#and it comes off as sooo effortless and not strained at all | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

haywire-hetfield · 1 month

Note

SORRY IF THIS SOUNDS DEMANDING ESP SINCE YOU RECENTLY WROTE ONE BUT ughhhh I love your pelle and oystein writings sooo much pleade feed us another one

It's not demanding at all! I hope you enjoy it

Warnings: Hand jobs, frottage, forest sex, depression, self-harm.

Words: 3,043

Øystein didn’t think anyone would call Pelle easy to deal with. Between the dead things he dragged back into the house and his bouts of confining himself to his bed, he was a handful and often grated on Øystein’s nerves. Handling him seemed to be an almost full-time job.

Still, there were good times when Øystein could simply forget about how difficult it was.

It seemed that there was never a medium, simply two different extremes. Either Øystein felt ready to actually kill his bandmate or he felt like he was on top of the world and would never come down. Luckily, today seemed to be one of the latter situations.

Øystein had followed him out into the woods, creeping as quietly as he could along with Pelle. He was hunting after something, although Øystein was unsure of what it exactly was. It might have been a rabbit, but it was all the same to Øystein in the end. He didn’t gain any of the pleasure Pelle did from killing something; he was simply in it because it made Pelle happy. It was a good reprieve from the usual melancholy Pelle usually conducted himself with.

Pelle had kept the knife with himself, insisting Øystein wouldn’t be able to catch something and he did have a point. Although, Øystein wasn’t sure how many things Pelle actually caught either. But he was perceptive and quick. Ironically enough, Pelle reminded him of a cat in a lot of ways.

Øystein barely had time to react when Pelle suddenly took off after something that he himself hadn’t even noticed.

“Pelle,” Øystein called to him, running after the blonde as soon as he realized what was going on. Flashes went through his mind of Pelle falling with the knife and accidentally killing himself, impaling himself too deeply for duct tape or a few stitches to fix. “Drop it,” He insisted, speaking to him in the same way one might talk to an unruly dog who had grabbed something it shouldn’t.

Pelle glanced over his shoulder to look at Øystein, giggling at him and obediently tossing the knife into the fallen leaves on the forest floor. He kept running, though. The realization hit Øystein a moment later that Pelle was no longer running after something, he was running from Øystein. And he wanted him to chase.

It wasn’t the first time they’d done this, Pelle often enjoyed playing weird little games with Øystein. He was happy to indulge this one, it rarely carried any risk of Pelle actually getting hurt outside of a few scratches and bruises. It made Øystein’s lungs and legs burn, however. He wasn’t used to running after something and he knew he only ever grabbed Pelle once the man let himself be caught. Sometimes, Øystein believed Pelle liked being captured more than being chased.

Øystein gave chase regardless, doing his best to catch up to the taller man. He followed the flashes of blonde hair, trying to avoid the trees and roots. He wasn’t quite sure how Pelle managed to make this look so graceful and effortless.

Pelle glanced over his shoulders a few more times as he darted through the trees, smiling every time he did so. Øystein could get used to seeing him carefree in this way, even if it was making his breathing grow heavy and his heart race faster. Pelle always seemed to know exactly how long Øystein could go, letting himself be caught up to. This time was no different.

Suddenly, Pelle stopped in his tracks and spun to face Øystein. He didn’t have enough time to react before he crashed into Pelle, sending them both onto the ground. Pelle was laughing sharply as his back hit the ground, the noise becoming strained and airy as the wind was knocked out of him. Øystein landed roughly on top of him, grunting as their bodies collided hard enough that he worried there would be bruises by tomorrow.

“Jesus, Pelle. Don’t do that,” He complained, trying to reorient himself. He did a quick mental check of his body, making sure he hadn’t seriously hurt anything on the rough tumble to the ground. Nothing seemed to be out of place.

“Stay,” Pelle encouraged as Øystein tried to climb to his feet. His arms curled around the dark haired man’s middle, keeping him close. It earned him a weird look that he only met with a smile. “I don’t want to go back yet,” He added, softer than he had been before.

Øystein checked around them, making sure nobody could see them tangled up like this. Logically, he knew they wouldn’t be disturbed out here. They were in the middle of nowhere with nothing to find except the occasional animal. Knowing that didn’t keep him from double checking.

