “Save this one for later?”

“Definitely.”

There is a bit of discomfort once he starts to push inside her, but it’s not painful. Just… overwhelming. Slightly embarassed she asks,

“Can you wait a second? Please?”

“Of course. Are you alright?” She shifts her hips slightly, making them both groan.

“Fine. You can move now.”

She may have only done this once before, and she has no idea what his experience consists of, but as she hits her peak mere seconds before he does, gently coaxed over the edge, she can’t help but think some things are better the second time around.

“I love you.” It’s whispered against her neck as, once she cleans up and returns to bed, she settles herself against him.

“I love you too.”

___________________________________________________________________________________

The first thing he thinks when he realizes that he’s not alone in bed is that HYDRA’s found him. He’s being activated. His eyes shoot open although apart from that he doesn’t move a muscle, and that’s when he recognizes the person next to him. It’s her. She’s here.

The events of last night come back to him all at once, and he feels a smile forming on his face. It’s been a while, and in any case, it would be wrong to run a comparison, but what they shared, the pure intimacy of it both physically and mentally was incredible. Maybe he should feel a sense of shame. That’s what he was taught growing up. But instead he feels… peaceful.

That is, until her eyelids flutter and she rolls over, shifting the covers so that he gets a good view of her still naked body, and with it, the bruises on her thighs and hips. Bruises unmistakably left by his fingers. Dammit. He’s done the last thing he ever wanted to do: he’s hurt her.

“Good morning, sleepy head.” She yawns, the teasing words muffled. “It seems like we overslept.”

His mouth goes dry, and all he can manage to choke out is a simple, “Yeah.”

She frowns, sitting up slightly, and lets out a small groan. “You alright there, Bucky? You look a little off.” The late morning light only serves to highlight more marks he’s left, this time on her shoulders, neck, and breasts. Stubble burn. Hickeys. Why the hell was he so rough? At the time, he thought he was being gentle, but obviously he’s just as much of a monster as Bucky Barnes as he is once the Winter Soldier takes over.

She’s still staring at him, brow furrowing in concern.

“Fine.” He clears his throat and begins to sit up. “Stay here. I’ll make you a cup of tea, maybe some oatmeal.”

“Alright. Don’t be gone too long.”

Her words follow him out of the room, and into the kitchen. Fuck. He should’ve known better.

Maybe once upon a time, he was a decent man, one who could be with a woman like her and not do her a disservice. But now, it’s clear that he falls short in every way. In an act that was supposed to be pure pleasure, a way of communicating how much they mean to each other, he’s hurt her.

“I trust you.” The words from last night ring in his ears. He shouldn’t have let her. It’s pretty damn obvious that, even at the best of times, he can’t be trusted.

“Tell me what’s going on.” Even with his enhanced senses, he still jumps in surprise as the unexpected words come from behind him. He turns around slowly, not wanting to startle her. She’s standing there, clad in only one of his shirts, arms crossed over her chest (now bearing his marks), staring him down.

“Nothing.” He shakes his head.

“Bullshit. I had a vision of you staring off into space, and here you are, jumpy as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.” At another time, her choice in phrases would make him chuckle, but right now, he can’t muster it.

“Last night-” Her eyes widen, but she stays silent. “I hurt you.”

“No, you didn’t. Not at all.”

“I did.”

She frowns. “Bucky, I think I’d know if you’d hurt me, and I’m telling you, I’m fine.”

“Doll, look at yourself!” He reaches out to take her arm, but immediately freezes. “Go in the bathroom and take off your shirt. Take a good look in the mirror and then tell me I didn’t hurt you.”

“Alright.” Her jaw clenches, and she marches off in the direction of the bathroom. A deep sickness gnaws at the pit of his stomach and, completely worn out, he sinks into a kitchen chair.

Not thirty seconds pass before she walks back into the room, this time completely undressed.

“Tell me you’re not talking about a few love bites.”

“And bruises! You may not have noticed, but they’re in the exact shape of my fingertips.”

“Oh my god!” She shakes her head. “It’s a sex injury. A minor one at that! If you didn’t heal so damn fast, you’d probably have nail marks all over your back!”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“How is it not the same thing?”

“I’m a monster! And you’re not.”

She takes a determined step towards him, and he leans as far back as the chair will allow.

“Bucky, you are not a monster, and I am not afraid of you.”

“Then you’re stupid.” He hates himself for his sharp words, but she needs to take this seriously. Underestimating how dark, how evil he can be, is a mistake. A deadly one.

“Hey!”

“Don’t you get it?” Without any input from his brain, he stands. “They could find me, and with a few words, I could stare you dead in the eyes as I murdered you! If you were my mission, I wouldn’t even hesitate, and you’d be dead before your body hit the floor!” Her mouth falls open, but she immediately closes it again. “This isn’t something that can be worked through with some patience and a positive attitude! I could kill you!”

“So could a million other things!” Her voice rises in volume, and before he can contain it-

“But they’re not in the bed sleeping next to you!” He’s shouting at her. God. Everyone is right. He’s beyond saving.

A few tense seconds pass before she looks up at him, a steely look in her eyes.

“Look, I get it. I know what you could do to me.” As she speaks, she pulls out a chair and sits. “But I could also get run over when I cross the road, or the room could fill with carbon monoxide while I sleep. I could have an aneurysm and drop before anyone knows what’s happening.”

He opens his mouth to tell her the likelihood of any of those things happening is far lower than the chance that he’ll hurt her, this time in a major way, but she holds up a hand, silencing him.

“I’m gonna be cautious, but I’m also not going to live my life in fear that the ceiling is going to collapse or nuclear war is going to strike, or that someone is gonna turn up and say the magic words that make you go cuckoo for cocoa puffs-” What? “-and I just realized you’re too old for that reference.”

“That’s another thing-” He’s about to remind her exactly how big their age gap is, that although he’s physically close to her age, chronologically, he’s closer to the age of her great grandfather, but she lets out a sudden groan of frustration, and that makes him bite his tongue.

“Oh, fuck off, Barnes! If you’re about to start in on how you’re too old for me, then I’m not gonna wait for you to go full Winter Soldier before I kick your ass!” Out of all things, that’s what snaps him out of it, makes him feel like maybe, just maybe, there’s still a chance they can make the best of things.

Smirking, he asks her,

“You think you could kick my ass? Really?” It must be the breaking point for her too, because she snickers.

“Of course. It’s the little bitches you have to watch out for.” That’s it, he’s laughing, nearly doubled over, and from the looks of things, she’s in much the same state.

“You’re something else, you know that?” He asks between stilted breaths.

“I think we both fit in that category, Pal.” Her smile fades, but only slightly. “Bucky, if you really want me to go, if that’s what’ll give you peace, then I’ll do it, but I meant what I said. I trust you.” Never. He’ll never want her to go, he’s sure of it. Well then, that only leaves one option.

“I know what we’re doing today.” It’s an abrupt segue, but it’s the only thing he could come up with on short notice.

“And what’s that?” The microwave dings, reminding him that he needs to stir the oatmeal, and he pushes past her.

“Sit down and have your tea. You’re going to need all your energy if I’m gonna show you how to use a gun.” If she’s staying, then at least he can teach her how to defend herself beyond the basics she already knows.

“So I guess this means you’re keeping me around for a little while longer?” It’s spoken like a joke, but he turns to her, meeting her eyes to drive the point home.

“Yeah, Doll. As long as you want me."

#marvel #captain america #the winter soldier #bucky fanfic #fanfiction #bucky barnes x ofc #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes #pre civil war

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swearwolf-writes · 4 years

Text

Sunset Curve not Sunset Straight (pt. 7)

It’s still dark. Alex is still crying and the boys are about to lose their minds. They would speak up every now and again, trying to remind them that they were still together despite everything.

Then there it was. Their song. The music fills their ears, deafening them. They stand up only to find the floor no longer under their feet. And then they were falling, flashes of light blinding them after so long in darkness, their screams drowning out the song.

They hit the ground heavily, grunts of pain escaping them as Reggie groans loudly, Luke gasping for breath as Alex pulls his cap back on. They stand and turn, looking around in surprise at their old studio. “Whoa! How did we get back here?” Luke pants only to be cut off by loud screaming. They turn and see a girl- a screaming girl-?! How in hell is there someone there- They scream in response, jumping in surprise at seeing another person in God only knows how long. She continues screaming as she runs away, the boys still holding each other.

“What the heck-” Reggie exhales deeply, studying the room intensely but wishing he was at the pier and that this was all one long nightmare. One moment he was here then he’s there - Santa Monica Pier.

----------

Luke and Alex look around, wondering where the hell Reggie went. “Reggie!” They shout and grumble, wondering how on Earth he disappeared, wishing to hell they were with him. And then they were. They gaped at the bright lights, shivering as people walked through them.

“Dude,” Alex stares at the swarm of people, holding onto Luke and Reggie, “we’re ghosts.” “What happened to the pier-?” Luke walks across the boardwalk slowly, taking in his surroundings in confusion. “We need to get back, to that girl who can see us. Maybe she knows what’s happening.”

They close their eyes and poof back into the garage, finding the curly haired girl with her backs to them. “.... saw something. I’m not crazy.”, she says to herself, lowering her cross to her side. “Well, we’re all a little crazy.” Luke responds playfully making the girl turn around in surprise, screaming again and pointing her cross at them. The boys jump and raise their hands defensively. “Oh my God! Please stop screaming!” Alex yells back, a hand over his ear. She quickly closes her mouth, the cross still aimed at them.

Once the screaming ceased, they tried to explain their situation to her, about how they were just ghosts who were very glad to be home. Reggie was very happy at being called a cute ghost and they were all so confused about having been dead for an apparent 25 years. Then finding out they could still play? Even though no one could see them, it was pretty amazing knowing that people could still hear their music and see them when they performed with the girl with the curly hair. Julie Molina.

She was special. She couldn’t see all ghosts but she could see them and because of her, people could see them. She saved them from so much, from themselves and from Caleb Covington. She saved them somehow, helped them play the Orpheum. They don’t know how they survived Caleb’s stamp or why they didn’t move on but they were so glad to still be with her.

Alex has Willie and Luke has Julie. And Reggie? Reggie…. has himself?

It’s 2020 and things couldn’t get any better. Or worse. Reggie can’t really tell some days. Thankfully, it’s currently the former.

Reggie has once again stolen Carlos’ laptop, researching Pride after hearing about it from Flynn. His eyes widen as he scrolls through page after page. He beams and runs into the studio, taking the laptop with him and completely forgetting that if Ray walks by, he’ll see the floating laptop. Oh well.

“Luke! Luke, Luke Luke! Check this out!” He plonks himself next to Luke, flushing when he leans in close to see the screen properly. “It’s, uh- it’s a load of stuff about Pride and like, there’s a bunch of names and stuff for different people and I, uh, I think I figured it out. Me, I mean. I think I figured me out.” He avoids Luke’s proud look as he flushes and scrolls down the page. “I think that’s me. ‘Bi is an umbrella term used to describe a romantic and/or sexual orientation towards more than one gender.’ Fun fact: my parents refused to let me know that bisexuality was a thing so this,” he points excitedly at the screen, “is awesome.” Luke shoots up and takes the laptop from Reggie, ignoring his offended ‘hey-!’. “Wait, there are names for this stuff-?” “Well, yeah, what did you think I came to tell you?” “That you finally admit you like guys.” He grins, staring at the screen intently as he reads through the definitions. “Everyone has a name, there’s one for everything.” “Wait, did you not know-?” Luke looks up at Reggie, flabbergasted. “Wait, you did-?” He looks offended, pouting slightly as he continues reading. “My parents didn’t want me knowing so I obviously had to know what it was. I just didn’t know I was it.” He slouches, watching how Luke’s eyes sparkle at this new world. “I mean, I knew people were cooler with all this stuff but like it’s a whole thing! We have names and flags and- holy shit, this is wicked!”

“Language.” Julie sits at the piano, reading through some songs she and Luke were working on. “Sorry-” The boy grins sheepishly, Julie and Reggie chuckling at how cute he was. “But this is awesome. I like this one, look: ‘pan refers to a person whose romantic and/or sexual attraction to others is not limited by sex or gender’. I think that’s me.” He glances back at Reggie, smiling widely as Julie shakes her head fondly at them. “Hey, check this out.” Reggie rests his chin on Luke’s shoulder, looking at the screen and ignoring his burning cheeks. “‘Polyamory refers to the practise of, or desire for, intimate relationships with more than one partner, with the informed consent of all parties involved’. There’s a name for that-?” He stares, entranced.

“Is that a thing? With you, I mean?” Julie sets the song book down, watching the boys intently. “When I was 16, I had a crush on this girl-” “Oh, Marlene-!” Reggie laughs quietly as he remembers his friend’s pining. “-and I used to think that we would be cute together but I thought that she and Doug-” “Her boyfriend at the time.” Reggie adds helpfully, winking at Julie’s amused smile. “-that they looked cute together. And I was just like ‘are you supposed to think you’d look cute with your crush and her boyfriend’ and then a year later, I realised I had a crush on Marlene and Doug so….” He trails off, blushing at the pair’s smitten looks. “What?” “You’re just…. cute when you’re excited.” “This makes sense to be excited about! There’s names - names that anyone can find just by searching it - that’s awesome!” He’s practically bouncing as Alex and Willie poof into the room.

“Hey.” Alex looks at Luke, raising an eyebrow. “He looks like that time he had 6 packets of Fun Dip-” “He’s got Pride fever.” Julie explains, grinning. “He joined the pan squad.” Luke squints at her, tilting his head. “I joined a squad-?” “I’m pan too.” She continues, jumping at the boys overlapping questions about why she didn’t tell them. “I thought I mentioned it?” “Yeah, no - I would’ve remembered that.” Luke shakes his head in confusion. “I told Willie.” “Before your own bandmates-?” Reggie seems almost offended. “You can’t even see Willie.” Luke points out, his arms crossed. “Pen and paper.”

Alex turns to Willie. “How come you didn’t tell me?” “I was supposed to out your friend?” “Okay, fair enough. In which case, thank you for not telling me.” Willie chuckles at his strange not-boyfriend-but-more-than-a-friend. “You are the weirdest ghosts I’ve ever met.” “That’s fair.” Reggie nods, poofing into the corner when Carlos storms into the studio.

“Stop stealing my computer, man.” He whines, taking the device from Luke who gapes, whining when he turns the tabs off. “They’re your ghosts, they can steal your laptop.” He points at Julie, the young girl nodding seriously as she fights off a smile. “See ya later- or not- boy band.”, he calls, leaving as Julie and her phantoms burst into laughter.

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buffyversefanfiction · 3 years

Text

Twisted Tristan’s Tormented Christmas

Fandoms: Buffy the vampire slayer, Angel, Buffy Dark Horse comics, Buffyverse and A Christmas Carol.

Warnings: I do not own the rights to the television show Buffy the Vampire Slayer, its spin-off series Angel, its dark horse comics continuation series, or any of the characters created by Joss Whedon and others in the Buffyverse.

15 years +, Mild to Strong Violence, Sexual References. F/F, F/M, M/M, Other +

“Have yourself a merry little…” The voice on the television began to sing with a campy Christmas cheer before the song was abruptly ended by Tristan switching off the television in the living room of the apartment, he shared with Faith above their bar Rogue’s. “Christmas is cancelled this year; we are drinking straight through to New Year’s.” A drunken Tristan declared, while wearing just a pair of tight white boxer briefs as he held a half empty bottle of whisky in his hands, before crashing on to the nearby couch. This year had been especially difficult for Tristan Summers, who had went from being a vampire who was possessed by a demon, to being killed, only to come back to life and find himself sucked into a twisted dimension where he and his parents Buffy and Angel worked together to kill the shadow demon that had once possessed him. Being back from the dead should have been reason enough for Tristan to celebrate Christmas, however, despite many pleas from both of his infamous parents he continued to decline, even going as far as convincing Faith to head to Los Angels for Christmas so he would not have anybody to remind him come the day. The earliest Christmases that Tristan could remember with his adoptive parents seemed like a perfect Christmas looking back which were probably heavily influenced by nostalgia and how much he missed them. Heck, even his Christmases spent with vampires Dante and Drusilla were fun for him, of course they were all crazy and there’d usually be humans on the table instead of turkey but it still felt like a family holiday, a deeply disturbed family, but family nonetheless and after so many losses, heartbreaks, and betrayals, Tristan was done with it all, especially Christmas. After everything him, Buffy, and Angel had gone through to get to a place where their relationship was somewhat healthy, or at least healthier than Tristan trying to kill his biological parents, he did feel guilty for rejecting both of their invitations but he just did not feel ready to open himself up to another form of family, especially not on Christmas Day.

As the hours passed, Tristan waited until his bottle of whisky was completely empty before passing out drunk on the couch where he sat but sleep was not something he would get much of on the night of December 22nd as he suddenly found himself being awakened by his old high school friend Mandi Jenkins, startling him to his core, considering Mandi was killed by Drusilla not too long ago. “Mandi,” Tristan mumbled as he rubbed his eyes, unable to believe what stood before him. “How is this possible? Your dead…I saw your body myself after Dru killed you.” “I believe the correct answer would be it’s the magic of Christmas, believe it or not that kind of thing really does exist but to be fair in a world filled with vampires, witches, slayers and sons of slayers is it really that far of a stretch that Christmas really is that special after all.” Mandi replied to her old friend. “Clearly, I am dreaming once again.” Tristan realized, as he stood up from his couch. “There’s only so many twisted dream scenarios one unhinged slayer can handle before he becomes completely and utterly tormented like…” “Drusilla…you were going to say Drusilla, right?” Mandi interrupted the slayer’s son, instantly noticing his guilt over mention the name of her killer to her so casually. “It’s okay Drusilla killed me, biggest surprise was it was not you who killed me…and I use the term loosely considering I am not actually Mandi.” “Are you the first? Please tell me you’re the first and not the shadow demon because I am getting sick of going up against the shadow demon.” Tristan complained. “I am the ghost of Christmas past.” Mandi revealed to him, only to be met by laughs of disbelief from Tristan. “Are we really doing this?” Tristan asked in between laughs.

Exactly one blink later and before his very eyes he was now standing next to Mandi on the snow covered grass of his family home in Riverborn looking into the dining room window to see his adoptive parents playing games, talking and laughing with each other and a six year old version of himself. “They loved Christmas so much, my dad used to dress up as Santa, I guess like most dads did but he really committed to the role either that or I was a really dumb kid because I was shocked when I found it was him.” Tristan admitted to Mandi, with tears in his eyes as he watched a beautiful Christmas memory before his very eyes. “Do you remember how our parents used to meet up on Christmas night and it would be like this big mash up of Christmas? And how you used to spend New Year’s with me every year?” “I know I look like Mandi, but I am not actually her remember,” The ghost of Christmas past reminded him. “I can see why Christmas is so difficult when it serves as a reminder of all you’ve lost but not all of which you have lost is bad…” “What does that mean?” Tristan wondered, before realizing. “Dante and Drusilla…I loved them like family too and the whole time they were the ones who killed my real family, first my parents, then you, well Mandi…” “I know how much Mandi Jenkins meant to you which is why I chose to take this form and I know the guilt you feel for not only her death but your parents’ too but all of that was out of your control.” Mandi of Christmas past explained to the son of the slayer. “Maybe not…but killing Mandi’s boyfriend was definitely all me, killing all those slayers, and all those innocents, that is all on me without any excuses and that is something I can never make up for.” Tristan admitted, never forgetting the horrors he had committed with his own hands. “I could feed you the line and play the role of a person endorsing your shit by saying you were manipulated by two vampires, one whom you were in love with, but the truth is you chose that path and you killed all of those innocents and that is something you should have to live with for the rest of your life without a doubt!” Mandi made clear to Tristan. “However, that does not mean you should resign yourself to the shadows, if you truly want to redeem yourself and be the better person then you need to learn the true differences between the past you, your present and what your future may look like.”

It was December 23rd the eve before Christmas eve and Tristan had all but regulated his experiences the night before as nothing more than a drunken dream as he pulled himself together, showered, washed, and put on some clothes before opening up his and Faith’s bar Rogues which they opened during the day despite the fact most of their customers couldn’t step out in the day, however, one particularly loyal customer only showed up during the day, Miss Anya Christina Emmanuella Jenkins, a former vengeance demon from an alternate world who had found herself annoyingly human and in New York City. “So, you spend a thousand years give or take with the best gig a girl can ask for…minus all the bloody bunnies and then boom some shadow demon gives you an offer you cannot refuse although in hindsight I probably should have…” A drunk Anya Jenkins slurred while drinking her bottle of beer, sat on a stool, at the bar counter, within Rogues bar, which was empty barring her and her bartender Tristan Summers, who stood behind the counter, looking far from amused by his company. “Only to be beat by two humans and the worst part of it all is not only does the world suck a lot more than I hoped for but this world’s version of my boss tells me I have no choice but to stay human because this world’s me was given too many chances…” “You have told me this story every time you come in here in the afternoon, always drunk before the sunsets, forcing me to get you a taxi so you do not wind up some vamp’s dinner…” Tristan complained to her. “You need to get over it already and find yourself some kind of life you do not totally hate living.” “Oh, I am very sorry if my life’s problems bore you!” Anya said with great sarcasm. “It was you lot who did this to me…it’s only fair you have to wallow in my misery with me.” “Hey, do not get uppity with me because you were bested by a broken key and a halfwit.” Tristan mocked the former vengeance demon, and by doing so also mocked Dawn and her boyfriend Xander. “You are almost as bad as Sid for the complaining, but the guy is a freaking puppet who cannot drink…real problems, unlike yours!” “Remind me again why I keep choosing to come back here to a bar which service is severely lacking?” Anya asked, while digging at Tristan at the same time. “Because this is the only place stupid enough to let you have a tab!” Tristan replied. “Which was definitely more Faith’s idea than mine considering I know for a fact you are never going to find a way of paying us back nor do you want to look.” “You make an excellent point,” Anya responded before finishing her beer and placing the empty bottle onto the bar counter. “Where is your fellow slayer anyway?” “Spending Christmas in Los Angeles with everyone including the two humans who brought you down to your knees.” Tristan informed her, all too happily. “If I knew you were this much fun during the holidays I would have told her to take you with them although considering you’re an alternate world version of the girl Xander almost married I do not think Dawn would be too happy…saying that I am not too sure if I care about her not being happy.” “So, you turned down being somewhere for Christmas so you could serve me alcohol all through the holiday and yet I’m the one who needs to get a life?” Anya said blatantly, as she stood up from the barstool and began walking towards the bar door, ready to leave Tristan alone to think about her latest insult.

Later that very same night after he was finished closing up Rogues, the only male slayer Tristan went straight to bed, avoiding any drinks in an attempt to avoid further dreams about Christmas past, but alas the ghost of Christmas past and had come and gone and it was now time for the ghost of Christmas present and who better to represent it than Drusilla, a vampire that Tristan had a lot of history with, history which continued to troubled him right up to this very day, and possibly in the future too. “My boy still looks like an angel when he sleeps but the things, he’s done makes his daddy angel weep and weep.” Drusilla tormented Tristan, as the male slayer awoke from his sleep to find her stood above his bed within his bedroom. “Considering you were not invited into this home this has got to be another dream,” Tristan reassured himself, as he climbed out of bed and stood up on the floor, ready to face the vampire who made him into the monster he once was. “So, are we still on the theme of Christmas or is this just another dream with you in it?” “Yes, I do seem to haunt your dreams on the regular…tell me what is worse for you? The dreams in which I am killing everybody you loved which serve more like flashbacks than dreams, or is it the dreams in which you’re happy, we’re happy, Dante, and Mandi too?” Drusilla, the ghost of Christmas present, questioned the man who once loved her like a mother, knowing the turmoil her mere presence caused him. “I cannot believe I am saying this,” Tristan admitted to both himself and the ghost of Christmas present, eager to avoid anymore talk of his troubling past. “Please tell me this is another Christmas dream…” “Yes,” Drusilla said after a sinister cackle, the Christmas ghost playing their part of the deranged vampire a little to well, before the two found themselves standing outside the front doors of the Hyperion Hotel, within the garden, looking through the front doors to see Tristan’s father Angel reluctantly decorating a large tree within the reception area of the hotel, under close super vision by the all-powerful witch Willow. “Hate to break it to you Dru but if this is what you have to show me then your seriously lacking in the sinister department these days…or this Christmas ghost version of you is way too much Christmas and not enough Halloween.” Tristan scorned Drusilla, as he continued to watch his father Angel decorate a tree with Willow, looking further to find Faith and Spike knocking back drinks at the counter of the reception area, while behind the reception area Giles, his mother’s watcher, was heavy into what looked like a game of scrabble with Dawn and Xander, the watcher looking justifiably frustrated by what Tristan assumed was the others lack of verbal intellect in comparison to Giles. As Tristan continued to search through the festive scenery before his very eyes, taking Drusilla’s silence as a hint to continue examining what lay before him, after a few more moments he found his mother Buffy Summers sat on the stairs playing dolls with her six year old niece, and his cousin, Joyce Harris, and for some reason that he did not want to admit to himself he began to feel a gut in his stomach, jealous not of Joyce or her child play, but broken by the sign of Buffy being motherly to a child, a child that was not him, a child that would never be him. “You are right in thinking she will never be like that with you, for you a neither a child, or remotely innocent…the days of that ever being likely for you are well and truly over.” Drusilla told him. “You are never too old to be somebody’s son but are you too far gone to allow anyone to love you like that?” “And what the hell is that supposed to mean?” Tristan questioned the vampire, confused by her often-cryptic ways of putting a sentence together. But before the son of the slayer could get any answers from the ghost of Christmas present he found himself waking back up in his bed in his bedroom, only this time there was no sign of Drusilla to be found.

It was now December 24th, officially the eve before Christmas, and it felt to Tristan like this particular Christmas was on steroids, as Christmases tended to feel like during times people were far from feeling the festive spirit, and it seemed to Mr. Summers that he could not turn on a television, stream a song, or listen to the radio, without the message of Christmas being shoved down his throat, but as he opened up his bar for another day to night shift, he began to look forward to the distraction of Anya Jenkins, knowing she would be the last person to feel the festive cheer, or at least that is what he thought. As Anya strolled into Rogue’s dressed as a literal elf, holding a hot, sexy, and barely dressed, male Santa in her arms looking happier than she had ever looked before, Tristan could not believe his eyes, believing instantly some sinister magic was to blame for this ungodly sight before him. “I thought you hated elves why the hell are you dressed up like one?” Tristan asked Anya, as she sat down at the bar with her festive suitor. “It’s bunnies, it’s always been bunnies, bloody bunnies!” Anya corrected the male slayer, unnerved by mentioning the creatures she feared the most. “So, you hate Easter but not Christmas then?” Tristan wondered, before turning to examine the sexy Santa, failing to not notice his amazingly chiseled and seemingly oiled hairless chest. “Or do you just have a kink for Santa’s…which judging by this one makes a whole lot of sense.” “I like money, and lots of it, and I got myself as an elf at some shopping mall…can you believe shopping malls are still a thing on this world? In my world we enslaved all designers forcing them to make their designs exclusive to us which definitely wound up backfiring when they started stitching terribly and we got all angry and killed them all.” Anya revealed to Tristan, with a sense of fondness. “Now those were the days…” “Did you just say this world…as in you’re from another planet or something? Because that is super cool, everyone meets vampires and demons these days, but I never hear stories about aliens.” A clearly confused sexy Santa asked Anya, all too excited by the potential of her being an alien. “I knew by Xander that dumb was your type but at least this one’s hot.” Tristan told Anya, mocking both Xander and the sexy Santa without care. “Well aliens are from another planet and I am from another universe so yes, I’m technically an alien to this world anyways.” Anya replied to Tristan, before going on to say. “Also, I am not the Anya who almost married that lump I am the Anya that has only had the misfortune to meet him once.” “So, Santa what do you want to drink?” Tristan asked the man, eager to change from the topic of aliens. “Oh, I do not drink, I respect what goes into my body.” The sexy Santa, instantly losing all appeal to both Anya and Tristan within that one instant. “I’m cool with the whole not drinking thing but respecting your body? Is that really a thing when there is literally a fast-food joint on every corner? I mean I am all for self-love and stuff but keep your greens and I will keep my fats.” Tristan responded to the man dressed as Santa. “Tristan your bitterness over no Christmas date is starting to show, maybe you should hitch a ride to L.A. before it’s too late and spend Christmas with that god-awful family of yours.” Anya suggested to the male slayer. “I’d gladly tend to the bar for you…if I’m payed Christmas wages of course.” “No thank you,” Tristan scoffed, not willing to trust Anya, nor willing to go anywhere, especially not on Christmas. “I mean I know this place is just a dive bar and everything, but I would not trust you to take care of my stakes never mind my bar, and everything’s a stake if it’s wooden and you get creative…”

After spending his day shift watching Anya making out with the sexy Santa she brought to Rogues, and the night shift serving demon after demon, creature after creature, and the odd human who were very odd indeed, Tristan shut down the bar for another night before putting himself to bed once again, falling into a deep sleep, hoping the future was further away than what it would be…as before long he found himself awakening on the cold hard ground of his own grave. “Well this is definitely a little too much melancholy for even me…” He mumbled to himself as he stood up from the ground and walked off his grave, looking around the San Francisco cemetery, confused by how he got there. “Down here big guy!” Sid instructed the slayer, forcing Tristan to look below to find the living puppet stood in front of him. “In case you’ve not quite caught up on all of this, yet I am your ghost of Christmas future.” “I figured that much but why take to me to where Buffy buried me before the whole coming back to life via some powers that be meddling?” Tristan replied to the puppet man, made of wood. “Well where else were they going to stick your lifeless body the next time around?” Sid answered him. “They never got round to getting rid of the grave, not that they needed too considering you wound up back in it before long.” “What did I die of a severe lack of Christmas cheer?” Tristan joked, unaffected so far by this spiritual visit. “Or maybe a vampire staked me with a candy cane, the amount I’ve staked seems kind of poetic actually…” “Nope, after you went back to the bad way of life much to no-one’s surprise your mum Buffy stepped up and killed you…if memory serves right you were stabbed to death with way too many wounds for it not to be a little…you know…fun for her.” Sid revealed to the slayer. “But after all the work they put in saving you just for you to go back to being a bastard who would blame her…” “So, I go back evil? I wouldn’t do that…not after everything…” Tristan dismissed his claims, all while fearing Sid was telling the truth. “Yep, that’s what you thought too but after continuously pushing away the parents, then Faith, and even Anya got sick of you…well after all that you had nobody and before long you were back budding it up with Drusilla acting as if you did not know she and Dante killed your parents…or maybe you just really did not care anymore.” Sid continued to explain to a stunned Tristan. “I mean how are you supposed to be human when you haven’t bonded with any since you started playing with monsters.” “That’s not true!” Tristan snapped at the ghost of Christmas future. “I care about Faith she has never given up on me, and I care about Buffy and Angel, I mean sure the parents thing is a little complicated but I do care about them…and I cared about Mandi, Lucas, and the parents that raised me.” “If you really care about all these people, the ones who aren’t dead yet then why are you treating them like they are already gone?” Sid asked Tristan, already knowing the slayer’s answer. “Because you fear one day you might end up caring too much and losing them which will happen as nobody lives forever, thing is…if you don’t care, lose, get hurt, and let your heart break, then you’re not really human as much as it sucks, we got to feel the bad as well as the good because nothing is more dangerous than becoming numb to it all.” Tristan wanted to argue back with the man trapped within the dummy, wanting to prove him wrong, but Sid’s words were wiser than Tristan would like to admit, and even if he was not a fan of Christmas itself he was certainly a fan of those who did care about it, those who wanted to spend it with him and before long he started to realize that he had made a huge mistake by trying to skip Christmas….

As Tristan woke up in his bed within his room on Christmas Day, he was immediately met with guilt as he realized he had missed out on a chance to bond with his friends, his family, and potential loved ones. He was not suddenly a fan of Christmas itself, that would take some time, but he began to remember its message and how important it was for people, how important it once was for him, and as he climbed out of his bed, rising onto his feet, and walked over to his window to see the back alleyway, in between his building and several others, was covered in snow, as snow continued to fall from the sky, and for a moment, just a moment, he even considered opening that window and yelling Merry Christmas. Instead, he chose to get changed and then call up those who would answer to him, so he could wish them a Merry Christmas and admit to his regrets of not being with them on this special occasion but after he had got changed, and walked into the living room of his apartment, he quickly realized he had no calls to make as his living room was decked to the halls with Christmas decorations, including a fully decorated tree, as his mother Buffy Summers, his father Angel, his aunt Dawn, her man Xander, and their daughter Joyce, stood beside his friend Faith, the vampire Spike, his mother’s best friend Willow and the retired watcher Giles…all of them ready to spend Christmas with him whether he wanted to or not…but luckily for him he was more than ready to celebrate Christmas with them all.

Have a truly twisted Christmas that only torments you in the more joyous ways and a happy new year, a year which will hopefully be less chaotic than 2020, keep slaying slayerettes.

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copias-thrall · 4 years

Text

When Mary Met Sally … err, Suey

Timestamp How do two walking disasters meet? Well, one of them walks into a bar …

(Start at the beginning)

*public sex*

It’s not the worst dive bar you’ve ever been to, but any place that can double as a venue usually makes a bit more effort. Maybe there are some coding regulations or whatever. Your friend swears by it for cheap drinks and chaotic atmosphere, which is why you made the effort to put on a dress—a short, black thing with diaphanous tails that forgives your belly rolls—and did your doll eyes.

But the bitch isn’t even here yet. You’re on your second beer—and a band growling into mics and shredding is playing on the paltry performance area that the bar boasts—when you get another text. The first one—that you had received upon arrival yourself—had said she was on her way. This one says she’s leaving work now.

You sigh and tap your foot along to the bass. The majority of the patrons in the place are crowded into the venue room, bopping and screaming along. There are a handful, like you, who are loitering by the bar—an old drunk; two finance types with loose ties; a gaggle of scene girls waiting for their drink order; and a group of college kids at a bar top with a half-full pitcher surrounded by empty shot glasses.

The bartender—a crusty-looking dude with long, greying hair and the kind of tattoos you’d expect were done in the kitchen of a friend’s house by a biker—leans on the bar into your space and sets down a shot.

“Boyfriend stand you up, doll?”

You give the shot a little toast to him and shoot it, only coughing a little and the whiskey’s afterburn.

“Something like that” you say.

“He’s a fool to leave a face as pretty as yours up for grabs.” He pushes away from the bar to service the next customer as you stammer, “Um, thanks.”

One-third through your third beer is when you get the text that she just got home and is exhausted and can’t possibly change to come back out and meet you now. You roll your eyes, even if this was exactly what you were expecting. You’re annoyed since she picked this bar because it was near her work and therefore a quick jaunt for her on her way home—whereas you took the bus for 27min and then walked 3 blocks. But, ok.

You definitely have to pee, and—after debating whether you can wait until you finish this beer—ultimately decide that peeing is actually an imperative. Since your friend’s not here, you’ll have to take your beer with you. It seems the band must have just finished because it looks like every women in the bar is now waiting to use the two-stall women’s room. Your eyes flick over to the men’s room where there’s—you guessed it—no one.

“Fuck it,” you say out loud. “I’m crossing enemy lines.”

Occasionally you can get a flock to come with you, but tonight it seems like the other women are content with their lot, and not one follows in your wake. You kick open the door and yell, Female coming aboard! as you stomp into the bathroom. You’re prepared to cover your eyes, because men get real shy, but there actually doesn’t seem to be anyone even in here. You don’t question your luck, just make a beeline for the small stall.

Once in the stall, you debate the logistics of what to do with your beer glass—you don’t usually mind putting it on the floor, but for some reason this time you get a bad feeling, which is when you remember that you have tits. Using your cleavage, bra panel, and neckline, the glass fits quite snuggly—and you only have to be somewhat careful as you perform the intricate process of doing your business without spilling the liquid or getting your dress in the toilet.

When you wander out there’s a dude in the stall next to yours and a tall, skinny, punk guy at the bathroom sinks. He’s leaning into the cracked mirror and either putting on makeup or touching it up. Actually, upon closer inspection he’s in white face paint with black, corpse-like accents and … blood?

Whatever.

His eyes meet yours in the mirror as you sway over to the sink next to his.

“What?” he says with a sneer.

You turn to face him, leaning your hip on the sink; you point to your own mug saying, “You got something on your face,” and do a few sweeping circles with your hand. “Hereabouts.”

He looks at you and furrows his brow as you turn to wash your hands, remembering at the last minute to not lean over. In the mirror you watch as his eyes glance down to your beer cleavage.

Beerage.

Hah.

“Pfft. You wish, dude.”

He doesn’t say anything further, but you feel his eyes heavy on you as you finish up and saunter out. You make your way back to the bar, sighing in relief when you can safely deposit your pint glass back on the counter. The stage area is now dimmed and you notice the crowd has thinned somewhat while the bar has gained new pods of people.

You fiddle a bit with your phone—checking social media, playing a round on your game app, and texting out memes—until a fresh glass of beer is set down in front of you. One you didn’t order. When you follow the perspiring glass up you meet the black-rimmed eyes of the guy from the men’s room. He’s resting on his crossed arms and smirking you.

“I do wish, actually,” he says.

“What?”

He gives you an exaggerated once over.

You squint at him. “Weren’t you in that band?”

“Wow. ‘That band.’ Yeah, I am.”

“So why’re you behind the bar?”

He leans back, licking his lips and looking down at you with hooded eyes.

“I’m multitalented,” he says, and then makes a vulgar motion with his tongue.

You’re about to respond with something very clever, you’re sure, when the older bartender barks, “Mary!—a little help?”

He makes a shrugging motion at you as you before he turns to help with a gaggle of girls who all giggle and bat their eyelashes at him. You hadn’t intended to stay past your third beer, but after you assess the lines of “Mary’s” body and the swell of his ass in his ripped jeans, you slide the proffered beer closer to you. Maybe the night won’t be a bust after all.

You’ve just started on the gift beer when “Mary” saunters back over. He pours a shot and shoots it himself before leaning on the edge with his hip and considering you.

“Is your name really ‘Mary’?”

He lifts his chin at you in challenge. “What of it?”

You giggle. “It’s just—”

“A girl’s name? Yes, I’m qu—”

“It’s my name,” you say as you slap your hands on the bar.

He squints at you. “It’s not.”

You fish a credit card out of your phone wallet and offer it to him. He takes it, looks at it, looks at you, looks at it again, lets out a Huh , then hands it back to you.

“Well, I’m not calling you Mary. I’m calling dibs on it.”

You rest your tits on the bar as you lean toward him conspiratorially.

“You’ll have to scream something later.”

He raises his eyebrows at you.

“That’s presumptuous,” he says as he straightens and crosses his arms.

Well, ok. It’s possible you misread him. Maybe he was just angling for a good tip. You think of the other girls straining for his attention.

You shrug. “You caught me in a mood to grant wishes. But whatever.”

He gives you an unreadable look before he’s being called away again, and then he’s pouring drinks across the bar—and your face burns.

You’re suddenly irritated. It just feels like it’s been a day of teases—first your friend inviting you out then blowing you off, and now this guy who implied he’d like to fuck you only to back off once you called him on it. You could be home watching Netflix, not alone at a bar with only your phone for company. You dig into the bustle at your hip that’s really a bag and fish out a $20 and a $5—which may be a little over, but worth it in terms of expediency.

You slip off the bar stool and remove your coat from it, intending to shrug it on. It’s going to be a bitch to get home—the bus only coming every 90min at this point, so you may be in for a long walk if you don’t want to wait or splurge on a cab.

“Christ, you’re impatient,” comes a voice from behind you, and you startle.

When you turn, the Mary guy is behind you. You narrow your eyes at him.

“Dude, I’m not playing your games.” You jab your finger into his chest. “If you’re pulling some PUA shit on me, I’m not into it.”

He takes your elbow and guides back onto the stool.

“Since when is a free brooze a game? Just hang and enjoy the fucking beer I bought you, k?”

“I wouldn’t want to be presumptuous ,” you snipe, but allow him to help you back on the stool.

“And here I thought women liked a little flirtation.”

“Is that what you thought you were doing?”

He slaps his hand to his chest and makes a pained face.

“Mary get your dick back in here!” yells the other guy.

“Coming, Mickey!” he yells, his eyes still on you. He licks his lips and gives you another once over. “I have a break coming up,” he says as he backs away. “Stay.”

“MARY!”

You watch as he scrambles back behind the bar to close tabs and sling more beers. When he catches you looking at him, he winks. You just scowl at him. Some of the girls at the bar look at you with a mixture of curiosity, interest, and envy.

Whatever. Can’t shut this down.

You sip at the beer, growing increasingly more amused as Mary’s attention keeps drifting back to you. You raise your now half-full beer at him, eyebrow raised. The older dude—Mickey—wanders over to you.

“Well now, darlin’—I’m not surprised you caught our Mary’s eye, pretty thing like you. Be careful of that one though.”

You grin at him, showing teeth.

“He should be careful of me.”

Mickey blinks at you for a second, then bursts out laughing and throws his hands up. Mary is looking over at the two of you worriedly.

Time ticks on, and the beer that you’re purposely nursing goes down. Mary swings by every now and then, but never for more than a quip or two before he’s back doing Bar Things. It’s been hours , and honestly you’re pretty bored with just sitting at the bar waiting . And you’re definitely going to need a cab home because in these heels? No.

You decide, fuck it . It’s not like this guy was going to be amazing. You drain the rest of the beer, and decide to hit the head before heading out. It’s nearly midnight, so there’s no line or issue with the women’s room, and you’re basically in and out. When you leave the restroom, you’re startled again by Mary—who’s leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets.

“Hey,” he says. “Leaving so soon?”

You level a look at him. “I’ve been here for 6 hours.”

He scrunches his brow at you.

“Really?”

“So unless you’re going to fuck me soon …”

He pulls at you. “How ‘bout you take me home when I get cut, and I’ll fuck you into the mattress?”

You press your tits into him. “And will that be soon?” you ask sweetly.

“I’m here until 2, but—”

“Yeah, no,” you say, extracting yourself.

He bites his lip. “Well … I’m on my break,” he looks down the hall towards the bar, “but there’s probably only 10min left.”

You cross your arms at him. “So you’ll have 7min to spare.”

Mary straightens. “You’ve got a mouth on you.”

You lick your lips exaggeratedly and smirk. “I know.”

He grabs you by your wrist, and yanks you into his body, leering into your face. “Well, if you want me to pound you into tomorrow right now, I have no problem with that.”

He drags you into the men’s room, not even stopping to assess for casualties. There’s a guy at a urinal, but he doesn’t even look up as Mary ushers you into the stall. He runs a hand into your hair and grips you by the roots. You go with it, allowing him to tilt your head back.

He leans into your space to growl, “You better be fucking quiet.”

“I doubt it’ll be an issue,” you taunt, biting at him.

Mary pushes you back and shoves his fingers into your mouth.

“I told you to be fucking quiet.”

He crams his fingers further down your throat. When you don’t gag, his interest piques, and he spends about 30 seconds thrusting his fingers in and out of your mouth.

“Shame we can’t explore that,” he says as he extracts his fingers and wipes them on his jeans. Your eyes are drawn to the decent bulge at his crotch. When he tracks your gaze, he gives his dick a vulgar squeeze. “Is this what you’re here for?”

“It sure ain’t the conversation.”

“I’m tempted to shut you up with it.”

“ Promises ,” you purr.

You press into him, then reach under your dress to yank down your panties. You use the solid presence of his body for balance as you slide them down and then off one leg, wobbling a little as the loop catches on your heel. His arm reaches up to steady your elbow as you shake your boot free. He watches you, and you wink at him exaggeratedly as you stuff the excess fabric into the other boot.

“Been a while since I fucked a smart girl,” he quips.

You hook your hand around the back of his neck.

“What about me? Am I about to fuck a smart boy?” You grab his hand to lead to your pussy. “Make me wet for you.”