“We can stay,” Øystein told him softly, almost as though he was afraid to get too loud. He knew what Pelle wanted, the same thing they’d tried a few times before now. Not that he’d ever admit it, but he wanted it too. He’d wanted it every single time, although he never initiated and often tried to put up a fuss about it before always giving in.

Pelle moved first, knowing he had to. The press of their lips was gentle in the beginning, it usually was. He liked to ease into things most of the time, Øystein had discovered. It was surprising to him if he was being honest, Pelle was so quick to dive head-first into everything else. Øystein didn’t really mind warming him up a bit first if that was what he needed.

He waited for a moment before he kissed Pelle back, deciding against truly fighting him on this. There was nothing around, no chance of someone stumbling upon them. Even if there was somebody else all the way out here, they’d hear them crunching through the leaves and twigs long before they could stop them.

Øystein waited for a bit, just kissing Pelle softly for a time before he slipped one hand up beneath his shirt. Pelle’s skin was slightly chilly underneath his touch, both from his natural coolness and from the fact he wasn’t dressed warmly enough for the weather. He never seemed bothered by the elements and Øystein thought he could be freezing to death without even being phased.

Pelle pulled free from the kiss to catch his breath, shifting around a bit when Øystein’s fingertips grazed over semi-fresh cuts littering his sides. The blood on them was dried, although they hadn’t begun to truly scab over yet and Øystein could tell that they were sensitive.

“Show me them,” Øystein murmured and Pelle knew exactly what he wanted. He shoved Øystein away from him enough to wiggle out of his long-sleeved shirt, tossing it aside and trying to get comfortable on the abrasive forest floor. As it was, leaves and dirt already clumped in his blonde hair. “There’s so many more,” Øystein noted, a hint of awe in his voice as he looked on.

Pelle’s pale skin was marred by angry red marks covering so much of him. There were old ones, some that had already scarred over and no longer looked irritated. Øystein’s eyes were drawn to the new ones, though.

There was significantly more than there had been and he wasn’t sure where to look first. Most were thin, long lines going horizontally along his sides. It appeared as though he had tried to trace lines over each ridge of his ribs, but had either gotten bored or otherwise forced to stop quickly into the idea. There were only two cuts that traced over his ribs on one side. The rest were scattered haphazardly, seemingly no real reason to it. Some were long, some were short, they were all various depths.

Øystein reached out to touch one particularly nasty looking one close to Pelle’s hip, stroking his thumb over it gently. It was deep, almost to the point where Øystein would worry it might need stitches if he’d seen it when it was fresh. Now, the blood had dried into thick globs along the wound and he dug his nail into it harshly without thinking. It made Pelle’s body jerk and a hiss escaped his throat, although he didn’t fight against him.

The action drew blood to the surface, dislodging the dried blood that was already there and forcing fresh red to ooze out. He was captivated by it for a moment and he wished he could draw more, but he kept the thought to himself. His eyes wandered and landed on a small X that had been carved into his side. The placement was specific and Øystein realized that it was a target of sorts. It was the right angle for a knife to be forced inside and up into his heart.

He reached out to trace over the small mark and he felt Pelle tensing beneath his touch. It seemed he’d learned his lesson from a few moments prior, now fearing nails would always follow fingertips. Øystein remained gentle with him this time, looking up to meet his eyes.

“Do you want to die?” Øystein asked him. Pelle blinked at him slowly, another one of his habits that reminded Øystein of a cat. He’d never tell him that, of course, not unless he wanted to really piss him off. Maybe another time. Pelle considered the question for a while, lost deep in his own thoughts and Øystein wondered how the question was truly that difficult. Either Pelle wanted to die or he didn’t.

“Sometimes,” Pelle told him after his brief silence. His tone was flat and unreadable, and Øystein hated him when he took that voice with him. He didn’t enjoy not being able to tell what Pelle was feeling or thinking and he suspected the blonde haired man knew as much.

“So, why haven’t you?” It was a question that had lingered on Øystein’s mind often. Pelle’s obsession with death, his depression, the self-harm. All signs pointed to yes except for the fact that Pelle was still alive.

Killing oneself didn’t seem overly difficult to Øystein, he was sure he could do it himself if he wanted to. And Pelle certainly could. He’d proven time and time again he had no issue with hurting himself, getting close to actually dying once because of it. He could do it if he really wanted to.