He’s quick to get with the program, and he cups you with his whole hand before his fingers explore between your folds. You pull his head down to engage him in a sloppy kiss, sucking at his tongue and biting at his lips. A finger presses shallowly into your hole, then smears your slick up to your clit. You moan into Mary’s mouth as the pad of his finger circles you a few times.

He repeats the process until you’re sloppy, spreading your wetness out and over your lips. He breaks the suction of your mouth to whisper into your ear. “If we had all night, I’d play your pussy like my guitar and make you scream until you were horse—and that would be before I fucked the shit out of you.”

Then Mary retracts his hand—wiping his fingers on his jeans again—so he can work at his studded belt and zipper.

“But I’m really looking forward to burying my cock in you before my break is over.”

He advances on you, but you stop him with a hand to his chest.

“Condom?”

He pauses to pat at his jeans before pulling out his wallet from his back pocket and extracting a condom packet. He hands the foil to you so he can shove his jeans and boxers down. His hard cock juts out from his pelvis, and you lick your lips. You open the packet, make sure the condom is correct side up, and then roll it down his cock as he grips at your arms. Then you turn around so you can brace your hands against the back wall and perch your foot on the toilet.

“Not your first rodeo, I take it?”

You glare at him over your shoulder.

“If you slut shame me I will punch you in the nuts and walk out of here.”

He shuffles closer. “No, it’s hot. You fuck a lot of dick in bathrooms?”

“A lady doesn’t kiss and tell.”

His hands run up your sides and then start to fiddle with the tails of your dress.

“So you should have no problem answering me.”

“You’re awfully glib for a guy who wants to get his dick wet.”

He’s still fiddling with your dress.

“I’m not the one who needed to fuck right now —christ what are these?”

“Just tie it in a bow!”

You feel the tails tug and tighten, then Mary crowds into your space. He rubs his cockhead through your slit a few times, and every time he hits your clit, you let out an Mmm . Then he presses at your hole and begins to slowly push in as you push back. You moan and he grunts as he sinks into you, a steadying hand at your hip.

He presses closer, his one hand bracing next to yours on the wall.

“This ok?”

“Oh god,” you moan as you clench around him.

“ Shit . I’m going to fuck you now.”

He gives a few experimental thrusts until he finds a good angle and rhythm—and then you’re in trouble. He curls an arm around your waist and begins to pound into you as much as the position and angle allows—which is more than enough to have you moaning out.

“Fuck, you’re tight. You feel so good around my cock.” He bites into your shoulder. “Fucking tell me you like my cock.”

“Fills me up so good!”

His cock does feel good—enough that you’re still wet—but definitely not enough for you to come. You try to take a hand off the wall so you can finger yourself, but a well-placed jolt from Mary has you sliding dangerously before you catch yourself. You try your other hand with similar results.

“What are you doing?” Mary pants.

“Need … my clit …” you whine.

The arm around your waist loosens, and Mary’s hand wanders down your stomach and begins to search around for access. He’s just about to dip down, when your trembling leg gives out and shoots across the toilet. You’re sure it’s about to go into the bowl, but then Mary’s hand is there, gripping your thigh hard to steady you.

“Fuck, careful.”

It becomes clear that Mary’s supporting arm around your waist is all that’s keeping your boot from sliding away, so he doesn’t attempt to finger you again. He’s panting into your ear with the effort of fucking into you and holding you up, and you feel him start to flag. He slows his pace to long thrusts, and you can hear the squelch every time he bottoms out.

“Are you at all close?” he wheezes.

“Not really.” All you can think about is the strain in your arms and the tremor in your leg.

He blows out a breath.

“I don’t know how much longer I can—”

“Just cum,” you say.

“Are you sure?”

“It’s fine.”

He grips you tighter as he speeds up, forehead pressing into your shoulder blades, and then he’s giving a hard thrust into you gasping, “Oh god, oh fuck.” He gives another couple of jolting thrusts into you, grunting, before the tension bleeds out of him and he leans into you. It’s too much strain on your arms, and you squirm with an annoyed Ok . He back ups, and his softening cock slips out of you. You shakily bring down your leg and push off the wall. When you turn around, you see that Mary has already tied off the condom and is pulling up his pants. You grab some toilet paper to swipe at yourself as Mary just stands there.

Frankly he looks a little embarrassed.

“I am actually better at doing that.”

You nod at him. “I’m sure.”

“I could—”

“I’m going to pee now,” you say, and make a shooing motion.

He blinks at you a few times, then back ups and slips out of the stall. You have to get your whole situation in order, so when you leave the stall, Mary’s no longer in the restroom. A drunk guy does a double take.

“Emeye the right place?” he slurs as he turns and misses the urinal.

You give him jazz hands. “ This is all a dream .”

When you get back to the bar, there are only the truly drunk left still standing—metaphorically speaking. Mary’s at the other end fussing with the cash register as the Mickey dude gestures at him. You grab your coat back up to put on—you already left the cash for the drinks and tip so there’s nothing left for you to settle up.

As you push open the door to the outside, you hear an exasperated Mary behind you, so you’re not surprised when—3 steps out of the bar—Mary grabs your arm.

“Wait!” he says.

You sigh, but stop. “I have to get up for work tomorrow and I’ve already spent my entire night waiting. It’s, like. Super late. What ?”

“Well I—don’t you think you deserve the full Mary experience?” He makes a sweeping motion up and down his body.

“Not tonight I don’t. Tonight I deserve a hot shower and my warm bed.”

“I will literally come by whenever and eat you out for hours. I owe you at least one phenomenal orgasm, but I’ll call the other nine interest.”

You consider him.

“C’mon,” he says swaying closer. “Give me your number, and I’ll show you what I can really do. Don’t you want this warm, wiggly tongue making you sing the high notes?” He goes to run his fingers through your hair, but you dodge and he drops his hand, his face falling.

He looks like a little boy who just got his favorite ball taken away.

You sigh.

“Tell you what: Uber me a ride home, and you can give me your number.”

“What?” he says, squinting at you.

“Consider it asshole tax.”

He stares at you, then he takes out his wallet and rifles through it. “I don’t have Uber—you know they’re anti-union, right? But here—” He pulls out $40 and extends the bills to you. “This is all I have. For a cab.”

You stare at the bills for a moment, then pluck a twenty from him.

“This is fine.”

You take out your phone and poke at it until you’re in your contacts.

“Here.”

He takes the device into his long fingers. He does the hunt and peck until his number is in your phone. When he gives it back to you, you see his number is under “Best Sex You’ll Ever Have”.

You snort. “Subtle.”

He sneers. “Can’t have you confusing me with your other conquests.”

You waggle your phone at home. “I’ll call you. And you better rock my fucking world.”

Once you get home, you basically collapse, and the next morning is hell in getting yourself up and alert—but once the day wears on, you find yourself opening and closing Mary’s number. It actually takes you two more days before you decide: Why not have fun with a booty call?

Me [4:37pm]: My pussy’s not going to eat itself.

⬅️Previous | Next ➡️

#mary goore #ofc #feral cats fic #gutter punk #gritty girls #my writing #original post #original content #been saving this one for a rainy day #🌧

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nikkigrand · 4 years

Text

There’s no easy way to say this, but I’m abandoning all of my works. Everything.

This post is going to be long, honest, triggering and deeply personal. So for those who don’t want to read through all of my bullshit, the gist is that I’m not emotionally or mentally capable of writing anymore.

TW ARE IN PLACE.

If you’ve followed me for a while, then you know that my boyfriend was killed in Afghanistan last year. Since then, my life has been a breathless decline into self destruction. I didn’t know—I still don’t know—how to recover from happily waiting for his return to painfully knowing he never will. I swear that some days I feel like he’s still out there and some day he’ll come home and this will all be just a bad dream. I want to wake up to a reality where he steps off that plane and into my arms, where I don’t keep a crumpled old t shirt that smells more of me than him under my pillow, where the shock of hearing certain songs doesn’t make me throw up. A reality where I don’t have to sit in front of his ashes every time I visit his mother and look at his singed necklace around her neck.

I wanted nothing more than to wake up. Just wake the fuck up and feel alive again because for so long I had felt this choking pain and grief and misery and then nothing.

Everything became an escape, something to fill that void in me. I tried all the healthy things. I ate, I worked out, I ran. I talked to people about how I felt and reached out, but nothing helped. I volunteered, i planted trees and flowers, I channeled my grief into kindness. I tried to take all this pain and turn it into something beautiful, and still I felt nothing. I was falling falling falling into this black pit and was reaching for anything to keep me from hitting the bottom.

So I started chasing highs. The standard shit at first. I drank so much alcohol that I’d wake up in bushes with my friends, limbs tangled in ways that left me sore and stinging for days because who the hell passes out in a Rose bush?

At first, drinking was fucking hell, because no matter how much I drank I’d always end up with my head cradled in the palms of my hands, fingers digging into my scalp as I screamed and wailed and asked why why why why when he was so close to coming home and why was life so goddamn mean??? I’d be in bar bathrooms, just curled in the corner and sobbing like a dramatic princess until my friends carried me out. This happened about a dozen times before it just stopped, because I figured I wasn’t drinking enough if I could remember everything.

So I drank more and more and more and then I realized that it wasn’t making me feel better, it wasn’t doing anything for me.

So I started smoking. Just weed, you know. Nothing too crazy at the time. But all that did was make me hyper-fixate on all of my failures and short comings. It made me hate myself so viscerally, so deeply that I wondered if this is who I truly am at my core. A mean bitch who drinks, smokes, parties. A maneater who fucks these poor kind hearted men to fill that hole her dead man left inside her and still finds herself cold and numb after because it’s not enough. It’s never enough.

I’m sure you know where this is going. But I hated myself. I’m a beautiful girl, I’m not blind, and yet I found myself to be so fucking ugly. So fucking ugly and grey and all I wanted—all I needed—was something to breathe life into me the way life itself did before.

I just wanted to feel happy and normal. Only for a little while. That need was so encompassing it would grip my insides and I’d cry from how much I wanted it, how much I had convinced myself I needed it. It was all I fucking wanted.

So the bumps came. And then the lines. And then whole baggies to myself. And it felt amazing, it was wonderful. The world was alive, things were different. I had more energy, more life in me than I had in months. Then the other type of lines came and it made me feel like I was floating away. There was no pain, no misery, no death hanging over my shoulder to remind me that the strength of your love can’t make people stay.

But soon, that too wasn’t enough. Like every other thing, I felt there was something better, something that could make me feel more. So here is where I tell you about all the pills I popped, all the different colored presses and how each one pulled me out of that hole I was falling into and deposited me above the ground —much higher than I could have ever dreamed of—and filled my grey world with beautiful gorgeous colors.

Then I can tell you about all the tabs I let dissolve on my tongue, or fully swallowed out of impatience, all of the lines of ketamine I combined with ecstasy and acid in one night. The things I saw, the way I felt—it took me far from this dismal life and was addicting. I was chasing something every weekend until it became every other day, chasing some feeling I still can’t name, and I knew that it was ruining me.

My grief and my drugs were killing me, and I knew it. With every cotton mouth, every clenched jaw, every pounding headache, I fucking knew and didn’t care. I’d look at my friends faces and I knew, I knew they loved me and would be devastated if they knew what I was doing, and I still didn’t care. What was life if it felt this empty?

My grades dropped, i turned down a contracting job I wanted for years, I spent all my money on psychedelics and stimulants, and it had gotten to a point where I’d pop a pill while sitting at home just because I didn’t want to be sober and didn’t want to think about how fucked up my life was becoming.

Then one day I was at a concert, high in the clouds with a joint settled comfortably between my lips and frizzy hair piled messily atop my head, when I saw a girl get carried out the venue by medics. She was probably a few years younger than I am, and i remember looking at her face impassively as they pushed through the crowd with her body thrown over this bear of a man’s shoulder as if in slow motion. She was pale and foaming at the mouth, with her arms dangling limply down his back, and she looked dead—she was dead. I knew in that same way you know that the sky is blue when the sun is up, I just knew.

And in that moment—those few seconds it took me to acknowledge that she had most likely overdosed and died—this intense yearning shot through me, so strong that I felt it in the crooks of my fucking elbows, like I wanted to embrace whatever the fuck it was that I desired to live inside me, and this voice cried out, “I wish that were me.”

And you know what, I didn’t even know I had spoken until the guy next to me shoved me in the shoulder and said, “no you don’t.”

And that terrified me. I remember dropping the joint, fumbling it in my shaking fingers, burning myself on the lit end, before handing it off to that same random guy and running off to get some air.

I’m not stupid and I’m not blind. I know I’m depressed, I know I’ve got issues, but I had never said something so suicidal out loud up until that point. I’ve never vocally wished for death and even as I sat there, as I looked out at the people outside the venue huddled together doing whip it’s and killing brain cells, I still wanted to be that poor dead girl on that man’s shoulders.

That was it for me. I remember calling an Uber home on the spot and taking everything I had and flushing it. Im not going to sit here and lie to you and tell you that it was easy. I had convinced myself that I needed these things to make me happy, and i don’t know if I can ever see life the same way after them. The feelings you get off these things are otherworldly, it’s so damn good, but they come at a price. You dont feel the same way you did before you took them, and you never will. You’ll never be who you were before that high, but you can almost convince yourself that it’s worth it. So it was pretty damn hard to take my neon presses, my rocks. my capsules, my bud and my tabs, and flush them down the toilet.

Almost immediately after I did it, I cried. Mostly because i had flushed hundreds of dollars down the fucking toilet, but also because I had become that girl in those cheesy college movies. You know the one, the one where the party girl gets addicted to drugs and goes on a bender and her whole life is just one big goddamn tragedy that won’t end. I hate those fucking movies and I, for the life of me, could not believe I was that girl.

I had been military, straight laced with a good head on my shoulders and a hard worker. I was smart, respected, the girl everyone wanted to bring home to mom. And now I was a hot mess crying in my bathroom because I had just flushed my addiction down the shitter.

Now I’m just home, trying to gather the pieces of myself in a way that doesn’t cause long term damage when I’ve yet to hit my 27th birthday.

I still go out with my friends. They know nothing about what I’ve done because I’ve always gone out and done things alone. This is the first time I’ve ever spilled my guts.

So where does FanFiction come into play in all this. Well, it’s simple, really, if you’ve gotten to this point and picked out all the mistakes in grammar. My brain is so fucked up that I can barely write a passable 3 page essay. I can’t remember words, much less how to string them together to form something beautiful in the way I used to. Trust me, it kills me and I’ve agonized over it for hours. I once tried to take this amazing idea I had and put it to paper but it would just not flow. Nothing made sense. Where before writing was effortless and focused, now my brain could barely concentrate on forming a sentence that didn’t sound like gibberish.

My attention span is so short that I literally have to isolate myself with no internet and my textbooks to get work done. It’s so bad that I have anxiety and panic attacks about the fact that I feel like a whole dumbass with one brain cell, where before I was proud of my intelligence and could hold decent conversation.

I’m still pretty, as if that fucking matters, but now I’ve got a stutter and can’t hold eye contact because my paranoia makes me think they’re judging me. And let me tell you, I’m so fucking pissed about that because I know it’s just my fried brain thinking these things, and there’s no one to blame but myself.

And I still feel empty and numb. How can I write about love and human emotions when I don’t feel anything? How can I write about looking at someone and loving them when the memory of love faded like my lover’s ashes in the wind? I just can’t.

I know love as it whispers against my skin with each interaction between me, friends, even other men, and yet I look at them and feel absolutely nothing.

So Yeah, I can’t write my stories if I can’t get my brain or my heart to work.

I’m really sorry to all my loyal readers. I really am. I wish I had been stronger. Thank you for all of your support throughout the years.

Don’t do drugs.

#trigger warnings #personal

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holly-mckenzie · 4 years

Note

1, 2 and 6 for skammaker? <3

Oh my gosh! I started answering this question than accidentally closed my tab...😭 this is why you don’t have a billion tabs open friends and foes ... Okay, to start, I want to say. That I haven’t really thought about the SKAM remakes beyond this post, and I honestly wasn’t expecting an ask. So, yes, I will be making up stuff as I go along, and yes, I will be taking criticism!

1. What country + Language is your SKAM set in?

The countries that I would love to see SKAM remakes in are, but not subjected to. Brasil, Russia, somewhere in the UK (not England, they had Skins), India, the Philippines, Malaysia, and New Zealand. The language would be the national language of the country except for the Malaysian, Indian, and Kiwi remake because than the language would reflect the ethnicity or state the main of the season is from.

2. What is it called? (is it SKAM (insert place), a different word (wtfock, druck) or something else?)

I actually don’t know enough about the cultures/slang of the countries to be able to create a cool/unique name, so most of them would probably just be Skam + The Country. The exception being Brazil and Malaysia. SKAM Brasil = Mó Bafão SKAM Malaysia = Geram Skam NZ = Sweet As

6. Introduce us to your version of Eva?

Okay, I really wish you hadn’t asked for Eva, because I hadn’t thought this far... thus I will be making up stuff as I go along! So, I will only be answering about certain countries... lol.

SKAM India - Anjali

The season starts with Anjali, a native of Kerala who now lives in Bangalore (yes, I was inspired by Bangalore Days) moving in with her Aunt’s family in order to get a new start. Determined to not bring that much attention to herself or her family (again), Anjali just wants to keep her head down. However, when her cousin insists that Anjali make new friends instead of constantly moping about and following him around, Anjali reluctantly agrees to try. When her family throws a huge function (maybe due to a religious holiday or a wedding?) Anjali bumps into the part of the past that she has been trying to hide from. This is where she also meets one of her extended, crazy extended, family’s friend, the beautiful and independent Nana (my version on Noora). Nana’s family is originally from Nagaland, though they have been staying overseas and have just moved to Bangalore, where she will be attending school with Anjali. Anjali is delighted to find herself a friend in Nana and the Girl Gang. However, Anjali is constantly on edge due to the familial pressure that she is receiving (to not bring shame upon the family again) as well as the paranoia that her new friends may find about the incident from her old school and judge her.

Anjali is the second daughter in her family, and so she constantly put in her position where she “needs” to sacrifice her own desires for her family. Before the incident at school, she was a happy-go-lucky, super kind, as well as musically talented. At one point, she used to post videos of herself singing and playing the guitar on YouTube, but it seemed she stopped doing that completely. Anjali’s family is Catholic, though it becomes evident as the season unfolds that Anjali feels some form of resignation about the church and religion, as well as feeling like she is not good enough... It also becomes evident that Anjali feels some form of aversion to her older brother, who her parents praise to no end. As the season unfolds we see how these familial pressures come to head in Anjali’s life and how she deals with them.

* tw for the season : familial pressure + slut-shaming ** additional notes: Anjali is probably attending an all-girls school, where she will meet the girl gang. The “shame” of the season will deal with the fact that Anjali had a secret bf when she lived at home who she had s*x with. However, when her parents and community find out they all have opinions (especially the church), which Anjali thinks is unfair because her bf and also her brother (who also had a gf) are not shamed for their actions. This is why parents send her to live with her aunt’s family.

Geram - Alicia Tan

Alicia Tan is a Chinese-Malaysian girl who is starting school at a new school (due to the fact that things got messy at her old school). As she starts her new school year, Alicia feels lost, very lost. Her parents are never around, and when they are, they criticise her, expect scholastic excellence from her and compare her to her cousins. This doesn’t help Alicia as she tries to transition to attending the all-girls convent school her parents have sent her too with hopes that it will bring a positive change in her life (especially after what happened at her old school). However, Alicia just feels lost, in part, due to the disconnect she feels with her fellow peers for being so white-washed. All Alicia wants to do is keep her head down, listen to her favourite K-Pop artists, and sketch.

However, when her grandma encourages her to make new friends and her parents sign her up for tuition in order to help with her failing grades, Alicia meets a group of girls that actually seem really cool, ones that she can trust. On a whim, Alicia stalks the strange and alluring Nor, the new Malay girl who’s back from living in NZ, and the girls click. This ends with Alicia joining the girls as they join a school club (the drama club?), much to the chagrin of her parents, who want her to stay focused on her school work. Alicia just wants to forget about her past and move on, however, her past keeps on coming back to haunt her and she wonders if things will ever go back to normal.

* tw for the season : mental illness + suicide attempt mention ** additional notes : the “shame” depicted in this season is pressure brought on from her family (to be the perfect daughter) + the fact that she is mentally ill and there was an incident at her previous school. Her parents don’t want that to get out, and blame Alicia’s ex-friend for being a “bad influence”, and Alicia lets them (this is my version of the whole cheating thing).

Mó Bafão - Marie Vitória Silva

The season starts with Marie Vitória Silva entering a new school year in São Paulo, Brazil. Originally from the city of Cuiabá, Marie moved to São Paulo around the age of twelve. Much like Eva, Marie’s parents are divorced and she lives with her mom. Marie feels a lot of pressure from her extended family about the way she dresses, her weight, her hair, her skin etc. She is very self-conscious, which is totally amplified by the fact that her boyfriend (who she spent the “best summer of her life with”) sometimes belittles her. Said boyfriend insists that Marie should go to a party and “have fun”, which Marie does only to feel incredibly self-conscious by the appearance of her ex-friends. However, Marie also meets Grace Lee, the new Coreano-Brasileira (Korean-Brasilian) international transfer student. Marie eventually finds herself befriending a new group of misfit girls, due to the fact that they end up working on a group project together.

Marie Vitória Silva is a young Brasilian girl who doesn’t necessarily fit into Brazils mould of a beautiful young woman. Marie is more on the thick side, with curly hair that she can’t seem to control (unless it's straightened), She is not doing that great at school, and is constantly compared by her family to her more successful cousins. Marie Vitória Silva enjoys watching movies and TV shows and is a pretty important voice within certain Brasilian fandoms. She spends a lot of her time on the internet creating content for said fandoms and prefers that to party and whatnot. However, as the season goes on Marie Vitória Silva starts to come to terms with herself and the things that she enjoys, including finding peace with herself as the way that she is.

* tw for the season : slut shaming + fat shaming ** additional notes : the “shame” depicted in this season is pressure brought on by Brasilian society to look and behave a certain way. Marie feels the pressure to constantly look beautiful and constantly party. Much like the original SKAM series, it will involve the tension between Ingrid and Marie. However, this tension is exemplified by the fact that during her previous year of school, Mó Bafão!Ingrid would pressure Marie Vitória Silva to drink, party, and find a boyfriend, instead of staying home all the time. This led, Marie to go out and party which would eventually lead to the infamous kiss, and Marie being labelled a slut. However, one of the things that the season will touch on is Marie’s introversion and also the fact that she is asexual.

BONUS:

SKAM TURKÏYE : Eda

(Me? Being inspired by the dizis I’m watching? More likely than you think!)

Eda is a young Turkish woman, who’s family is German - Turkish, but decided to move back to Istanbul when she was younger. (This has nothing to do with the fact that I am a complete ho for Serkan Çayoglu, this is straight-up coincidence, don’t @ me). She’s starting a new school year, after spending the best summer of her life with her boyfriend, Can (my version of Jonas). However, Eda feels ostracised at her new school due to the whole Jonas/Ingrid thing. Eda is a total nerd and really loves watching Dizis, which Can totally give her shit for because they are apparently “so dramatic” and “so long”. However, Eda is a total romantic at heart and doesn’t really care. She has difficulty at school due to her dyslexia, which has caused her to be the butt of numerous jokes in her family and accounts for why she isn’t doing great academically. Her parents are together, though they constantly fight, which causes Eda to feel uncomfortable in her own house, accounting for why she spent so much of her summer at Can’s house. The shame that is dealt in this season is about still more or less about slut-shaming, and the isolation that Eda feels before and even when she joins the girl gang. It also has huge and insanely important themes of girls supporting girls. * tw for the season : slut shaming

#skam #skam malaysia #skam brasil #skam bangalore #mywritings #ask me about my version of the noora characters guys #or the sana characters I have a lot to say #asks #bi-amira-naybet

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segenassefa · 4 years

Text

6: Brand Focus: Los Angeles Apparel

September – the season of changing leaves, pumpkin spice lattes (those are nasty but if I speak…), and – usually – back to school shopping.

However, now that life has transitioned online, there is no reason to wear anything that is uncomfortable or at least two sizes oversized on a day-to-day basis. But – and don’t fight me on this - there is nothing more satifying than new and quality loungewear.

This is where Los Angeles Apparel comes in.

The brand formerly known as American Apparel rebranded as Los Angeles Apparel – the same basics brand, full of heavyweight cotton, styles ranging from classic to contemporary, and a wide range of colours, everything from neutrals to neon colours.

After bankrupting twice, American Apparel was purchased by Canadian manufacturer, Gildan, in 2017. Gildan went on to rebrand and remove the more notable points of the company’s marketing strategy – namely, the borderline pornographic advertising and sinfully high price range (some AA products can now be purchased on websites such as Wordans and Amazon).

Founder and Montreal native Dov Charney (who has his own demons, including accusations of sexual harassment and mismanagement of funds when he ran American Apparel in 2014*) then decided to take his ideas elsewhere, introducing Los Angeles Apparel.

Now operating out of a south Los Angeles warehouse, LAA poses itself as an ethical, basics, brand, paying workers between $15-$20 USD, as well as overtime pay and benefits, and varies from other fashion retailers in the amount of transparency to behind the scenes of their warehouse and in the production process – many of the brand’s Instagram stories include shots of models, posing outside and throughout the warehouse, and well as videos of various garment and production workers at their daily dyeing, stitching, and cutting tasks. Another plus of this brand is the composition of the garments, specifically their sweatshirts and sweatpants, tops, and bodysuits. Most places do not manufacture goods with 100% cotton - traditional brands either use a 50/50 blend of cotton and polyester, or an 80/20 blend for goods in the heavyweight category. Using 100% cotton leads to a garment that looks even better with wear and tear, as well as prevents pilling, worn out elastic cuffs and hems, as well as less discolouration. Lastly, LAA is mostly devoid of branding – their clothing has no flashy logos or tags, no awkward stitching or excessive distressing, product styles, and unsavoury colour combinations – likely stemming from their roots as a wholesale blanks company. There is a bit of 90’s flavour to the styles shown on the website, included oversized sweats and t-shirts, lots and lots of pleats (pants, skirts, shorts, everything), as well as having more fresh-faced models, both men and women.

I’ve never personally been a huge American Apparel shopper – the original brand was not the most inclusive in terms of sizing as most of their items run on the smaller size (even to this day – their 2XL fits more like a very roomy XL) or were the dreaded “slim fit” (the ugliest cut of clothing to touch down on this face of the Earth, please don’t argue with me). However, since rebranding, Charney and the rest of the LAA team began to embrace more true-to-size and oversized fits. After rebuilding my wardrobe with quality basics, I can say about 80% of my wardrobe is from LAA – the pieces are good quality, minimal, and tasteful. Also, as a person who tries to be as ethical with my spending practices as possible and invest in quality clothing, I feel a bit better knowing the $40 t-shirt won’t be falling apart in the wash or after a few wears. For anyone who has considered dipping their toe into LAA or has been looking for other basics to add to their collection, here is a listed review of my favourite items from Los Angeles Apparel**.

HF09GD Unisex - Garment Dye 14oz. Heavy Fleece Hooded Pullover Sweatshirt

If I had the power to get rid of all of the hoodies in the world and replace them with only one, this would be it. This hoodie is thick as hell to the point where sometimes it feels like canvas, but not in an uncomfortable way. The colours are also super rich – my favourite one is Chocolate (one day we will talk about how brown is the supreme neutral for its ability to be and blend with both warm and cool tone colours, but I digress). Another interesting thing about these hoodies is that they don’t hold smell the way I’ve found polyester blends do and when washed, literally smell like an entirely new garment. This is also one of the products that I found is actually more of an oversized fit, and as with most cotton goods – stretch (but not unreasonably) with wear. It comes in a huge selection of colours as well and the sizing is fairly unisex, as both me and my boyfriend have worn this hoodie and have marveled at the quality. While it is an investment ($100 CAD per hoodie, about double that for the whole set), it is truly the hooded sweatshirt I’ve ever owned.

Size: XL, Colour: Chocolate, Price: $100 CAD

3380GD - Heavy 2x1 Rib Crop Tank

As our beautiful friend who was floating around Twitter not too long ago said, “Get into eeeeet!”. And she was absolutely right. This tank top is made for the people who want to get into the w*fe-beater/undershirt-as-a-shirt trend but don’t particularly enjoy the length or thinness of those traditional tops. This cropped tank is a racerback, but not to the point where it is completely unwearable without a bra, provided you have a convertible bra. This top is also 5% elastane as opposed to polyester (for those who are curious, elastane is a member of the Lycra and Spandex family, so the stretch in this top will also provide some shaping benefits). While it does only come in two colours for the time being, I’m one of those people who owns everything in my closet in both black and white, so this was perfect for me. Another thing to note, all my BBWs, this top does not roll up or require too much adjusting throughout the day, and sits just above the belly button for a cropped look without making you look like Roger the Alien (you know what I’m talking about….). This tank top is relatively affordable, considering the wearability, and the ribbing isn’t too noticeable so if you wanted a nice cropped but semi conservative top, this just might be it.

Size: L, Colour: Black, Price: $30 CAD

1215GD - Heavy Jersey Garment Dye Casual Pants

Ok, you know when you want to wear sweatpants, but you also realize that maybe the occasion is not appropriate, or you just need a little bit of pizzazz without all of the frump? This is these pants. When I first read the reviews, I was skeptical, but after realizing all I own are jeans and sweatpants, I copped a pair. I wore these in 75-degree weather, walked a good three or four miles, and was comfortable all day. Plus, unlike most traditional womenswear pants, these pockets are DEEP. Like Mariana Trench deep, which I love because one thing about me – I’m going to use a damn pocket. I would say to avoid these if you aren’t into the straight leg look because with a t-shirt, they do give very public-school art teacher vibes, but they also come in a huge range of colours. A lot of people complain about the elastic band for a lot of their products (too tight), but personally I prefer that – it provides a longer wear time before you have to wash (since it takes longer for the garment to stretch out) and keeps everything cute and covered. These pants are also a nice alternative to jeans, and even come in the couple shades of blue to mimic the idea of dark/light wash. The price is a little obscene for some casual pants, but I think you’re someone who usually wears pants from Urban Planet, H&M, or even Zara, these will be a nice upgrade, sure to last a very, very long time.

Size: L, Colour: Black, Price: $52 CAD

1406GD - Long Sleeve Garment Dye Mockneck T-Shirt

Another one of my favourite things about LAA is the fact that a lot of their products are unisex (while not explicitly labelled as such, you will see a lot of the same items in both the men and women tabs on their website). I love a good long sleeve shirt, but my proportions were never too forgiving to pull it off without looking like a 1960’s ghost, or like I had gotten dressed in the tent section of Home Depot. This top is more of a boxy fit, but the bottom is cropped enough to make it hit just above the thighs for a nice, slouchy look. The colours in these are also super nice, veering more towards neutrals and pastels. This shirt looks good with bike shorts and tucked into jeans, and (the best part) the white is not see-through at all, which was one of my biggest complaints when buying shirts from brands like Hanes, Gildan, Fruit of the Loom, and Keya. The neckline is a lot higher than most traditional crew necks, but I’m a fan. Plus, I feel like it looks a lot better when you layer jewelry over it. If you’re springing to get a basic colour, I’d say it’s totally worth it, at $41 a pop, considering that it’ll last damn near forever.

Size: XL, Colour: White, Price: $52 CAD

B128CF - Long Sleeve Crossfront Bodysuit

The bodysuit that started it all. Y’all. The number of compliments I get whenever I wear this top is insane, not to mention of all the bodysuits I have purchased from this brand, this one is the most flattering, the most versatile, and the most forgiving, in terms of sizing. The cross-front bodysuit is a happy medium for people who want to get into the criss-cross top look without the hassle of strings and shit like that. Not to mention, many bodysuits in this style tend to be ribbed – and not the good kind of ribbing either *retches*. I own this bodysuit in both a medium and a large, and my advice would be to size down, especially if you’re planning on wearing it without a bra (not much of a choice considering this bodysuit has a deep, deep, V neck) and will definitely add to the effortless look of the whole ensemble. This bodysuit can be dressed up and dressed down, but my favourite way to wear this is with some slouchy ass sweatpants, white sneakers (preferably a little beat up) and a small shoulder bag – ad square or transparent sunglasses for some big 90s energy, like you just left a Bikram yoga class or something. The colours on this could be better – aside from the white, black, and flesh toned colour, I really don’t see a purpose for the coral or blue shade, but I may be biased considering I do avoid bright colours like that. Now, it may seem a little overpriced for what it is, but I promise you – in my years of bodysuit research, the only brand that’s coming close to this, especially for larger chested laydeez, is Capezio, and that’s literally dancewear. Like, industrial ass dancewear. Regardless, this bodysuit is top 2 and it’s not 2.

Size: M, Colour: White, Price: $49 CAD

BD12 - Bull Denim Oversized Bag

If I had to give a name to my aesthetic – particularly when it comes to accessories – I’d say I’m somewhere in between “Bag Lady” by Erykah Badu and first year art student in the Midwest working part time at a dusty bookstore. This bag is more of the latter. For reference on size, it’s about as big, laid flat, as my large Telfar, but when on, doesn’t have the same structure, thus keeping it from looking like a burlap sack (or keeping you from looking like Santa on December 24th). The material is bull denim, which is similar in texture and style to regular denim, however, dyed to give it a rich and uniform colour. Also this bag comes in literally all of the ROYGBIV colours, plus black and white, and in a variety of styles and closures (they have one with a zipper for people who are diligent about things like that, as well as a more standard tote size and shape). This bag is perfect for literally everything – I like it when I go grocery shopping, or even getting from A to B when I have to carry a million things. Another bonus is the construction of the strap is thick without being comical, meaning that you won’t have those nasty lines in your shoulder after a long day, and you won’t have to worry about a strap busting and embarrazzzzing you (Nella Rose voice) when you’re out. In terms of pricing, you could get a little pleather number from H&M for the same price, but if you don’t take yourself seriously, then just say that (kidding!). as someone who loves the look of a good canvas tote, without wanting to look too much like a crunchy granola kinda person, this bag is lowkey one of my favourites (sorry, Mr. Clemens!).

Size: OS, Colour: Navy, Price: $58

Notes:

*= We do not condone predatory behaviour from anyone, but it is important to highlight that just because you love something doesn’t mean it’s perfect. Part of being a responsible consumer is also knowing about who you purchase from, not just what and how things are made. I am aware of this and am taking accountability for not knowing this information sooner.

**= All of these opinions are my own and not sponsored. Product codes will be listed in the title, and sizing, colour purchased, as well as CAD pricing will be listed at the end of each review.

#cms cashmoneysegs #blog post 5 #los angeles apparel #laa #aa #american apparel #brand

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sleepingfancies · 5 years

Text

We Need to Talk About SJM

I was recently anonymously asked what exactly my issue with Sarah Jane Maas is, and ended up writing what was essentially a thesis paper about it. Unfortunately, Tumblr pulled a Shitty Website move and deleted everything I wrote under the ‘read more’ tab, so I’m compiling my reasons here on a masterpost, for your reading leisure.

EDIT: Read more tab continues to not work for me, so I apologize to all of you who have to suffer through this. I’ll tag is as a long post accordingly.

Let’s get started

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Reason 1: She preaches messages that no young girl needs to (or should) hear.

Granted, I know the a lot of the YA genre are adults who are no strangers to smut and aren’t phased by toxic behavior in characters. But on the same token, a lot of the YA genre is fueled by young girls age 12-20. Now I’m not going to sit here and pretend like girls in that age range aren’t reading/writing smutty fanfiction or dating. I know they do, I did, most of my friends did. But at that age, young girls are still trying to figure out who they are and who they want to be, including in terms of relationships. That’s where my problem with Maas comes in.

Maas writes, almost exclusively, toxic relationships - at best. Straight up abusive at worst. At one point in ACOTAR, I had to put the book down because I was so disgusted by what happened. Rhysand assaulted Feyre. I’m not kidding. He kissed and groped her against her will, telepathically asked whether she was wet about it, and wondered aloud what she looked like naked. The entire goal of doing this was to piss Feyre’s then-boyfriend off, and for Rhysand to assert his dominance as a Fae lord or whatever the fuck (y’know, like rapists do). Feyre was left shaking, nauseated, and scared for her life. But the worst part? It was written like this was something sexy and desirable. Literal penetration was all that stopped this from being a horrifying rape scene, and I couldn’t believe Maas wrote about it like some hot erotica. It wasn’t romantic. It wasn’t cute. It was disgusting, violating, and I was furious when I read it (especially given Feyre actually ends up with Rhysand eventually. What the fuck).

In Throne of Glass - and subsequent sequels - there are couples (namely Rowan and Aelin) who quite literally spit on each other, punch each other, and bite each other. No, not “love nip” bite, I mean “I’m trying to tear your skin off” bite. But we’re meant to believe they’re endgame, meant to be, and a totally healthy relationship. Let’s not even get into emotional abuse and manipulation, because holy fuck does every single character in these books act like a goddamn villain if we were to go over that in detail. All you need to know is that “if you don’t do xyz then I’ll leave and never come back” “what made you think I cared about you? You’re nothing to me. Just kidding, I love you” and similar sentiments are rampant in these series.

While we’re here, what is up with this “mates” nonsense? Every character pairing we see by the end of the ToG series has a “mate,” and swears off everyone they’ve had before, claiming them to be “false mates.” This whole “mates” business sounds a lot like somebody desperately trying to reassure their insanely jealous partner that they don’t still have feelings for their ex. That’s not healthy! That’s not okay! Your exes helped you narrow down your search. They helped you understand yourself more and what you want (or don’t want). And y’know what? It’s okay to have happy memories with an ex. It’s okay to not hate your ex. Telling young girls that all that matters is their future husband (which erases LGBT+ girls, as well as straight women who don’t want to get married) is harmful as hell, and contributes to the idea that a girl is only “complete” when she finds her “soulmate.”

Girls 12-20 really do not need to be given the message that it’s normal - nay, romantic - for their partners to hit them, humiliate them, or assault them. You may be saying, “Clara, come on, girls know fiction isn’t reality and no girl is actually going to stand for that kind of thing in real life.” But I can’t tell you how horribly my own view of relationships was corrupted for several years after all the books I read as a tween where the protagonist had to defend her flirty boyfriend from the advances of other girls. I didn’t trust boys not to cheat on me. I didn’t trust my girl friends not to try and steal a boyfriend. I thought girls who dressed up and wore makeup and dated a lot were sluts. It took me years of conscious effort to unlearn those ideas. Fiction can and does influence the reader. So again I say: teaching girls that it’s “hot and sexy” when men literally abuse you is not a message a 12-20 year old should be hearing. Ever.

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Reason 2: What exactly does Maas want her readers to be?

Y’know, Maas thinks Caelena/Aelin is a role model for young girls. But here’s a brief list of things Celery/Alien has done throughout the Throne of Glass series:

1. Tried to smash a flower pot over a girl’s head for showing interest in courting Prince Dorian. Despite said girl literally being present at the castle for that purpose and Caelena was not.

2. Very nearly murdered Dorian for absolutely fuckall reason, and then she got mad at Chaol for trying to stop her (keep in mind: Chaol and Dorian are supposed to be best friends. So like... yeah, he’s gonna come to Dorian’s defense).

3. Straight up said, “if I get bored being queen I’ll just go and conquer more lands for my kingdom.” Imperialist there much, Aelin?

This is Maas’ role model material? Half the shit she does from Heir of Fire onward could be described as “war crime” and the other half could be described as “selfish.” Maas seems to think that a shit ton of half-baked “witty” lines and a few “badass” fight scenes completely makes up for having an amoral character as the protagonist you want to flaunt around as an icon for young girls.

It would be one thing if Maas said, “I don’t want anyone to be like Celery/Alien. She’s not a good person and I want my readers to be able to identify how and why she isn’t a good person. The moral is what not to be like.” But she does the opposite and claims time and time again that Celery/Alien is some kind of feminist warrior, when in fact Celery/Alien is the very epitome of white feminism and false feminism. She’ll be all kinds of gung-ho for herself, but as soon as another woman mentions her own unique problems or lifestyles, Celery/Alien thinks she’s a “whiny bitch,” “dumb slut,” or something similar. Celery/Alien ends up looking down her nose at basically every other female character. The lack of female friendships in Maas’ books is frankly astounding.

No girl needs to be Celery/Alien. Celery/Alien is not a role model, she is not a feminist, she is not a figurehead of a well developed female character or even a compelling antihero. She’s sexist, she’s misogynistic, she has serious anger issues, she’s manipulative, she’s abusive. This is not who young girls should be looking up to.

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

Reason 3: Maas has no place in the YA genre.

I’m not really sure I need to elaborate much on this. Let me give you a scenario:

Imagine you’re at a book signing for your fans. They’re mostly girls 15-20, so you kind of just sign their copies without thinking much about it. But then a smaller girl comes up to the table, you ask her age, and she says “I’m ten.” A 10 year old girl is standing in front of you, clutching her copy of your book where you wrote and published the scene, “he buried in to the hilt and roared. Over and over he spilled inside of her, the lightning outside flashing soft and lovely long after he stilled.”

Look me in the eye and tell me that shit is appropriate in the YA genre. At all. Ever.

You wanna write romance? Go for it. It can be cute! It can be healthy! It can be intriguing! But this? This? This is just... erotica. If you’re publishing stuff like this in the YA genre, in a book that isn’t even on the ‘tween/teen romance’ shelves, then you better be ready to take full responsibility for teaching 10 year olds what a blowjob is, what an orgasm is, what BDSM is, what a fucking foot fetish is.

I know JK Rowling isn’t the most popular right now, but even she did better than this. The first 3 Harry Potter books you can generally find on the children’s/middle grade shelves. They were cute, fun little adventures about wizards and magic and fantastic creatures. Books 4-7? Those are on the YA shelves. People are dying, magic is dangerous, fascist organizations are on the rise -- it isn’t fun for Harry anymore. It isn’t about the wonders of magic. It’s about life or death, war, and fear. So yeah, of course those book aren’t going to be on the children’s/middle grade shelves! They’re dark! They’re scary! That kind of material shouldn’t be advertised as appropriate for younger kids!

Maas never extended that courtesy. Maas took her books full of badly written erotica and plopped them down right where all the rest of the completely tame YA books went, because she wanted the sales. She didn’t care if she was exposing kids who were too young to explicit sex scenes. She never posted a disclaimer, she never posted any kind of warning on social media when the books came out. Nope. She just silently took advantage of the market knowing she’d get more sales in YA. But it has no place in YA. It’s not YA. And I don’t think I’m ever gonna be okay with that.

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Reason 4: Diversity? Never heard of it!

Maas’ books are so incredibly white and straight that it’s painful. Rowan and Aelin? White and straight. Feyre? Rhysand? Chaol? Dorian? Manon? Hey, you guessed it! They’re all white and straight (despite Chaol, Dorian, and Manon being heavily LGBT+ coded for like, the entire series till the last book)!

“He looked at his friend, perhaps for the last time, and said what he had always known, from the moment they met, ‘I love you.’” (Queen of Shadows)

Hello? Sarah Jane? I’m all for male friendships, but there’s male friendships and then there’s actual romance. Chaol and Dorian are about as gay-coded as they could fucking get. And this isn’t even the only time this happens! Check this out:

“Dorian surged from his chair and dropped to his knees beside the bed. He grabbed Chaol’s hand, squeezing it as he pressed his brow against his. ‘You were dead,’ the prince said, his voice breaking. ‘I thought you were dead.’” (Queen of Shadows)

But wait, there’s more!

“‘I’m not leaving you. Not again.’

Dorian’s mouth tightened. ‘You didn’t leave, Chaol.’ He shook his head once, sending tears slipping down his cheeks. ‘You never left me.’” (Queen of Shadows)

I mean come on, Sarah!