Pelle did not answer him this time. Instead, he leaned up to grasp onto Øystein’s shoulders, pulling him down closer to kiss him again. This one was rougher than the previous had been, the younger clearly attempting to change the subject of their interaction. Pelle had always lacked a certain tact for social situations, even by Øystein’s own standards, and one of his biggest social faux pas was how sharply he changed topics when he didn’t care to discuss something.

Øystein decided he could let it go this time. They could talk about it more later if he truly desired the answer, although he wasn’t certain if he actually cared or not. The decision was ultimately Pelle’s and he sincerely doubted he wanted someone trying to force their idea of what was best for him. In all honesty, Øystein didn’t even know what would be best for Pelle. It was much easier to just let the topic drop and focus on this moment again.

The kiss deepened and that was more than enough to recapture his full attention. He could count the number of people he’d kissed on one hand, but Pelle was easily the best at it. Long fingers reached down Øystein’s back, fiddling at the hem of his shirt and attempting to pull it off, earning a sharp slap against his knuckles.

“It stays on,” Øystein told him, drawing away from his lips enough to speak. It earned an indignant look and noise from Pelle, but he didn’t fight him on it. Finally, something Pelle just accepted and didn’t force Øystein to argue with him on. “Don’t pout.”

Pelle didn’t say anything about it, although his expression didn’t sweeten by much. Øystein chose to ignore it. Instead, he kissed Pelle again and pressed closer to his body. He didn’t even notice when he started rocking against the blonde, too caught up in paying attention to him. Long fingers settled for just touching Øystein’s skin beneath his shirt, fingertips running along his spine before nails dragged back down the length.

The sharp sting on his skin spurred him to continue rocking against Pelle, groaning as his jeans provided a bit of harsh friction. He was hard in his jeans now, straining against the front. Pelle seemed to be in a similar state when he thought to take notice. His hands slipped between them, pulling away from the kiss and putting space to open their jeans.

His fingers were clumsy as he worked them open, shoving them down only far enough to serve its purpose. Pelle was completely hard when Øystein finally exposed them both and his fingers wrapped around the blonde man’s cock a moment later. He didn’t react much at first which surprised Øystein, but he supposed the other had always been odd.

For a long time, he hadn’t even been sure Pelle desired sex. He’d never expressed any interest in girls and hadn’t ever really showed signs of enjoying sexual contact at all. By now, Pelle had made enough first moves to dissuade the idea that it was completely uninteresting to him.

He stroked harder, wanting to draw a reaction from the other man. It took a bit more, tightening his fist the way he’d learned Pelle liked most, before he got what he was looking for. Pelle squirmed suddenly and nearly dislodged Øystein from what he was doing, a soft cry escaping his pale lips and he sounded almost surprised by the pleasure.

Øystein smiled once he’d found his satisfaction, stroking him for a bit longer before adjusting himself to be closer to Pelle’s body. Pelle’s fingers reached out to curl around Øystein as soon as he was close enough, making the dark-haired man whine. He wished he could be more like Pelle, less sensitive and more composed, but everything had him shifting and crying out. He stroked Øystein slowly, savoring each noise.

“Your hands are cold,” Øystein complained weakly. It was very obvious it didn’t bother him too much, he never became less hard nor did he try to escape from Pelle’s touch. If anything, the coolness of his skin added an extra layer of unique pleasure to this.

“I can stop if it’s a problem,” Pelle retorted with a knowing grin. Øystein’s eyebrows furrowed at being teased, but he kept quiet and focused on the pleasure for another second more.

He shoved Pelle’s hand away from his cock and lined up with Pelle’s own, trying to wrap his hand around both of them. It was an awkward angle and Øystein found his hands weren’t quite long enough to manage this. He still tried valiantly. It was a lost cause and they both knew it, but Øystein moved his hand and adjusted his grasp on them as though he may find a technique that allowed this to work for them.

“Let me,” Pelle encouraged, his voice softer and less teasing this time around. Øystein wasn’t happy about it, but he relented and let Pelle’s hand replace his own. It turned out to be a good choice in the end because Pelle made it work.

His fingers and palm were large enough to wrap around both of them, palm resting on his own cock and his fingers curling around Øystein’s to press them close together. The added pressure excited Øystein, especially when he considered how odd or unconventional this may be. The taboo nature of being with another man like this excited him.