Also, Manon. My girl Manon hated men, pretty explicitly, for the entire series. In case you don’t believe me:

“There were few sounds Manon enjoyed more than the groans of dying men.” (Heir of Fire)

Oh, and other characters even imply Manon has never had a heterosexual relationship in her fucking life. See:

“‘That golden-haired witch, Asterin...’ Aelin said. ‘She screamed Manon’s name the way I screamed yours. How can I take away somebody who means the world to someone else? Even if she is my enemy.’” (Queen of Shadows)

Tell me that’s not gay as fuck. I dare you.

Manon had a whole lot of love to give women! She was always affectionate towards other women. Particularly Elide. This is a woman who was about as lesbian as you could get. Had no interest in men, every interest in women, rejected typically expected roles for women (getting married and having kids, etc.) but guess what happened? Guess what fucking happened?

This warrior who was friends with and rode on a big fuckoff wyvern completely and totally submits to Dorian as her lover. I don’t mean that metaphorically. They literally do some BDSM shit where he’s her “master” and she “kneels to him” or whatever the fucking fuck. This entire thing pissed me off more than Chaol and Dorian being all “no homo bro,” because Maas used every possible symbol and subtext for Manon being gay, and then said “just kidding!” Her relationship with Dorian came out of nowhere. All of a sudden she was just as thirsty for mediocre dick as Aelin.

At this point I honestly have to wonder if Maas is really this ignorant or if she’s - dare I say it? - taunting her readers who have complained about the lack of LGBT+ representation. Maas has, historically, not reacted well to people criticizing her work. I would not put it beyond her at all to intentionally queer-code characters only to turn around and rip the rug out from under her readers by pairing them up in heterosexual relationships. And not only is that shitty writing, but it’s... really malicious and rude.

Of course then there’s the issues with racial representation. Again, Maas doesn’t even try. She includes 13 characters of color only to immediately kill off all of them in a suicide pact. So there’s that. Not sure I need to say more than that.

Maas knows what diversity is, but as per her famous quote, “I just don’t want to force diversity into my books.” So. Y’know. Writing a black or gay character (or!! God forbid, both black and gay!!) is asking a little too much of her, apparently. She doesn’t want to force anything as unbelievable as someone who isn’t white or straight, don’tcha know? In these books about fae people and dragons and gods fighting mortals and explicit erotica, an LGBT+ character or a character of color is high fantasy, not YA. *Sarcasm*

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Reason 5: The woman can’t write.

This is pretty straightforward. She cannot write. My proof? She plagiarizes the living fuck out of everything she can to avoid actually writing her own original work.

1. “You’re gonna rattle the stars.” - from Disney’s Treasure Planet

2. “The Queen Who Was Promised” - from GRRM’s ASOIAF, where Dany Targaryen is often toted as the exact same thing. Oh, and The Prince Who Was Promised prophecy in ASOIAF also mentions Azor Ahai being “the Heir of Fire” so, uh.... yeah.

3. Aelin basically being Aragorn. Lost royalty spends years as an outcast, denies their claim, teams up with elves (fae in Aelin’s case) to defeat a greater evil, becomes known as the people’s champion, falls in love with an elf (fae) and makes them their consort, crowned by the people, ends their coronation scene with a “you bow to no one” (I’m not kidding).

4. Nehemia dying for Aelin and it later being revealed that Nehemia was “grooming” Aelin to face great evil, and potentially give her life to stop it. How much you wanna bet Maas tried to give Aelin a name as close to “Harry Potter” as she could get?

5. Manon lighting a series of beacons across a mountain range to call for aid during war. I mean seriously? This is one of the most iconic scenes in Peter Jackson’s rendition of Lord of the Rings. It’s moving, it’s powerful, it’s awe-inspiring. And Maas knew it. So she just... took it. I don’t have a lot of respect for writers who can’t write their own moving scenes.

6. Kingsflame blossoms, which only bloom when the rightful monarch is on the throne. So... the White Tree of Gondor. Got it.

7. The Hand of the King being a royal court position. Like... jesus. GRRM, come get ya world-building, SJ stole it again.

8. A paralyzed Chaol has a specialized saddle made for him, because he wants more than anything to ride a horse again. GRRM! Please! She’s taking Bran Stark’s story now!

And besides all of these horribly plagiarized points, there’s nothing even slightly compelling about these books. There’s literally zero substance, and the last few books in both the ACOTAR and ToG series have been nothing but a smut-fest. Plot who? We don’t know her.

Trauma, both physical and mental, is erased at the drop of a dime (Aelin lost physical scars, Chaol’s paralysis was basically cured, series of events that should’ve left characters absolutely fucked just... didn’t phase them). The battles are rushed and sloppily written, and Maas has a particularly nasty habit of focusing on exactly the wrong people in the middle of what should be an action packed scene. Instead of showing alliances forging and plots being made behind people’s backs, instead of showing us people gearing up for battle by saying tearful goodbyes to their infants and spouses, Maas shows us Rowan and Aelin banging on a beach, or a tree, or a ship, or wherever the fuck they happen to be at that moment.

None of these characters lose jack shit. There is no sense of urgency or stakes, because we knew since Heir of Fire that Aelin and her precious uwu fae “mate” would be just fine. Why? Because nobody shipped Rowaelin as hard as Sarah Jane Maas did. Consistently the only people who suffer in these books are background characters (who, coincidentally, are almost always the characters of color and LGBT+ characters). By the end of Kingdom of Ash, literally everyone is fine. And paired off to be married, too! Because a happy ending isn’t a true happy ending if it doesn’t end with Babies Ever After and everyone in a heterosexual relationship, of course, right?

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Reason 6: World-building doesn’t even go here! Sorry, she just wanted to be a part of something.

Maas’ world-building is... how do you say... shitty. New lore pops up in every book, having never been mentioned before, and is for some reason of utmost importance (but only for this book. It’ll be forgotten again as soon as it isn’t relevant). Religions who? Culture where? History what? None of these things exist in Maas’ world. None.

Now before anyone jumps down my throat with “but The World of Throne of Glass is coming out this year!!!1!1!!” let me gently establish something. Speaking as a fantasy author: if you do not have your most basic world-building - that being religion, culture, language, and history - already established, then you have no business making a “world of” book to cover all the bases your ass never bothered with in the original series.

I said what I said.

Tolkien and GRRM are masters of world-building because they spent decades working to forge their worlds before they ever put a pen to paper and wrote their stories. Not to toot my own horn, but my own fantasy series has been developing for almost 7 years now. What am I doing with it? I’m outlining governments in different societies, why people came to worship what they do, and I’m making a fucking world map on my bedroom floor (that now has cat paw prints on it, so it’s not exactly final product material anyway).

I give not a single hoot for Maas’ “The World of Throne of Glass.” She could be saying anything she wanted to and it would all just have to be canon, because she’s establishing what this world is after already finishing her series. Yes, it does piss me off, because it’s pretty obvious she didn’t have a clue what her world was, or who was who, or why things were the way they were. She made shit up as she went along, nothing more. There was no grand scheme. There was no planning, and it shows.

***********

TL;DR: I have a lot of issues with Sarah J Maas’ writing, including her world-building and handling of diversity. But most of all I despise the potential impact she has on the YA genre and on the young girls reading her work. They deserve better than this. They deserve better than Sarah Jane Maas.

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inevitably-johnlocked · 5 years

Note

Am so in the mood for some fics where John helps Sherlock through detox/cravings/danger nights, anytime throughout the series. Bonus points for Sherlock being scared John will be mad at him or turn away, but John being supportive and understanding!!

anonymous asked: Do you know of any Sherlock fics that include self harm? Thanks

Hi Guys!!

Since these are… SORT OF related, I’m putting them together! I don’t have many re: self-harm, so I thought I would add all the drug use, poisoning and the like fics together as well. They’re for both John and Sherlock, so I hope that’s alright! Hope these suffice!!

SELF-HARM

See also Alexx’s Lists:

Drugged Non-con sex

Drugs & Recovery

Mycroft deals with Sherlock’s drugs

Helping Sherlock With Drugs

Sherlock Drugs & Addiction

Angsty Drugs & Prostitution Fics

Teenlock & Drugs

The Signs of Loss by LitLocked (NR, 1,103 w. || Post-TSo3, Pining Sherlock, Self Reflection) – Sherlock’s internal monologue after he comes back from the wedding.

Clarity by socomessnow (thoughtfulwishing) (NR, 1,283 w. || Post-HLV, POV Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Tarmac Scene, Stream of Consciousness, URT, First Person Present Tense) - During-and-post-HLV piece tracking Sherlock’s thought process from his phone call with Mycroft to his return to the airfield.

The Two of Us Against the World by slashscribe (T, 1,617 w. || Post-TAB, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Drug Addiction, Anxious Sherlock, Angsty Fluff) – John is there to take care of Sherlock as he comes down from his overdose in The Abominable Bride. Set immediately after the tarmac, back in 221B.

Loudly Unspoken by Mount_Seleya (M, 1,871 w. || Post-TAB, Love Confessions, Vulnerable Sherlock, Frottage) – John confronts Sherlock about the words he left unsaid on the tarmac. Set immediately after TAB.

They’re Taking My Wisdom by whitchry9 (K+, 1,939 w. || Hurt/Comfort, Drugging, Dentists, Friendship, Anxious Sherlock, Humour) – Sherlock goes to the dentist. Of course, being Sherlock, things have to be complicated. Oh and drugs. They’re always fun.

Stay by sussexbound (M, 2,067 w. || Post TAB, Suicidal Ideation Mention, Implied / Referenced Drug Use, Kissing, Love Confessions, Frottage, Coming in Pants) – “Why? Why did you do it? Hmm…?” He takes a deep breath, waits, lets it out again. “Look at me.” There’s no denying him when he takes this tone. “Why did you kill him? Hmm…? For her? After…” A muscle twitches in the corner of John’s eye, and he clamps his jaw down tightly, swallows and sniffs a little before continuing. “For her? After everything she’s done?” “For you.” Before he can even stop himself. Just like that.

Coming Full Circle by KCS (K+, 2,358 w. || Alternate TGG, Friendship, Drama, Violence/Death References, Drugging/Poisoning, Kidnapping, BAMF John, Moriarty POV, Introspection) – Moriarty had John for almost six hours between his abduction and the showdown at the pool - more than enough time to implement a Plan B for his escape should Sherlock call his bluff with the fake bomb vest.

Thief by KendylGirl (M, 2,430 w. || Rev. Reich., Heavy Angst, Regret, Grief / Mourning, Pining Sherlock, Implied Drug Use, Self-Flagellation) – John has been gone for four months, and Sherlock is not dealing well with it. When he finds a personal item of John’s, the situation reaches a crisis. Part 3 of When to Let Go

The Battersea Bridge by pininglock (M, 2,585 w. || MCD, Angst, Grief, Unhappy Ending) – A life without John Watson isn’t a life worth living.

Unspoken by PipMer (T, 2,770 w. || Drugged John, Mutual Pining, John’s Missing Wednesday, Fluff & Angst, Canon Compliant, Gap Filler) – Sherlock wanted to test a hypothesis. About John. He wanted a question answered that he couldn’t just ask, at least not under normal conditions, because John would never tell him the truth about that.

After the Bombs by VampirePam (T, 3,337 w. || THoB AU, Drugs, John’s PTSD, Panic Attack, Nightmares, Caring Sherlock, Cuddles, Bed Sharing, Angst, Hurt/Comfort) – In which the drugs Sherlock used to dose John trigger a severe episode of PTSD. When terrors old and new cause John to fall apart, Sherlock must rectify his mistake and pick up the pieces.

Bolt Holes by PostcardsfromTheoryland (T, 4,177 w. || H/C, Angst, Drug Mentions, Pining Sherlock) – John asked, one evening, if Sherlock liked her. To which he grudgingly had to say yes, and John said he was glad. Because John was going to propose to her.

Experiment by Gwen’s Blue Box (K+, 4,222 w. || Non-Con Drugging, Hurt Comfort, Friendship) – Of course John has always known about his flatmate’s irregular sleeping habits, especially when they’re on a case. This time, however, the case is taking longer and longer, and soon John starts to worry. But there’s not much he can do, is there? Because drugging Sherlock isn’t an option. Not yet, maybe, but will it be soon? {{CW: John drugs Sherlock without his consent}}

Afghanistan in Baskerville by Amaya Ramiel (K+, 4,357 w. || THoB Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Drugged John, PTSD / Panic Attack, Hallucinations, Worried Sherlock, John’s Past, Friendship) – What if John hadn’t seen the hound when Sherlock trapped him in the lab? What if instead, his very real nightmares of the war had materialized all around him? Trapped and drugged, John can’t tell what’s real and what’s not. How will Sherlock react?

Very Good Indeed by StillWaters1 (T, 4,531 w. || Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Doctor John, John Whump) – John Watson was a doctor, trained to observe details; a fact Sherlock had never been more aware of than when a drugged John’s lifesaving instructions were based on an unlabeled syringe and an unconscious murder suspect’s body.

Not The Hands That Kill by You_Light_The_Sky (M, 6,201 w. || Winglock, Whump, Mentions of Drug Use) – Having wings does not make Sherlock Holmes a guardian angel, not in the way that John Watson is his.

The Dying Detective Remix by SailorChibi (K, 6,563 w. || Friendship & Family) – No one hates admitting illness or wounds more than Sherlock… perhaps that’s why no one believes him when he actually gets sick. Fortunately, when he can’t do it himself any longer, John and Lestrade are there to pick up the slack. Features Paternal!Lestrade and Gen John and Sherlock. One-shot.

The Hours Before Midnight by Lady Sam Mallory (T, 7,773 w. || TGG Fic, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Torture / John Whump, Kidnapping, Drugging, Alternating POV, Worried / Protective Sherlock) – Moriarty doesn’t play fair. John must deal with hours of torment from Moriarty before going to meet Sherlock at the Pool at the end of the Great Game and Sherlock must deal with the consequences of his boredom.

A Dangerous Mix by thebakerstreetgirl (K, 8,077 w. || Angst, Whump, Drugs, Hurt/Comfort, Overdosing) – During a case, John gets attacked and Sherlock and Lestrade find him with a mysterious drug running through the army doctor’s veins.

Never Been This Swept Away by estalita11 (T, 8,531 w. || Post-TAB, Mary is Not Nice, Drug Use, First Kiss, Love Confessions) – Set immediately after TAB, Sherlock visits his brother to definitely not apologize about earlier and ends up finally learning a few things that would have been nice knowing about months ago. Mycroft never wants to deal with lovestruck idiots ever again.

The Five Stages of Mourning, Plus One by SunnyRea (T, 10,557 || MCD, Pining / Grieving Sherlock, URT, Heavy Angst, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Drug Use, Graphic Death, Depression, Unhappy Ending) – Sherlock did not want this, did not want another stalemate with John in the middle, a gun in Jim’s hand. This cannot have happened without a sign. There has to be something he missed anything which said today is the day I kill for real.

Obsession by storylover18 (K+, 15,213 w. || HC, Case Fic, Friendship) - Dr. John Watson wakes up ill one morning but it is not the 24 hour flu he thinks it was. Soon he lands in hospital, quickly deteriorating and Sherlock must work to find out what has happened to his blogger before it is too late. Case!fic mixed with sick!fic / No slash.

Brief Conversations with the Woman by May_Shepard (E, 21,906 w. || Pining, Love Fairy Irene, Filler Fic, UST/URT, Drug Use, Clueless Sherlock, Relationship Advice, Angst w/ Happy Ending) – Sherlock has a puzzle to solve, and his name is John Watson.

A Love with No Name Series by aceofhearts61 (G to M, 49,955 w. across 20 stories || Asexual Sherlock / Straight John, Est. Rel, Queerplatonic Relationship, Romance, Cuddling, Fluff, Platonic Romance, Domestics) – In which Asexual!Sherlock and Straight!John are platonically in love life partners.

Albion and the Woodsman by Glenmore (NR [E], 54,437 w. || Post S3 || Parentlock, Pining Sherlock, Angst, Family, Drug Use, Depression, Sherlock POV) – Sherlock and John are devastated after Mary Morstan makes her final moves. Sherlock relapses at the crack house, John walks around the world … and a lot happens in between. Parentlock, in the good way.

The Vapor Variant by 88thParallel (CanadaHolm) (M, 72,684 w. || Post-THoB, John Whump, Protective Sherlock, Guilty Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, PTSD John, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Suspense, Virus, Sickfic, Big Brother Mycroft) – They stood face to face in the middle of a clearing. The dim light of the moon barely allowed Sherlock to see the glassy terror in John’s eyes and the sweat that glistened off his forehead. His nose was bleeding again, blood dripping in a slow stream from his right nostril. They were both gasping for air, John’s eyes locked on Sherlock’s. There was no recognition there, just wild animal fear. Time stood still for an eternal few seconds, and Sherlock took a shaky breath. “John—”Spell broken, John spun and bolted back into the woods. Still heaving for air, Sherlock took off after him. {{HAVEN’T READ THIS FIC YET, READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION}}

To Light Another’s Path by BeautifulFiction (E, 128,654 w. || Post-TGG, Sick Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Drug Addiction / Recreational Drug Use, First Time / Kiss, Case Fic) – Teaching John to observe seems to be a losing battle, but when Sherlock falls ill and submits himself to John’s care, will he realise that there is more to life than the science of deduction? Meanwhile, there is a murder to solve, and John must try and convince Sherlock not to sacrifice his own health for the sake of the case.

Ten Days by Engazed (E, 137,208 w. || Rape/Non-Con, Post-TRF, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Torture, Case Fic) – Sherlock Holmes has been dead for forty months, and John is at last beginning to live his life again. But just when he believes he might be happy, his world crashes back down around him. John is named a missing person. Someone is pointing DI Lestrade in the wrong direction. And as the days pass, his situation only grows more dire. It seems like the disappearance of his best friend is the only thing that can bring Sherlock Holmes back from the dead. Part 1 of The Fallen

Midnight Blue Serenity by BeautifulFiction (E, 151,907 w. || Friends to Lovers, Gay Bar / For a Case, Drugs, Pining, Case Fic, UST) – When Sherlock infiltrates a club in order to track down a serial killer, his altered appearance is enough to make John question his assumption that Sherlock is beyond his reach. However, is he the only one who appreciates his flatmate’s charms, or is Sherlock at risk of becoming the next victim? {{centres around drug use, but not necessarily John or Sherlock’s}}

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #drugs cw #self harm cw #drug use #angst fics #danger nights #my fic recs #madeofawesome12

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destiel-love-forever · 5 years

Note

Thank you! #24 is : “Don’t come back until you’re fucking sober.”

This is an AU with no spoilers. Any character deaths/relationships/etc. don’t reflect anything that’s happened in the actual show. Established Destiel - Castiel’s a high school teacher, they’ve been dating since college, Dean’s been sober three years, they live together in an apartment/house. Mary Winchester just died before fic begins.

Read on my Ao3 or below!

Jack & Coke, and One Red Rose

Dean

When Castiel falls asleep beside me, I carefully extract myself from our bed and tip toe out of the room. The dark, quiet house is a relief. Peaceful. No Castiel asking me every few minutes if I need anything or if I’m okay. No Sam falling apart for me to hold and comfort. No old friends from school I could care less about offering me empty apologies. No extended family making passive aggressive comments about my life style or my drinking problem.

No dead mom.

What’s even more peaceful is when I show up to the bar. It’s like a breath of fresh air. Everything from the shitty jukebox crackling in the corner to the sticky, stained bar top are a comfort. I wave down the bartender, giving him a charming smile. “Double Jack and Coke, please.”

He nods and begins to pour. This stranger wearing a blue cotton shirt with a stain on the hem, quick hands mixing drinks, has no idea I’m three years sober. He has no idea that the last time I drank, I ended up in the hospital. Someone had found me in a puddle of my own vomit my final year of college and called an ambulance. Castiel and I had been dating for two months at that point - I had been doing a pretty good job at keeping my problem from him. When I woke up in the hospital, he had been holding my hand, tears drying on his face. He made me promise that I’d go to rehab and get help. That I’d never drink again. I said yes.

I exchange a five-dollar bill with the bartender in return for my drink. The smell alone makes me dizzy. Leaning against the bar, I rotate my wrist so I can watch the ice swirl. It’s mesmerizing. It’s exactly what I need. Just one drink, and it won’t be so hard to stay alive. Just one drink, and I won’t see my mom lying in that grave every time I close my eyes.

Just one drink.

Just one.

-----

When the bartender does last call, his eyes are glued to me specifically. He stopped serving me an hour ago but his hopes for me to sober up did absolutely nothing. I’m in that mental state when you know you’re shit faced, and you want to stop giggling and talking and doing stupid shit, but you just can’t.

“Buddy, you ain’t driving home tonight. Want me to call a cab? Or help you call a friend? Family?”

“Buried my ma today.” I look up at him and giggle again, even though it’s not funny. It’s not funny at all.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he says quietly, in a way that I actually believe. “Do you have any family in town for the funeral? A girlfriend? Boyfriend? Anyone? Maybe it’s best if you call one of them instead of a cab. Might be good if you’re not alone tonight.”

“Home,” I mumble.

“Do you have someone at home?”

“Cas.” I lay my head on the bartop. It may be sticky and smells of tomato juice and vodka, but it’s cool against my overheated skin and that feels amazing. “Gonna be mad.”

Someone comes up beside me and hands the bartender the money for their bill. The place is incredibly quiet. When I lift my head to glance around, I see that I’m alone. Just me and the poor bartender.

The guy motions for me to lift my head so he can wipe down the bartop beneath my face. I immediately press my cheek against it again when he’s done. It’s much more pleasing now that it smells like lemony soap.

“Give me your phone, buddy.”

I slap around my pockets a few times before finding my phone and waving it in the air for him. “Don’ call Cas. Be mad ‘t me.”

Castiel

My phone ringing wakes me from the restless state of sleep I’d been struggling through. I roll over to look at Dean, hoping it doesn’t wake him when I know he was having a hard time falling asleep, but his side of the bed is empty. With one hand, I answer my phone. With the other, I reach out and feel that his spot is cold.

“H - hello?”

“Hi. This is - well, okay. This is going to sound weird but I have a really drunk guy here mumbling about a Cas and you’re Cas in his phone.” I stare at the place where my boyfriend of three years should be lying. “He said his mom’s funeral was today? Ring any bells?”

I close my eyes and tell myself not to cry. “Yup. He’s mine.”

“Awesome. Would you be able to come get him? I didn’t want to send him off in a cab. He’s kind of - well, he’s a fucking mess, to be honest.”

“Sure. Yeah. Of course.” I shove the blankets back, trying to keep calm because this poor bartender doesn’t need to deal with my emotions. As I scavenge on the floor for some decent clothes to throw on, I ask, “What bar?”

“Rookies. Do you know where we’re at? Downtown?”

I slap a hand at my cheek, stopping the one tear that slipped from my control. “Of course. Yes. I’ll be there in ten minutes. Can you please wait with him?”

“Of course. We’ll be here.”

Once I’m dressed and in the car, it truly sinks in that he relapsed. I should have known better. I should have fucking known. How could I be so stupid? I should have stayed awake until I knew he was asleep. I should have stayed awake all night if it was what he needed.

No. You know what? He fucking should have woken me up when he was struggling. He knows better than to drink. He’s a big fucking boy. All he had to do was wake me up.

By the time I’m at the bar, I’m pissed. Furious, actually.

By the time I see Dean, I’m heart broken.

He’s sitting on the edge of the sidewalk with his elbows resting on his knees, head hanging between his legs as he heaves up all the alcohol he drank. A gruff man standing behind him gives me a kind smile. “Cas?”

“Yeah. Thank you so much for this. Uh, what’s his tab?”

“Fifty-two.”

I close my eyes until I’m confident that I won’t cry. Then I grab my wallet and hand him eighty bucks. “Keep the change.”

“Oh, wow. Thanks.”

“No problem. I know how he gets when he’s drinking.” I get down on a knee, a few feet away from Dean so I’m not kneeling in his vomit. “Dean?”

Impossibly green eyes surrounded by red veins lift to look at me. “Told him not to call you.”

“Where did you plan on going, then?”

“Dunno.”

“Mmm.” I try to help him stand up but he starts to cry. Big, wet sobs. His entire body shakes and heaves. The bartender helps me get him fully to his feet and takes one of his arms as we guide a stumbling, crying Dean to my car.

Just before closing the door to the backseat where we dumped him, Dean blinks up at me and whispers, “Sorry broke the promise.”

“It’s fine, Dean.”

“Go to a meetin’ tomorrow. Promise.”

“Sure. Let’s just get you home.”

He parts his lips to speak again but I slam the door and press my hands against it, hanging my head. I forgot the bartender was even still standing there until he says in a thick voice, “I am so sorry. I didn’t know he was an alcoholic.”

I give him a broken smile, not even caring anymore that my eyes are watering. “He’s charming. You’d never know unless he told you. Don’t worry about it.”

With a polite nod, the man backs away and heads inside the bar. I crouch down and bury my face in my hands, giving myself a minute to fall apart before I have to be the strong one for Dean. When the minute is done, I can’t stop sobbing. So, I give myself one more.

Dean

I try. I really fucking try. Sam picks me up in the morning and brings me, and my pounding, aching head, to an AA meeting. We sip cheap, shitty coffee. I walk up to the podium and admit I relapsed. Everyone looks at me with a mixture of pity and fear, because they’ve all either been there or are terrified they’ll be there soon.

We grab a bite to eat after and Sam delicately lectures me about staying sober. About calling him if I need him. About honesty and humility and all the other shit him and Castiel have been spouting for years.

I make promises, but even as they fall from my lips, I know they’re lies. Then he drops me off at home and I find out that Castiel stayed home from work to babysit me. He’s much more upset than Sam. No lectures. No coddling. Just a cold shoulder and a clearly broken heart. When I wake up from a nap on the couch, he looks at me with a sad smile and tells me he loves me. It sounds a lot like the promises I made to Sam. Empty. Unrealistic.

How could he love me? Especially now?

The second he falls asleep, I’m out the door. Fuck being sober. Where did that ever get me? A dead mom. A job I hate. A long-term boyfriend who deserves so much more.

I slide onto the bar stool and smile when I see the same bartender from the night before. He frowns when he sees me, then glances around like he’s expecting something or someone. Waving a five dollar bill in the air, I tell him, “Double Jack and Coke, please.”

“Dean, I think you should go home.”

“Um, no.” I slap the bill on the bartop. “What I will do is take a Double Jack and Coke.”

“Does Cas know you’re here?”

Narrowing my eyes, I tell him through gritted teeth, “Don’t say his name.”

“If you can’t even hear his name as you’re about to drink, maybe you shouldn’t be drinking.”

“Fuck you, asshole.” I push away from the bar and start to leave. The bar is in the busy downtown area. My options are not at all limited.

The bartender wraps a hand around my bicep and tugs me toward the bar stool I was just sitting on. “Alright. You gonna get shit faced, might as well do it here so you don’t get your stupid ass killed or something.”

When he hands me the drink after a minute, I make eye contact and hold him there. “At the end of the night, call a cab. Not Cas.”

Something flashes in his eyes but then he gives me a curt nod. “Whatever you say, man. It’s your life you’re fuckin’ up.”

“Yeah,” I tell him, slamming the drink in one go and pushing it toward him for a refill. “It is.”

Castiel

For the eighth night in a row, he stumbles into the house. Tonight, he trips over my leather messenger bag stuffed full of shitty high school student essays. Ones I haven’t even graded yet, because all I do every night is sit up watching reruns on Netflix and crying. Except for tonight. Tonight, I watched reruns on Netflix and just stared in a stunned emptiness.

He falls to his hands and knees, immediately chuckling. When he squints in the living room light and spots me, he laughs harder. “Cas! Missed you!”

“Are you sure?” I stand up, shoving my hands in my sweatpants pockets. Actually, his sweatpants. I like his better because they’re nice and baggy. I’ll have to buy some in his size when he moves out. Lord knows I can’t keep a pair here. The smell of him alone will break me and I’ll go running back to him. That’s what I do best. Running back to Dean Winchester. “Doesn’t feel like you missed me.”

“‘Course silly! Missed you lots.”

“Then stop leaving me.”

His green eyes narrow as he stares up at me from where he’s still on the floor. If it was a few days ago, I would offer to help him stand. Not anymore. I’m so unbelievably done. “I’d never leave you, Cas.”

“You leave me every night, Dean.”

“Well, yeaaaaaaah!” he giggles, slowly pushing to his feet. “But ‘ways come back home to ya.”

I stand and watch him as he wavers on his feet. With just a slight wind, he’d be on his ass again. “I can’t keep doing this, Dean.”

“Doin’ what?”

“This.” I gesture between us. “I need you to stay at Sam’s from now on.”

“S- Sam’s?” He shakes his head like he can make the words disappear. “What? No. We’re - we - this ‘s m’ home.”

Ignoring the tears slipping down my cheeks, I swallow around the giant lump in my throat and inform him, “No. This is not your home anymore, Dean.”

He starts to cry. Then I start to cry. On shaking legs, he hurries over to me, backing me into the wall. His lips are on mine and he tastes like whiskey and regret, but I can’t get myself to pull away. When his hands grab the backs of my thighs, I let him lift me up, wrapping my legs around his waist. We get each other’s shirts off by some miracle, our mouths barely separating. I think he makes sure it’s that way so I can’t tell him to leave again. It’s not like I’m exactly committed to it. Apparently, Dean Winchester still has all the power. Not sure why that surprises me. It wasn’t a problem before his relapse, because he didn’t abuse the power. He took care of me. He was kind. Funny. Loving. Caring. Gentle. Sure, a pain in the ass sometimes, but not like this. Not a fucking mess. On night four, he told me to fuck off. On night six, he came home so angry he started throwing things. I don’t like drunk Dean. Drunk Dean isn’t my Dean.

Things turn angry fast. I start to yank at his hair and claw at the bare skin of his back. He finally pulls his lips from my mouth only to clamp down on the side of my neck, biting and sucking all the way down to my shoulder before moving to the other side and doing it all over again.

“Dean,” I whisper, reminding myself that this was supposed to be a break-up. Or, at the very least, an I-need-space-up.

“Shh,” he whispers against my abused skin. “Just, shhhh.”

I rest my head against the wall and squeeze my eyes shut. He stops and I’m not sure I want him to stop anymore because I’m too afraid to lose him now. The words are stuck in my throat and I can’t get them out, even though nothing sexual is happening between us anymore. Even wasted, Dean picked up on my mood. He knows I’m not okay.

“Come on. Let’s go sleep,” he whispers.

“No. Stay.” I cling to him, shaking now. “Stay. Here. Fuck me.”

“Cas-”

“Dean, fuck me or leave.”

He looks away, shame clear across his face. “I don’t wanna leave, Cas. Don’t make me leave you.”

“Then fuck me.”

“Okay.” He takes a deep breath, then gives me a tight smile. “Can we at least go to the bedroom?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

I give him the same tight smile back. “Because you’ll be sleeping on the couch tonight, babe.”

“Oh.” He clears his throat and nods. “Yeah. That’s - yeah. That’s fair.”

Before either of us can think of anything else to say, he’s pressing a searing kiss to my lips. I shiver and melt against him. When he presses me harder into the wall, I help him undo our pants, shoving them awkwardly the best we can. He rips my underwear in the back instead of trying to maneuver around them but I don't care. I just want him to fuck me. To remind me of the love we share, because I can't seem to find it anymore.

After a sloppy and quick prep with his fingers and spit, he’s pushing inside me. He groans and buries his face in my neck. “God, baby. ‘S been s’ long.”

Maybe if you weren’t getting wasted every fucking night, we could be having sex more often. Instead of saying that, I just grab a fistful of his hair and bring his mouth back to mine, pressing our lips together again. I have no idea if this break-up sex or make-up sex or what, but I know one thing. It might be our last time. So, I free myself from all the anger and sadness and loneliness, and give myself one more night with the love of my life.

Dean

The bartender at Rookies, who I now know is named Benny, is just a year older than me, and is really invested in my life for some reason, hands me my final glass of whiskey for the night. At some point I stopped even asking for the soda along with it. What’s the point, right?

I stare down into the glass and think about what I’ve been thinking about all night long. Castiel. I know he was trying to break-up with me last night. I know it was wrong that I used sex against him. I know I’m being a piece of shit lately. Drinking. Smoking. Getting into fights. Yelling at Castiel. Being crabby and hungover all day just to sneak away and get wasted at night.

Not even sneak away anymore. I left while he was still awake tonight. He was sitting on the couch grading papers and drinking coffee, like he was planning on staying awake for a while, so I decided to just leave instead of trying to wait him out. What if he didn’t fall asleep fast enough and I missed bar close? Then what would I drink? So, I left. Walked right out. Avoided eye contact.

Except the guilt is haunting me. It’s the first time since I relapsed that I haven’t been able to enjoy myself at the bar. No loud karaoke. No meaningless flirting. No nachos. No playing card games with some of the regulars. Just me and my glass of whiskey, freaking the fuck out.

He wanted me to leave. He was trying to break-up. He’s done with me. Fuck. What will I go home to tonight? Will he still be there? Will he demand I leave? How do I fix this?

Two assholes are laughing at the end of the bar. I keep looking at them, hoping that they’ll get the picture that they’re annoying the fuck out of me, but they just get louder. More obnoxious. When one of them spews something about “fags” I launch to my feet.

“Woah, buddy,” Benny immediately says, putting a hand out to stop me. “Not worth it.”

“Nothin’s worth it ‘n more.”

“Dean!”

I hurry to the guy that’s closest to me and slam my fist against his face, smiling as the blood sprays from his nose. He stumbles back but before I can pursue him, his friend is jumping on me. We fall to the floor but I quickly gain the upper hand, rolling us so I’m on top. I land a few good punches before the first guy is pulling me off and slamming me into the bartop. As he hits me, I start to laugh like a fucking maniac.

Castiel

The knock on the door wakes me from where I’m sleeping on the couch. I rub my eyes and look at the time. It’s still an hour to bar close so I’m not sure why Dean’s already home. Or why he can’t use his goddamn key.

Even more annoyed than usual, I storm over to the door and unlock it, then yank it open. I gasp when I see that Dean’s not alone. Benny, the nice bartender that’s been trying to keep him as safe as possible during his recent bender, is holding him up. Dean’s bleeding and one eye is swelling shut. When he sees me, though, he starts to laugh and walk toward me. I back away and he stumbles, but with a hand on the wall he stabilizes himself and stands up straight. His grin is bloody and terrifying.

“Hey you,” he slurs, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and smiling again, this time a softer, loving smile. It makes me nauseous.

I look at Benny and give him a tight, thankful smile. “Sorry about this.”

“I’m sorry. The fight happened too fast. It didn’t last long, I got his ass out of there the second I could.”

“Thank you, Benny.”

“Are you,” he pauses, looking at Dean before looking at me again. “Are you okay here, Cas? Do you want a ride somewhere? Or I can take him somewhere else? He’s bad tonight.”

“‘Ay, fuck off, asshole! He’s mine,” Dean shouts, stabbing a finger in the air toward Benny. “Leave!”

Knowing that I’m now crying, I pretend like I’m not and wave Benny off. “It’s fine. I promise. Thank you, again.”

He looks nervous leaving me but after a few seconds he nods and closes the door behind himself. I stare at Dean, trying to recognize him. Trying to understand how, in nine short days, we got here.

“I can’t do this anymore, Dean.”

“‘Ll get better. ‘Swear.”

“It doesn’t feel like it’s getting better.”

“Jus’ fuckin’ buried my ma, Cas! Wha’ ya wan’ from me?”

Unable to look him in the eye, I stare at the ground and whisper, “I want you to leave.”

“Fuck you.” As he walks by, he shoulder checks me. It’s the most violent he’s ever been with me - which is saying a lot, because people constantly shoulder check people - but it still sets me off.

Whipping around, I put my hands on his back and shove him. He goes stumbling across the floor before turning to stare at me with wide eyes. “Jesus christ, you’re fuckin’ crazy!”

“I want you out of this house!”

“No. ‘s our house.”

“Actually, it’s not. It’s mine. You just have a key.” I swallow down the pain I’m feeling and force myself to look straight at him, lifting my chin to look more confident than I actually feel. “I will pack your things and bring them to Sam’s tomorrow.”

“No.” He shakes his head, laughing. “You don’ get to break up with me. That - ‘s not how it works.”

I go to the door and yank it open, pointing out toward the sidewalk. “Leave. Now.”

The nearest thing to him is an end table with a lamp and a picture frame on it. He growls and turns to it, lashing out and dragging his hands across the surface. He sends the lamp crashing to the ground and the picture flying. It lands a few feet from me, picture facing up, the broken glass spidering across my smiling face. Dean’s face is left untouched.

Staring down at our broken image, I tell him, “Leave on your own right now, or I’ll call Sam. Who doesn’t even know you’re still drinking, by the way. So I suggest you don’t make me do that.”

“How dare you?” he chokes out. “My ma died.”

“That excuse stopped working a few days ago, Dean. You need help.”

“I need you.”

“I’m not available right now.”

He makes a weird sound that draws my attention. When I look up at him, he’s staring at me like he doesn’t recognize me. His face is covered in tears. “Don’ do this, Cas. ‘can fix this.”

“No you can’t.”

The sadness morphs to anger, like it always does with Dean Winchester. He starts throwing everything in sight. None in my direction, like I said, he’d never hurt me. But it still makes me start to shake. I openly sob but it doesn’t matter to him. He’s too busy screaming about how selfish and judgemental I am. How he deserves better than me. How I’m an asshole. How I’m heartless. How I’m the worst person he’s ever met.

At some point, I got myself to dial Sam’s number. I couldn’t speak through the sobs but he could clearly hear Dean screaming at me. He lives three streets away from us. By the time I hear him enter the house, Dean hasn’t even run out of steam yet. He punches the wall right before Sam hugs him from behind, pulling him away from the new hole in the drywall, grabbing his bleeding hand to keep it from getting injured further.

I lift my chin to look at Dean as Sam drags him toward the door. Sam is in responsible big brother mode, shifting between apologizing to me and asking if I’m okay, to hushing and whispering to Dean that everything will be fine. When they get directly in front of me, Dean’s eyes meet mine. They’re full of so much hate and pain and love that I have to take a step back.

“Don’ do this, Cas,” he whispers a final time, voice raw from his screaming. “Don’ make me leave.”

“I’m sorry, Dean,” I whisper in a voice just as broken, even though I’ve barely raised my voice since he got home. “I can't be with you like this.”

“You're heartless. You never loved me, did you?”

“How can you even say that? Of course I did. I still do! But I can't anymore. You have to stop this.”

“Fuck you! I need you ‘n you're fuckin’ abandonin’ me!”

Sam tries pulling him away but Dean pulls his arm back, his elbow hitting Sam in the nose. He takes advantage of his freedom by coming for me. I back away out the door so he will follow me outside, then turn so I'm closest to the door.

“Don't speak to me like that, Dean.”

“Fuck. You.” He spits at me. “I'll be back. You'll be beggin’ me to.”

“No, Dean.” Wiping at my face, I tell him in the strongest, most confident tone I can muster, “I swear to god. Don’t come back until you’re fucking sober.”

His lips part but I turn my back to him and run inside, slamming the door and locking it. Then I slump down on the ground and curl in on myself, not sure if I just made the best decision of my life, or the worst mistake.

Dean

17 hours sober.

Well, since my last drink. I doubt I'm even sober yet, considering the amount of alcohol in my system. Still, 17 hours is impressive for me, so I'm counting it.

I rest my cheek against the cool toilet seat, vomit dripping from the corner of my mouth. Sam enters the bathroom, placing a glass of water on the counter before wringing out a cold cloth over my head, sending refreshingly cold water down my body. He runs it under cold water again before resting it on the back of my neck.

“Thanks, Sammy,” I whisper through chattering teeth. I wish my fucking body would stop shaking so hard. It's starting to hurt. Every muscle is aching. With each heave as I vomit, my body protests. It feels like I'm being ripped into ten different directions.

------

37 hours sober.

I sit at the back of my second meeting of the day, bouncing my knees to the rhythm of my pounding heart. The man speaking to the group is talking about being sober for ten years. There's a wedding ring on his finger. I stare at it as he talks with his hands. It was just last month I was at the jewelry store with my mom, browsing rings for when I proposed to Castiel. We said we would go back and make a final decision but we never did.

Now she's dead.

Now, Castiel would probably throw the ring at my face.

Don't come back until you're fucking sober.

I want to go home right now. Technically, I've sobered up. I purged all the alcohol out of my system through vomit, sweat, and time. Now I'm left with a shaky, empty shell of myself. Not the man Castiel is hoping will return, I'm sure.

------

42 hours sober.

I want a drink so fucking bad. My hands are trembling so hard and I know what they're begging me for. I know they want the comfort of wrapping around a glass of whiskey. My whole body wants something to do with the liquid gold. My tongue longs for the taste. My throat for the burn. My stomach for the heat that spreads through it. My veins want to be pumping alcohol. My mind wants help shutting off.

I scrub a rough hand over my face, my knees bouncing double time. I should go to another meeting. I'm sure there's one right now, even though it's late. If I was more determined, I'd find one. I'm not though. I'm worried if I get off the couch and allow my feet to move, they will bring me to the nearest bar. So, I sit on Sam's couch with the TV on mute so I don't wake his family up. I sit until I don't need a drink.

I end up falling asleep first.

------

56 hours sober.

God, I miss him. I miss him so fucking much. I need him. Almost as much as I need a drink. Since I know that's wrong, since I know he deserves someone who needs him more than anything, especially more than whiskey, I still don't go back.

------

6 days sober.

The cravings still thrum beneath the surface of my skin. The piercing headache I’ve had for three days straight now still won’t go away. But, when I sweat, it doesn’t smell like booze anymore. I can now eat three meals a day without throwing them up. The trembling has mostly stopped. It only returns when I’m anxious or unable to sleep. That’s probably my biggest problem now, besides the Castiel issue. I can’t sleep well.

It’s mostly that I can’t even fall asleep. Too restless. Too many thoughts. Too upset. When I do manage to fall asleep, I’m battling nightmares. Nightmares about the horrors of my past. Nightmares about dying alone. Nightmares of Castiel dead like my mom, lying stiff in a coffin. Nightmares of Castiel finding someone else. Nightmares of me trying to go back, proud of being sober, only to be told he can no longer love me.

------

12 days sober.

I dial his number after work, drumming the fingers of my free hand nervously against my thigh. I've sent him two texts since he kicked me out. One when I first detoxed, apologizing and promising I would get better. The second a few days ago, just saying I miss and love him, and want him to take all the time he needs. He didn't answer either.

He doesn't answer the phone call either. It takes a lot for me to not throw my phone at the wall. It takes even more for me not to drink. I go for a run instead. 8 miles. Sam would be so proud.

------

30 days sober.

I get my bronze chip at my daily meeting. Everyone claps for me. I even smile.

I visit my mom's grave, apologizing for being gone so long. She listens to me talk and cry. She sits with me in silence.

I ask Sam if Castiel is okay. Sam promises he is. I can't decide if I'm relieved or hurt by that. All I know is I fucking need him, and it's killing me that he doesn't need me too.

Castiel

34 days alone.

The first apology arrives during the school day in the middle of my lesson on Ernest Hemingway. 37 pink roses and one red rose. They come with a note written in Dean’s beautifully messy handwriting: 37 pink roses for every month we’ve been together, and one red for this past month that we’ve had to spend apart. I’m so sorry I made it so we needed a red rose… I promise to try and make sure we never have another one again. I miss you. I love you. Take your time. I’m not going anywhere. - Dean

Telling my students to read the short story I just introduced, I hurry off to the staff bathroom and lock myself in. With the note crumpled in my hand, I let myself cry. I cry for every pink rose. I cry even harder for the red one.

------

37 days alone.