They moved without speaking after that, although it was far from a quiet experience. Whimpers and moans dragged their way free from Øystein with every particularly good stroke. Sounds were even pulled from Pelle at times, mostly airy and high noises that Øystein clung onto every time. He wished Pelle was more vocal, but he would survive.

Pelle stroked them together for a while until Øystein felt himself growing closer. At that point, he began rocking his hips almost involuntarily. He was chasing after the feeling and it was amplified when he could set his own pace. There was also a primal element to it, fucking mindlessly into Pelle’s hand, crouched on the forest floor.

He was lost in it, almost missing when Pelle came. Luckily, the noise caught his ears. Pelle let out a louder cry, a harsh shudder going through his body and his fingers tightened around them. He spilled fast and hot over both of their skin, slicking the movement even more. A whine escaped him as his come settled on a few fresh cuts on his stomach, but he let it rest there until Øystein was finished to avoid disrupting the man.

It was sweet of him and Øystein would make it up to him at another time. He wasn’t far behind him, not making him lay in his own come for very long. Pelle tried to move his hand from his own cock to wrap solely around Øystein’s, but the dark-haired man reached down quickly to tighten around Pelle’s hand in order to keep it around both of them.

“Don’t. Feels good,” Øystein told him and Pelle seemed to want to argue against that. Ultimately, he let it happen. “Thank you,” He breathed, continuing to rock into the grasp. He tightened his hand around him even more, holding onto Pelle’s hand to guide him. Pelle’s fingers rubbed at the sensitive head and that was too much.

Øystein cursed as he came, holding Pelle’s hand hard enough to nearly hurt. His eyes closed while he finished, thighs trembling and breath shaky. When he opened his eyes again finally, his come had added to the mess on Pelle’s stomach and without thinking, he instinctively moved to pull his own sweater off to clean them up. Goosebumps rose to his arms when the cold air hit his bare skin, but it was worth it to make sure Pelle was more comfortable now.

12 notes · View notes

thorne93 · 6 years

Text

Old Flame, New Problems (Part 7)

Prompt: You’re in a serious relationship with Sebastian Stan, when news from your first love informs you that he’s now single and in need of a friend. Will your old flame burn out or will the flames get fanned and consume you?

Word Count: 3602

Warning: language, angst, fighting (verbal), cheating, drama

Notes: This idea came to me when news hit about Hayden and Rachel splitting. Of course I’m sad that a long time relationship such as theirs is ending, but it also means he’s single sooo…Also, no hate towards Rachel. I don’t know her, don’t know what really happened between them, etc. It’s a fic and in no way reflects what I think of either of them or their precious daughter ^.^

Beta’d by my #1 gal @like-a-bag-of-potatoes & flashbacks in italics

Forever Tags: @capsmuscles @cocosierra94 @essie1876 @magpiegirl80 @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked @harleyquinnandscarletwitch @iamwarrenspeace @marvel-imagines-yes-please @superwholocked527 @myparadise1982sand @missinstantgratification @thejemersoninferno @rda1989 @marvelloushamilton @munlis @thefridgeismybestie @bubblyanarocks3 @random-fluffy-pink-unicorn @hardcollectionworldtrash @igiveupicantthinkofausername @kaliforniacoastalteens @feelmyroarrrr @kaeling

Sebastian Stan Tag: @nedthegay @lostinspace33 @alwayshave-faith @elleatrixlestrange @buenostardissherlock @lenawiinchester @the-red-world-of-jess-chibi @memory-of-a-goldfish @mellsstark

Old Flame Tag: @blackwidow-romanoff @seargantbcky

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Did you get my gift?” Hayden said into the phone, a smile in his voice.

“Yes! I just got it! I’m going to unwrap the box now!” you said excitedly, sitting it down on the counter along with the huge bouquet of fresh flowers that just got delivered. “Thank you for the flowers, they’re stunning and vibrant.” Hayden laughed in response to your glee. You tore open the packaging, wondering what your LA based boyfriend had sent. Inside was a first edition of one of your favorite books, a new notebook and engraved fountain pen, and a photo of him kissing your cheek on a windy day in the park, framed.

“Oh...Hay, this is so...perfect,” you gushed. “Thank you. I miss you too much.”