The second apology is in my mailbox the next morning. An envelope with just my name on it, in that same handwriting as the note with the roses. I bring it inside and open it as I eat my breakfast. It’s a gift certificate for a full day at the spa in town. With it is a note that reads: You talk all the time about how stressed you are. With work. Your kids. Coworkers. Family. Even with me. I never tell you enough how much I appreciate you. How I appreciate that even if you get home after dark, you still make us dinner. How I appreciate that even when you’re exhausted, you still wake up with me when I have my nightmares. How I appreciate your never ending patience and understanding. How I appreciate that you planned my mom’s funeral since Sam and I were too upset. I promise to appreciate you more. I promise to tell you more. I’m nowhere near the man you deserve.. But I’m going to try my hardest to become him for you. I miss you. I love you. Take your time. I’m not going anywhere. - Dean

------

40 days alone.

The third apology is a pink gift bag on my front porch when I come home at the end of the day. I bring it inside and place it on the breakfast bar. After I’ve changed into more comfortable clothes and poured myself a glass of wine, I open it. A note is tied with a ribbon off one of the handles. I open it and read: I miss you. I love you. Take your time. I’m not going anywhere. - Dean

When I look inside, I see that the bag is actually packed full of notes. Little folded up slips of paper. With shaking hands, I open the first and read: You don’t know this, but the first time we met wasn’t actually the first time I’d seen you. I saw you a week before that, when walking across campus to the dorms. It was a cool, windy, fall day. You were in this chunky, burgundy sweater. A plaid flannel blanket was wrapped around you, falling off one shoulder. You were sitting on the ground with your back against a tree. Reading. Always reading. My cute little nerd. The wind kept blowing your crazy curls around and I just stood there in awe. You were so beautiful. I remember when I saw you at that party the week after, I just knew. I knew you were the one. It was fate.

Clamping down on my bottom lip to keep from crying, I grab a new one and read: I know you hate my homemade lasagna, babe. But thanks for always pretending anyway.

I laugh softly, the smile feeling foreign on my face. I can’t remember the last time I genuinely smiled, instead of the forced ones I give in public to keep up appearances. It’s not really a surprise that Dean Winchester is the one to get me to smile again. He was always quite good at that.

I read another one: I’m sorry for that terrible fucking haircut I gave you last year… that was… oh boy.. That was terrible babe. I wasn’t lying though. You still looked gorgeous.

This makes me laugh until I’m breathless. I remember that day. I had a meeting the next morning and it had completely slipped my mind to go to the salon. All I needed was a trim so my curls weren’t falling in my eyes. He butchered it so bad I wore a weird fedora like hat to the meeting, which my coworkers to this day still tease me about. The laughter is relieving. Almost all of the pressure that’s been building on my chest the last 40 days lifts. I can almost breathe again.

I read another: When I make love to you, your sexy legs wrapped around my waist and your arms around my back, holding me close so we can kiss, you make the most beautiful noises. I get lost in your eyes sometimes and forget to even move my hips. You’ve never pointed it out. Sometimes I wonder if you get lost in me too. If you don’t even notice.

My heart flutters.

I read another: When we were both still in the dorms on campus, you accused me of stealing one of your favorite sweaters. It was blue, almost identical to your eyes, and so fucking soft. My favorite part though was that it smelled like you. So… yeah… I totally lied. I stole that. I’m really sorry. It just made me feel safe and it helped with my nightmares. I slept with it every night, even long after it stopped smelling like you. When we moved in together, I was afraid to tell you… so I hid it. It’s in our bedroom closet right now if you want it back. In a box labeled ‘Dean’s College Shit’. Maybe it smells like me… maybe it can help you sleep now.

“I fucking knew he stole that,” I grumble, unable to stop myself from smiling. I go to the closet and find the sweater, exactly where he said it’d be. It’s slightly dusty but it does still smell like him. Actually, it smells like us. A smell the rest of this house is starting to lose. I pull the sweater on over my shirt and sink into it.

Going back to the kitchen, now wrapped in my own Dean security blanket, I read another: I love you so much, Cas. You make my entire world spin. It feels like everything is standing still lately… you know how much I hate being still.

And another: I miss you.

And another: Sam’s dog is under the impression we are now best friends, and he sleeps on the couch with me every night. He’s lucky he’s cute because this couch is fucking small.

Another: I love when you read to me at night while I fall asleep, even when it’s your students’ terrible essays that I know drive you nuts. God.. I miss your voice, babe.

Another: When we kissed for the first time, you tasted like skittles. I never asked if you had been eating them, or maybe drinking something earlier. I wonder what it was.

Another: It’s raining tonight. Thunderstorming. I know how much you love them. I hope you’re sitting in the window seat with a book and a mug of tea, enjoying it. You deserve peaceful moments like that.

It hasn’t thunderstormed in two weeks. He's been writing these over the time we’ve been apart, instead of all at once for this apology gift like I thought.

My resolve crumbles.

I read another: I love you.

I read every single one. Most of them more than once. By the time the sun is setting, the wine bottle is empty and I’m dialing Dean’s number.

He answers before the phone can ring a second time. “Cas?” he asks breathlessly. The desperation and hope in his voice breaks my heart.

With a smile, I say what I’ve wanted to for 40 days now. “Dean. Come home.”

#destiel #supernatural #prompts #love #angst #writing #feels #savingpeoplewritingprompts #au #dean #castiel #domestic au #alcohol #relapse

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chungledown-bimothy · 5 years

Text

Trust Me: Chapter Two

I had planned on waiting a bit longer, but I couldn’t wait to get this out to you guys.

This is the most intense chapter of the entire fic. There will not be anything near this intense in the rest of the fic, but I needed to communicate exactly what Logan and Patton are about and up to.

Chapter One AO3 Chapter 3

Warnings: Homophobia, transphobia, emotional manipulation, violence, knives, swearing.

Word Count: 1417

Tag List: @spookyingarbageisland @ren-allen @ccecode @emo-sanders-sides-loving-unicorn @ilovemyspoopydad @bloodropsblog @funsizedgremlin @raygelkitty @roxiefox23 @thomasthesandersengine

"Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday dear Logan! Happy birthday to you!" Patton sang, handing their brother a neatly-wrapped package.

"It is your birthday as well, Patton."

"Well, yeah, but we said we weren't going to do anything for each other this year because of everything that's going on, and I couldn't help myself. So today is just for you!"

"It is quite fitting that you mention that agreement, because I, too, broke it and got something for you."

"Oh my goodness, Lo, you're so sweet! Open your present first, though!"

"If you insist." Logan unwrapped the present to find a beautiful leather-bound notebook. "Patton… this is incredible. You shouldn't have."

"Of course I should have. 'The only difference between screwing around and science is writing it down', after all, and your experiments are so important. They deserve to be cataloged in a notebook as beautiful as they are."

"They are our experiments, Pat; you are as integral to their function and success as I am. Would you like to see your present?"

"You are the best brother anyone could ask for. I'd love to see what you got me!"

"Follow me, then." Logan took their hand and led them to the living room, where his laptop was showing a video feed of a dimly-lit room that was empty save for a man tied to a chair.

"Lo, is that...?" Patton asked, voice picking up with excitement.

"Happy birthday, brother dearest." Logan pressed a kiss to the top of Patton's head.

"Who is he?"

"His name is Kyle Ren. Twenty-three year old investment banker- a trust fund baby," Logan spat.

"What kind of devil is he?"

"Neo-nazi. Even has fucking swastika and Confederate flag tattoos."

"Logan, I don't know what to say. This is the best birthday ever! Tell me everything about getting him; your way is so much more interesting than mine."

"Falsehood. Simple stalking and abduction is uninspiring. Your… oh, what is the colloquial? Catfishing?" Logan looked to Patton for confirmation before continuing. "It is enthralling. I am singularly brilliant by almost any standard; emotional intelligence being the sole exception. You, my brother, are more emotionally intelligent than any of the imbeciles out there. With a few messages, you have these monsters at your beck and call. I had to start keeping tabs on Kyle as soon as we dumped the last one two weeks ago in order to be able to get him to you in time. While the chase is… exhilarating, it does not even begin to compare to the artistry you possess."

"Logan, you're the sweetest, and I know how hard opening up like that is for you. You did all of this," Patton added, gesturing to the computer, "to make me happy. That's proof that you aren't nearly as emotionally unintelligent as you think you are. If you'd like, I think you could learn a lot from observing my time with Kyle."

"That would be ideal. You have not interacted with him before, so everything would be fresh, pure, perfect. I would very much enjoy watching you work."

"Yay! When can we go?"

"He has been there for three days now. He could sit for a few more days without dying before we are able to teach him, but…"

"Three days is perfect. Like Christ returning to cleanse him of his sins."

"With you as my avenging angel. My thoughts exactly. Get your things; we will leave as soon as you're ready, and I will tell you everything I know about him on the way."

"I won't be a minute!" Patton practically skipped to their room to get their knives and a second set of the clothes they were wearing.

Logan silently turned on the lights and retreated to a far corner of the warehouse as Patton walked up to the man in the chair with a smile. Logan was fully aware that, until they relinquished it, this was Patton's domain. He knew he'd get his turn, but for now he was nothing more than a silent observer.

"Hey kiddo! What's your name?" Patton asked sweetly after making sure that the camera's lighting and focus were good to go, and that it was recording.

"Who the fuck are you?"

"Now now, where are your manners? I'm Patton, and that over there watching us is Logan. I'll ask again- what's your name?"

"What are you, some sort of homos? Your boyfriend's gonna get off on whatever you're about to do to me, you sick fucks?"

"Oh no, my brother won't be doing anything. This is between you and me. I asked you a question, and you will answer me," Patton demanded, all warmth and cheer gone. "What. Is. Your. Name?"

"I'm not telling you shit, faggot."

"Wrong answer." A cold smile spread across Patton's face as they opened up the roll bag they were carrying, revealing fourteen wickedly sharp knives. They gleamed in the harsh fluorescent lights. "Do I need to ask again?"

"You won't do shit to me. People are already looking for me, and once they find me, I'll have your asses locked up for the rest of your miserable lives."

"Oh my, what confidence. One of many, many things you're wrong about, kiddo. According to my brother, you're known for going on two, sometimes three, week benders with no warning, and no one can get a hold of you. A few days ago, your friends were wondering how long it would be until your next one. No one cares that you're gone. No one is coming for you. You. Are. Alone. You live and die at my mercy and mine alone. Now, I will ask one final time. What is your name?"

"K- Kyle. Kyle Ren," came his shaky reply.

"Now, that wasn't so hard, was it?"

"N- no, sir." A moment of silence passed before the air was filled with a resounding smack.

"You will not refer to me as 'sir' or by any other masculine terms. Understood?" Kyle looked up at them, a bruise already forming under his eye.

"Why am I not surprised that you're a tranny," he muttered, finding confidence in his taunt.

"EXCUSE YOU?" Logan yelled. Patton turned to him, and he blanched.

"This is my turn, and you promised you'd be quiet. You promised me, Lo." Patton pleaded, voice full of pain, like they were about to cry. "Are you going to be like them, or can I trust you to keep your word? All we have is each other, and if I can't trust you, we can't do this."

"I will, Patton, I swear. My deepest apologies for the outburst; I am sure you can understand why I reacted so strongly. That being said, you are more than capable of taking care of yourself these days, and this is, as they say 'not my lane'."

"Well done with the vocabulary, I can tell you're studying. Now, please, stay quiet so I can keep working, okay?" Logan simply nodded, and Patton turned back around. "I'm sorry about the interruption, Kyle. It won't happen again. Now, where were we? Oh, that's right. You were being incredibly rude, and that's not okay."

"The fuck do you want from me? Money?"

"I want you to learn your lesson. The irony is, thinking you're so superior is what makes you so disgustingly inferior. You need to be punished for what you've done."

"I haven't done shit!"

"Tsk tsk. At least the other one was honest with me." Patton walked up to Kyle and knelt down to his eye level, making a show of picking up one of their knives. "I've heard you have some things under that shirt that make my point pretty clear." They sliced his shirt open, revealing the tattoos Logan had mentioned, one on each admittedly impressive pec.

"Oh, I get it now. You're a liberal sjw cuck who can't handle the fact that I'm right."

"Kiddo, you're going to regret every single word you've said since I walked through that door. I'm done playing games; it's time you learn your lesson. When I'm done with you, you'll still be alive, but all that will be left is the miserable, lonely son of a bitch we both know you are behind all the bigotry and bravado. Then, once you're behaving well for us, Logan has some experiments to run. Now, let's start by removing those tattoos, shall we?"

With a wicked smile, Patton Hart began the reeducation of Kyle Ren.

#sanders sides #sanders sides fanfic #logicality #my writing #logan sanders #patton sanders #sanders sides fanfiction #trust me

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tvehyungs-gf · 6 years

Note

Hollaa.. could you pls make a Jin drabble with situation 14 and sentence 5&6 ?.. I really love your writing.. and also.. please could you make a text version for where the reader is crushing on him in and the other's tease her.. Thankyouuuu,😘 -Jade

Elevator - Jin Drabble

Situation #14: Stuck together for a long period of timeSentence #5: “You’re one of the most important things in my life.”Sentence #6: “Do I love you? Yes. Do I like you? That’s still up for debate.”

You don’t even know to begin. How did you end up in this situation? No fucking clue. How were you going to get out of this situation? You also had no fucking clue. It was like, everything was deemed to go wrong the moment you stepped into the club that night.

Firstly, let me tell you how everything came to be.

You were at the club with your best friend, but ultimately, she left you to god knows where about an hour after you got there. And being an absolute wallflower, you took it upon yourself to go get unlimited drinks at the bar by putting them on your friends tab. Let’s say, you took the term unlimited drinks to a whole new meaning. To say you were drunk was an understatement. You were absolutely fucking wasted.

So when the cute and tall blurry sexy man came up to you talking about how much he missed you and how it was funny seeing you there, you had the urge to kiss him for some unknown reason. Maybe you knew the man, but you weren’t sure. You only noticed that he had a set of eyes and a nice nose and some plump ass lips.

By the time the man finished blabbering on about how the both of you need to catch up again, you jumped up from the bar stool and attached both of your lips together.

That lead to the two of you to go make out as you both walked towards the car garage where you parked your car. And as soon as you stepped onto the elevator where privacy was calling your name, you blindly pressed the stopped the button along with some other buttons by accident.

And you were both in there making out for sometime. However, when you finally pulled away for some air, you opened your eyes to see that you couldn’t see anything. It was pitch black. “Uh...” You hmm’d confused. “Wait, are we at your place already?” You asked dumbly.

“Are you okay?” The stranger asked as he set you down on your feet before digging through his pockets to look for his phone. “We’re in the elevator.”

“But the lights, they’re off.” You noted the obvious. “W-why are the lights off...”

The stranger sighed as he turned on the flashlight from his phone and pointed at the buttons on the elevator. “Here, let me just...” He pressed the stop button again. “Turn the elevator back on.”

“It’s not working.”

“Well crap.” The stranger then pressed the call button on the panel but nothing was working. “We’re stuck in here and it’s like 3 am.”

You mentally stabbed yourself. “Oh my god, I think I broke it when we were making out. I pressed some buttons trying to press the close button but I guess I pressed stop.”

“Of course,” The man sighed and sat down on the floor. “this is such a typical Y/N thing to do.”

“H-how do you know my name?”

“Y/N, it’s me.”

You raised your brow although he couldn’t see you. “Who?”

“It’s Jin... Did you not recognize me when were are the club?”

oh fuck, you were screwed. Kim Seokjin, also known as your ex-boyfriend. “Kim fucking Seokjin?!”

Jin laughed, “The one and only. I now assume that you couldn’t get a good look at my handsome face before you made out with me.”

You sighed loudly. “Everything is all blurry and I may or may not have a little too much to drink tonight.” You slid down next to him and rubbed your temples with your middle finger and thumb. “Shit, sorry Jin. I couldn’t tell who you were but you looked real good all blurry and shit and I was really lonely back there.”

Jin let out another laugh again. “It’s alright. But I see you haven’t change a bit since the last time I saw you.”

“Then that means it’s a bad thing.” You pulled your knees to your chest. “That’s one of the reason why we broke up... I’m so carefree and wild. It’s not good to be all that sometimes.”

“Hey, no it’s not.” Jin assured you. “You’re great Y/N. You’re fun.”

You shook your head, “That’s not what you said when we had the argument.”

“I said things that I didn’t mean out of anger Y/N, trust me. The reason we broke up was because I became super busy with work and I just didn’t have time for a relationship. And I just felt so bad for not giving you the attention that you need. You’re one of the most important things in my life.” Jin gave your hand a tight squeeze. “And when I saw tonight drinking alone at the bar, I just felt the need to go up to you despite the many no’s my friends told me not to.”

“They told you not to come see me?” You looked at Jin confused.

“They kept telling me that you moved on and how it wasn’t good for me to keep thinking about our relationship.” Jin bit down on his lip after he let out a small sigh. “Truthfully, I miss you. I miss us.”

You looked down. “Am I that drunk that I’m hearing you say all the things I wanted you to say?”

“No,” Jin laughed. “I don’t think so.”

You laughed with him before looking at him again. “Jin, do you still love me?”

“Do I love you? Yes. Do I like you? That’s still up for debate.”

You smacked his arm, “Hey!”

Jin rubbed his arm in pain. “It’s true! You got us stuck in an elevator at 3 in the morning! Who knows when we’re getting out! And, my phone has no signal in here. Plus, I’m in here confessing how much I like you still and you’re drunk.”

You rolled your eyes. “I love you too.”

“We’ll talk about this when we get out of here and when you’re sober.”

“Are you sober yet?” Jin texted you.

It was 5pm now and you both managed to get out of the elevator at 10 am when someone came to see why the elevator stopped working. Let say, the repair man was surprised to see the two of you sleeping with your heads resting against another.

You rolled your eyes as you read his text. “My head hurts and I feel like I’m on my death bed at the moment.”

Jin laughed before replying. “Then let me come over with a hangover cure and we can talk about how you told me that you love me still.”

“To be fair, you told me that you loved me first.”

“You got me there. Well, I’m on my way, love.”

You smiled reading the text. Maybe getting stuck in the elevator with your ex boyfriend wasn’t as bad as you thought it was.

A/N: Thank you for requesting love! I’ll get the 2nd part of your request done soon. The texts should be out hopefully by tomorrow or even tonight! (Also, thank you for saying that you like my writing! I’m glad that you like it!

Send me a character, a situation and a sentence from this list, and I’ll write you a drabble.

BTS Masterlist #2

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injusticeff · 6 years

Text

Chapter Ten

Dom

I was going over ninety miles per hour in a fifty-five zone because honestly, a nigga don’t know what a “speed limit” is when he gotta be somewhere soon. I only had about a fifteen minute window to pull this off successfully so I ain’t have no time to spare.

I only had one thing on my mind the entire time that I drove, not letting anything distract me from the mission at hand. I already had my fix for the day and honestly, I was feeling good.

Good enough to pull off what I needed to pull off.

I'm not trying to have my son around none of the bullshit. Pulling up to Junior's daycare, I hoped and prayed that Simone didn't transfer him to another one but then again, she broke and don't got shit going for herself so I doubt it.

I hopped out the car and made my way through the front entrance, immediately smiling once I saw my boy playing with some of the toys that rested on the floor. "Junior!" I called out to him causing his attention to avert over to me.

"DADDY!!!" He stood to his feet and ran over to me, wrapping his tiny arms around my legs as I chuckled and leaned down to hug him back. "Where you was daddy? I missed you." He questioned with a small pout and whatever little heart I did have basically shattered in my chest.

"Me and mommy haven't been on the best terms but she said you could come stay with me for a couple weeks so go get your stuff and come on." I lied.

He wasted no time in going to grab his things from his cubby, excitedly clapping his hands together on the way there and back. Looking around to make sure none of the staff was watching, I lifted him into my arms and walked out of the establishment without signing him out. Although, even if they were watching, they've all seen me pick up Junior before so I'm pretty sure they didn't think much of it anyway.

I carried him to my car and tucked him into the front seat, making sure the seat belt was tight enough for him to be secure. "You're gonna be a big boy and ride in the front with daddy today."

"YAY!!!"

Making my way around to the driver's side, I sped off in the direction of my crib before anyone could stop me from leaving because they realized I didn't sign out or worse— Simone and her new bitch ass nigga pulled up. I didn't have the time for it today, I'm on a tight schedule.

It took no longer than fifteen minutes to arrive at my house. Junior was singing about how he was a big boy the whole ride and honestly, if I would have known it would have made him this excited, I would've had him riding in the front with me a long time ago.

"Daddy, can we get ice cweam?"

I gave him a playful but knowing look. "Now, how you gon' ask me to go out as soon as we get home." I replied with a low chuckle. "Come on, you lucky I got some in the house."

Unbuckling him from the seat, he immediately hopped down and we both made our way to the front door. I had some business to handle later so I was just going to have to take him to my mom's in a couple hours. I know he's not going to like it but shit, right about now, he doesn't have a choice.

Once we watched a movie and ate our ice cream, I began to put on his shoes for him as I let him know that he was going over grandmas house. Just as expected, he gave me the pouty puppy dog eyes. "Come on lil man, Ima come get you later on tonight. I promise."

That made him a little happier but of course, he was still sad that he had to leave so soon.

I grabbed his book bag filled with some of his favorite snacks and took his tiny hand in mine, guiding him side by side to my car. I hadn't actually told my mom that I was going to be dropping him off but she loves him too much to say no; plus, she hasn't seen him in almost four months so I doubt she'd complain.

It was a silent drive to my mom's house because Junior can literally fall asleep in a minute with no problem, especially if he's in the car. I'm slick jealous. It always takes me a while to fall asleep and sometimes, I don't even get any type of rest before the sun is coming up again. You could probably say a nigga got insomnia but you ain't a doctor so...

Knocking on the door once I finally pulled up to my mom's house, I instantly furrowed my eyebrows when I saw a nigga I've never seen before answer the door. "Who the fuck are you?" I spoke in a cold tone, looking him up and down completely forgetting I had a sleeping Junior in my arms.

"Who's that baby?" I heard my mom's voice come up from behind him before she came into view, her smile instantly fading once she caught sight of me. "Dominick? What's going on? What you doing here?"

"Who's this ma?" I asked her, not once taking my eyes off of the nigga in front of me. Ole dude looks about my age.

She sighed as she stepped in front of him. Little did she know, I'm good at maneuvering around people so that shit wasn't going to save him. "Dom, this is my boyfriend Miles. Miles, this is my son that I was telling you ab—"

"Boyfriend?! What? You a cougar now?"

"Dominick James Lewis, you better watch your tone when you're talking to me. I am a grown woman and I am very capable of making grown decisions without my son's opinion."

I smacked my lips. "Yea yea, we'll talk 'bout this later. I need you to watch Junior for a few hours, I'll be back to pick him up tonight."

"Dom," she spoke to me through clenched teeth, "I have company."

And? Like I was supposed to give a fuck about her wack ass sugar baby. "Okay? And now you got more. Look, I gotta go." I replied as I placed Junior in her arms and jogged to my car before she could give him back. She really just pissed me off and I wanted to handle that so bad but I was already late to a meeting.

***

I sat in the diner, my feet tapping rapidly against the floor as I checked my watch for the third time. Muhfuckas can never be on time, I swear.

After a couple more minutes of me impatiently waiting, I was about to stand up and take my ass back home until I saw her slide in the booth with a tan trench coat, a fat ass church hat, and sunglasses on. I couldn't help but to laugh at her goofy ass.

"Girl, why you got that clown ass disguise on?"

She frantically checked our surroundings before responding. "I didn't need anyone to know it was me coming to see you. Nobody even knows we still keep contact with each other." She said just above a whisper.

Alright, now my amusement was turning into annoyance as I snatched the hat off of her head.

"Tiarra, take all that shit off. You attracting more attention to yourself than if you would have came dressed like a normal human being." I gritted out, shaking my head. This bitch so damn dumb bruh.

She glanced around a second time before slowly sliding the sunglasses from her face causing me to finally notice the major scarring on her face. I let out a low laugh.

"Damn son, who beat yo ass?"

She rolled her eyes in a huff. "Your scary ass baby momma."

"Simone did that to you?" I looked over all the scars once again with a slight nod. "I'm proud of her."

Rolling her eyes again, she sat back in the booth and crossed her arms over her chest like that was supposed to scare me. If I want to clown yo ass, I'm going to do it but she lucky we're not here for that because I had so much more I wanted to say. "When's the last time you talked to her?" Of course I still wanted to keep tabs on her. She was mine whether she liked it or not and there was no way she could get away from me unless she’s trying to move to another country. And even then, it’s not a guarantee.

"Three months ago before she did this bullshit." She responded, pointing to her face as if I didn't already see how fucked up she was.

All I could do was nod in response. Three months? She couldn't really give me any recent information so this meeting with her was pointless. I think she just be wanting to see a nigga. Weird ass.

Standing up from the booth, I gathered my things and started to make my way out of the diner before feeling her grab my arm causing me to quickly snatch it away. She buggin' right now. "W-Where are you going?"

"To my damn house, we ain't got shit else to talk 'bout. I'll fuck witchu later though." With that, I exited the establishment without so much as looking back because these hoes will mistake that for you wanting them to come with you or some shit. Tiarra's a freak but she the type of hoe that tries to stay the night and shit, I don't have time for all that.

Besides, what I look like being laid up with Simone's sister around my son. Around anyone for that matter. I already know for a fact that she gets around. When my niggas ask where they can get a quick fuck, half the time I just send them her way. Don't tell her that though, I just continue to let her think she's the shit because, I mean, what else does she have besides her ego?

***

The fine white powder made its way up my nose, a smile gracing my face soon after as I started to feel its effects. The more I get, the more I want. It was a never ending cycle that had me in pure ecstasy every single day.

All I was waiting on was a call from her. Why? I don't know because everyone that knows me, knows that I absolutely fucking hate waiting. In fact, it's one of my biggest pet peeves. But fortunately for her, I got something to keep me company.

I was about to snort my last line before my phone started vibrating in my pocket, causing me to sigh in frustration but still answer it once I saw the caller ID.

Me: What's good?

Her: Hey, did you get the info I sent you?

Sure enough, no more than a second later, my phone vibrated again but this time indicating that I had received a text message as I immediately clicked on it to copy the text in the message and paste it into another message before pressing send.

Me: I got it... Aye, you sure this the right address?

Her: *sighs* Don't you think I would know?

Without another word, I ended the call. For one, I don't fuck with the attitude bullshit and two, I had another call to make.

Scrolling through my contacts, I was a little disoriented so it took me a little while to find the name I was looking for but as soon as I did, I swiftly called my hit man's number. He was one of the best and I was paying him a lot of money for tonight even though he's my potna so I'm expecting at least some blood to be shed tonight. And I honestly didn't care who's blood it was. I just know I wanted to be able to make blood angels in it if I tried.

He picked up on the third ring; he'd been waiting for my call too.

"Yo." His low voice rang through the speaker as a devious grin couldn't help but to form on my face as I spoke my next words.

"Get in position, the dogs are in the kennel." Was all I needed to say before hanging up.

Bree

I pressed my lips against his soft pair with a smile that one wouldn’t be able to miss, even if they were miles away.

“If I could stay here with you forever, I would.”

He chuckled in response, pecking my lips once more. “I guess we’ll just have to settle for growing old and crusty together, huh?”

I couldn't help but to smile in response. I had the sweetest man anyone could ask for. Well, sweet to me at least but I'm definitely not complaining about that one.

The fact that he's been being one hundred percent honest with me only made things all the more better for our relationship.

And I swear that I wanted to be completely honest with him too but I just couldn't work up the courage to tell him about Antonio. I can't even lie, after that day, whenever me and Xae would have a big fight, I would go to see Antonio at the restaurant just to brighten up my mood a little bit. But it was only a couple of times and nothing happened other than us talking.

I could tell that he was really starting to feel me more and more each time I went to visit but he still respected the fact that I was in a relationship. And although, I would be in a horrible mood when I got there, I still respected my relationship too. So I don't think talking to him is really that bad.

He's just... someone I could confide in without feeling like I'm being judged.

Sometimes I feel bad because I feel like I'm taking advantage of his kindness even though, he assured me all the time that he just wants to see me happy. Just thinking about the memories with him made me smile to myself, immediately being caught off guard when Xae presses another passionate kiss to my lips.

I swear, his kisses are the best. His lips are so soft and always moist like he just licked over them. I still couldn't help thinking about what Antonio's lips might feel like against mine though. Probably perfect. Most likely perfect.

Shaking that thought out of my head, I focused on my man. He was so handsome. His freckles dressed his face nicely and his pretty brown eyes always looked down at me with love and adoration. A small smile graced my face causing him to do the same.

"What?"

"Nothing," I stated simply as my smile turned into a smirk, "You just look so sexy when you look at me like that."

He licked over his lips, giving my body a once over as if he hadn't seen it a million times before. Warmth instantly formed at my center once I noticed his eyes lower with lust. "Is that right."

I decided not to answer him with words but with a kiss instead; his tongue immediately roaming my mouth as his hand found itself gripping me behind my neck. Wasting no time in straddling him, I didn't dare to break away from the kiss. I was already wet and I could feel him hardening beneath me by the second causing my hips to unwillingly grind back and forth against him as I moaned lowly against his lips.

He palmed my ass hard making an even louder moan leave my luscious pair. Trailing his hands underneath the hem of my shirt, he swiftly pulled it off with my help, exposing my small and perky breasts. He instantly gave them a light squeeze.

"Take all yo shit off." He spoke in a husky tone as I hopped off of him and stripped out of my shorts and panties in response. While I did as I was told, he took it upon himself to remove his own clothing and his hardened member immediately sprang to life once it was released from its clothing prison. I bit down on my bottom lip as I watched what was all mine.

He then grabbed me by my waist and pulled me closer to him, trailing light wet kisses slowly along my neck and collarbone. Every move he made tended to each desperate need that was now coursing through my body.

Easing myself on top of him, his gaze never left my nude appearance as he tucked his bottom lip between his teeth, letting out a low grunt once my pussy fully consumed him. I immediately started bouncing up and down, my loud moans now filling the room along with the sounds of our skin coming in contact with each other. I would miss this shit even if he gave it to me half an hour ago.

"Fuck baby!" I threw my head back and closed my eyes, trying to expertly take all of the deep strokes he was giving me as I rode him.

He sent another hard slap to my ass causing my mouth to fall ajar, inaudible moans threatening to escape. Using that same hand, he wrapped it around my neck loosely which already sent me overboard as we both met each other's thrust, fighting for dominance. I opened my eyes and gazed down into his, keeping that eye contact as I slid up and down on his dick, him using the hand that was around my neck to bring me down harder and harder each time.

The tip of his length never failed to ram into my spot with each bounce causing my orgasm to quickly build between my legs. Damn. It's never happened this quick before. I was in pure ecstasy. "Just like that baby." I let out a breathless moan, my toes curling as I came making a smirk form on his face but do you think that stopped him? Hell no.

He continued to stroke upwards, forcing me to ride out my entire orgasm while my eyes rolled to the back of my head. I tried to hold out my arm to stop him from going so deep but to no avail. His horny ass was not letting up. Meanwhile, I was already approaching my second one.

He suddenly stopped causing me to pout a bit before he stood up with him still buried deep inside me and laid me down on the bed, propping my legs up on his shoulders. Wasting no time whatsoever, he instantly began ramming into me, pushing himself deeper with each thrust.

"FUCK! XAE!!" I screamed out, feeling him all the way in my stomach. "S-Stop... I can't..." I could barely make out what I was saying since he had me cumming once again. By now, I was completely out of breath and I don't know if I could take anymore.

He looked at me with hungry eyes. He knew exactly what he was doing to me and he was enjoying every second of it. I, on the other hand, was trying not to unravel from it all. I couldn't keep up with him.

Gripping the sheets tightly in my hands as I shut my eyes, I turned my head into them to stifle my moans but my baby wasn't having that. He roughly gripped my chin and turned my head back towards him.

"Hell nah, look at me."

I opened my eyes, noticing every little thing about him as he rammed into me with no remorse; the way his muscles bulged with each movement, the sweat beads dripping aimlessly down his forehead, even the veins threatening to burst out of his skin. I felt myself growing wetter from just the sight of it all.

"Shit." He grunted out lowly. I guess he noticed it too. "I'm finna nut."

He gripped both sides of my hips, hitting me with everything he's got causing me to yelp out in pain mixed with pleasure. This nigga was hitting my damn cervix. I couldn't even form any words. I couldn't move. I just had to sit there and take it.

Feeling his warm thick liquid spill out inside of me, I let out one last moan as he collapsed on top of me; both of us out of breath from everything that just took place. My chest was heaving, as was his, and I couldn't help but to giggle.

He leaned up a bit to look at me as a smile graced his own face. "What?"

"I think you broke my pussy."

He chuckled and shook his head before standing up and slowly pulling out of me. He always did it slowly because he says his tip gets sensitive after he cums. Sometimes I take advantage of that and torture him by continuing to ride him after he nuts but this time, I could barely even move. Matter of fact, my legs were still twitching.

I heard the shower start running before Xae came into my view again, holding his hand out for me. Bracing myself for a couple of seconds, I took it and stood weakly to my feet, following him to our bathroom.

After a long warm shower with my man, I did my hygiene routine; putting on my deodorant, lotion, and all that good stuff before getting dressed in something comfortable. I didn't bother to put on any panties because my pussy was still sore and I didn't need anything rubbing up against it right about now... unless it was Xae's tongue, of course.

I laid down next to Xae with a content sigh, allowing my head to rest on his chest. I could faintly hear his heartbeat, getting faster when he inhaled and slower when he exhaled. It was actually pretty peaceful to just sit there and listen.

After a few minutes of that though, I decided to break the silence by looking up at him causing him to do the same, but at me.

"So..."

He furrowed his eyebrows with an amused look on his face. "So?"

"Our relationship is steady getting better everyday. It's even better than it was before." I couldn't help but to smile because it was true. We rarely argued and that was a blessing because whenever he wasn't at work, we were all up under each other just enjoying each other's company. Laughing and talking about every little thing, no matter how random it was.

"I know, I'm glad I can make you happy again. I started slacking. Forgot what I had until I almost lost it."

I slightly frowned in response, raising my hand up to caress his cheek. "Baby, you always make me happy. Regardless of any problems we have, I always know this is where I want to be."

"Same here. We been together for a while and we've been through everything together. I can't even imagine being with anyone else."

For some reason, just hearing those words made me sigh in relief. I was beginning to think that he didn't know what he wanted a couple months ago but now I know that it was just a phase he was going through. A weird phase but whatever. I accept him and all his flaws. I'm just glad he finally realized that he didn't want to give what we had up for nobody.

"So... I was thinking... did you want to rethink that marriage proposal?"

I was a little nervous to even ask because neither one of us has brought it up since I turned him down. I've been thinking about it a lot, I just didn't know when would be the right time to bring it up. I just couldn't hold it in any longer.

I want to be his wife so bad.

He was silent for a few moments as if he was thinking about it before reaching over to his nightstand and pulling out the velvet box that he originally proposed to me in. I can't believe he kept it after all this time. He must have known that my sap ass was going to ask about it again.

A huge grin grew on my face as he removed the ring from its spot and slid it on my left ring finger, pressing his soft lips against mine. I tried my best to kiss back but I was still too busy smiling and looking down at the ring that now dressed my finger. "I love you." He pulled away only to look at me. I'm sure anyone could tell that I was ecstatic right about now, there was no hiding it.

"I love you too baby."

Saint

“Hurry that ass up. You know Junior don’t like waiting when he ready to go.” I called out to Simone who was taking half a century just to throw on some sweats.

She came out of the bathroom in her bra and some adidas joggers just to wave me off. "Junior ain't the one driving."

Letting out a low chuckle, I shook my head. "Just put ya shirt on so we can leave." I retorted causing her to stick her tongue out at me in response. Ole childish ass.

It took her at least ten to fifteen more minutes to finish getting dressed because she decided to put her hair in a low ponytail since she didn't feel like straightening it. By this point, I had been laying down watching TV for almost half an hour already. I swear you got to tell her to get ready at least an hour and a half in advance if you want to be even remotely on time.

I can't even lie though, my baby still looked fine and she wasn't even trying hard. Now when she does try, you got to warn her like three hours in advance or you'll miss your reservation. It's happened once before and believe me, I learned my lesson ever since then.

Once she got her shoes on, I grabbed my keys, my phone, and my wallet before following her out of the door and to the car, making sure to lock my house up as always. A nigga been robbed before and I got too much valuable shit in there to just be careless.

After we got settled in the car, we were on our way to the daycare to pick Junior up. By this point, I had memorized the route and didn't need the GPS for directions anymore. I pretty much got a photographic memory so it really wasn't even that hard but I'm not going to cap, directions are not my forte at all. If it's somewhere new, I'll get you lost in a heartbeat.

The drive there was pretty much like any drive we usually have, the music was playing lowly while we talked and laughed about random shit. This time though, she wanted to play and covered my eyes with her hand for a split second.

"Nigga, is you tryna die?! We on the highway."

She only giggled in response. "Relax, I didn't even put it on there for long. It was like a blink."

"Wasn't no damn blink, you tryna kill us..." I mumbled under my breath while shaking my head. This is the second time I'm saying this and I already know it's not going to be the last: ole childish ass.

It didn't take too long to arrive at the daycare although Simone's ass was over there licking on my neck and rubbing me down. I almost pulled over on the side of the highway and gave her some of this dick but honestly, we were already running a little late.

Once we finally got there, we walked into the building and headed straight for the sign out sheet since we were going to need to do that anyway. Simone scanned around the room, her eyebrows instantly furrowing when she didn't see Junior.

"Excuse me, where's Junior? I don't see him." She quickly asked one of the ladies who usually watched over the kids.

"Junior?"

Simone impatiently rolled her eyes. "Dominick."

The lady turned around and eyed all of the kids in the classroom before turning around with a puzzled expression on her face which instantly placed worry in my heart. I could only imagine what it's doing to Simone.

"I'm sorry ma'am, I don't see him. Let me check in the bathroom." The woman quickly moved around us and made her way to the back.

Simone couldn't stop fidgeting with her hands as she continued to scan the room in hopes that her eyes had deceived her the first time. Her attention then averted over to the cubbies to look over that too. There weren't that many children still here so it wasn't full and crowded like it usually is.

"Saint... I don't see his bag."

Although parents weren't allowed beyond a certain point passed the mats, she barged right in there and made her way towards the cubbies to get a closer look. I followed but as soon as I got there, she was frozen in place. My eyes followed her gaze to where Junior's name was and sure enough, his cubby was empty.

"Ma'am, you're not supposed to be in here." The lady who previously went looking for him came out from the back and called out to us.

Simone quickly whirled around and zeroed in on her. "Where is my son?" At this point, I could tell she was fuming. That was the only thing keeping her from breaking down: anger.

"I-I'm sorry but I couldn't find him. I looked everywhere he could go but..." She trailed off for a second once she noticed Simone gritting her teeth. She was so angry that I don't even think she knew that she was crying. "Maybe someone else picked him up—"

"THERE IS NO ONE ELSE THAT SHOULD BE PICKING HIM UP!" She shouted back in response, earning the attention of everyone in the room. Even the kids. "HOW COULD YOU TAKE YOUR EYES OFF HIM?! HOW COULD YOU NOT SEE WHERE HE WENT?!?"

I began to try to grab for her to calm her down but she swiftly pulled away from me to inch closer to the woman. "WHERE IS MY SON?!" By now, most of the anger had died down and became sadness as her tears just started dropping aimlessly. They just couldn't stop.

Wrapping my arms around her, she immediately buried her head in my chest and continued bawling. I could feel my shirt becoming wetter and wetter by the second. I didn't even want to believe that this was happening right now. We had been good and without worry for almost four months now, she was finally getting to be happy. Actually happy.

"We have to find him..." Her voice was muffled as she spoke into my chest but I understood what she said perfectly.

I'm not resting until we find him.

Draping one arm around her shoulder, I guided her out of the establishment since I figured her crying probably made her vision blurry. Once we got into the car, I started it up and turned to her. "Where do you think he would be?"

"I don't know. The only place I could think of is my baby daddy's house. I don't know how to get to his mom's house by heart because he always took Junior there himself." She spoke as she began to wipe some of the tears that still stained her face, sniffling lightly.

"Do you know how to get to his house?"

She nodded. "Yes, of course."

That was all I needed to hear before pulling out of the parking lot. I was driving well over the speed limit as she told me the directions, I didn't want to waste any time. I was sick of her always getting hurt by a nigga she wants nothing to do with and I honestly want him to be home with every bone in my body because my fist just want to talk. Something's got to give.

Although I was speeding, it seemed like it took forever to finally get to this nigga's crib. I could tell the anticipation was killing the both of us. Once we finally got there, I was barely able to put my car in park before she hopped out and went straight up to the front door, knocking on it violently. I was right behind her once I actually stopped the car and got out. By the time I caught up with her, she already knocking again but this time, it was much louder. It sounded like she was about to break her knuckles or something with how hard she was banging.

"OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR DOM, I KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE!" With that, she began kicking the door as small dents started to form each time her foot came in contact with it.

Noticing some of the neighbors start to come outside due to all the noise, I cautiously tried to pull her back but she wasn't having that. She just kept at it until I finally was able to yank her back towards me. "Babe stop, I think I see someone calling the cops."

"I DON'T CARE, I WANT MY FUCKING BABY!" She slipped out of my reach and ran up on the door again, giving it one last kick before I quickly pulled her off the front step, nearly dragging her back to the car.

She tried to get away every chance she got but she can't find Junior if she's locked up, I'm only trying to look out for the both of them. I was finally able to forcefully sit her in the car before looking at her as I held her in the seat. "Look bae, he's obviously not there. We can go to the police station and report Junior missing but I don't want you getting arrested."

Just as I said that, the waterworks started up again because she knew I was right. And if we both got locked up, I wouldn't be able to bail her out. Once she calmed down, I made my way to the driver's side and quickly pulled off before any other nosey ass neighbor decided to get the feds involved in something they know nothing about.

I did just as I said and took her to the nearest police station. There was a lot more people there than I thought and I'm not going to lie, I was feeling a little uncomfortable. I'm not going to lie, me and the cops don't really have the best track record but I was willing to do just about anything to get Junior back.

It took us a little while to finally be able to speak with someone and when we did, I had to ensure Simone that she can't be cussing out police officers because she was just that close. The guy kept telling her to calm down and she wasn't really appreciating that considering her three year old son was missing. Eventually, I had to speak for her because she got so irritated that every word she said was laced with pure attitude.

***

Once we finally got home, she immediately began to start pacing back and forth in the living room. I locked the door and dropped my things so that I could hold her, halting her in her tracks.

"I just don't know what to do... anything could be happening to my baby right now and I can't even do anything about it. It's all my fault, I should have—"

"Hold up," I quickly interrupted her, "You can't possibly think that any of this is your fault. You did what you do every weekday and sent him to his daycare, you couldn't have known this was gon' happen."

She let out a low sigh as she kept her attention down on the ground, not daring to look up at me. "I know. I just... I don't know."

Burying her face in my chest for the second time today, this time she wrapped her arms around me with a tight ass grip on my torso.

"Damn ma, you tryna break my spine?"

She finally looked up at me and let out a low giggle in response. I wanted to at least cheer her up while the cops did what they did. I honestly didn't even want to wait for they asses to supposedly do their job because half of the time, they be bullshitting so they can get their day over with. It be taking months for them to find someone.

Hearing a sudden loud bang, I quickly turned my attention in the direction of where the sound came from and instantly noticed a large black hole in my wall, already knowing what it was.

"Get down!!" I yelled out to her as more shots started to come through the enclosure of my home. She ducked down behind the couch but I knew that wouldn't be enough to protect her so without a second thought, I placed my body over hers and covered her from the direction of where the drive-by was coming from.

Feeling the scorching hot steel of a couple of the bullets pierce the skin of my back, I sheltered Simone from the spray of shots being fired at the house.

#chris brown ff #saweetie #urban ff #chris brown #chrisbrown #saweetie ff #injusticeff #cb

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