“Just a little reminder of how much I love and miss you…”

Back home, everything settled back into the normal pace. Sebastian working, reading lines, going to table reads, and interviews. You, working on your books and your agent working with you on the upcoming promos you would do for the book. The two of you didn’t see a reason to travel for the book tour just yet, and thought it would be best to do two signings a week in NYC at various places. This was good news for you, and for Sebastian. It meant more time together.

However, Hayden had been a constant on your mind since the text. You were worried about him, your other feelings aside, he was your friend, and you knew what he dealt with. It was amazing that Sebastian understood the struggles as well. You had wanted to reach out a few times, of course talking to Seb about it first, but you didn’t want to push your luck. Yet, as soon as you landed, and got set up in your office, you texted him.

“Hey, things are better between Seb and I. He forgave me and understood the situation. I just wanted to let you know I’m still here if you needed a friend.”

You put your phone down and went to work for a bit. The wait for a response was making you uneasy. Was he ignoring you? Was he mad at you? Was he okay?

But after twenty minutes, you got a reply.

“Nice to see you two resolved everything. I’m really sorry for the problems I caused, Y/N, it wasn’t my intention.”

“It’s fine. Let’s just move forward, okay? How are you holding up about Rachel and Briar Rose?”

“Not too good, honestly. I can’t absorb it. It hurts a whole hell of a lot to not see Briar every day. Rachel...that’s getting easier. We were drifting for a long time...But not seeing my daughter, knowing she’s in LA...thousands of miles away from me, it kills me.”

You read his message, your heart aching for him, wishing there was something you could do.

“I’m sorry. What can I do to help?”

“Nothing you can do.”

“There has to be something,” you tried back desperately.

“You could distract me. Tell me all about your writing news, anything new?”

You leaned back in your office chair, going into full detail about your novella, and your short story, and the news on the book promos. A smile was on your face as you continued to text for the better part of the day. You had practically forgotten all about writing, which was fine since you were well ahead of schedule.

While he and Rachel were together, you had subconsciously started talking less unless until your ritual of the call on the birthdays, text on Thanksgiving, and card on Christmas became normal. But texting him now, laughing and giggling, you remembered how much he made you laugh and made your lighter side come o.

You used to feel so safe with him, so at ease, it was always effortless between the two of you, at least until the strain of distance became too much. Talking to him again brought all of that back, the feeling of being home in a way you never had with anyone else, not even with Seb. But then you remembered that even if Hayden was that for you, you weren’t that to him. He had chosen another woman, someone other than you to create a home with, to start a family with, to share his life with, and that wasn't something you could ignore. It didn't matter what you felt for Hayden, he had made it clear he didn't feel the same, both in his actions and his words.

But that was a different time, a different circumstance. Now it seemed things could be what you had always wanted with him. A quiet, settled down life…That thought alone was enough to ignite that spark within you, that small fire that was hope. Hope for a future with the man you once loved so deeply.

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

Over the course of the next week, the texting and calling stayed constant, talking about random things, about movies, joking around, recalling funny memories and reminiscing. Sebastian didn’t seem to mind that you were pretty much tethered to your phone because he was too preoccupied with work. He had flown out of town about a week and a half ago to do some rehearsals for his new movie.

Sebastian tried to keep in contact but his efforts to reach out were coming further apart. A text in the morning, maybe, and sometimes a call at night, if you were lucky. You texted about a five to one ratio with him. But it wasn’t his fault, it was work, he was pulling sixteen hour days, and you knew that….Didn’t make it suck any less to not see or talk to the man that was away from you for six months only a month and a half ago.

Whoever said distance makes the heart grow fonder could fuck off, because all it did was hurt and worry you. There was nothing fond about the thousands of miles separating you from your boyfriend.

At one of your book signings at Barnes and Noble, you had about fifty people come up for a signing, and the next patron was in line and you slapped on a smile for them. “Hey, how are you today--” you started to ask before you got stopped cold. “Hayden?” you gasped. He hated being out in the public eye, so why the hell was he at your signing? In NYC? With tons of media coverage?

“Hey,” he greeted sheepishly, the boyish smile popping onto his face again, making your heart flutter. He was donning a white shirt, and over it, a deep black military coat, with dark jeans.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, half in a panic, half wishing he could stay. “Don’t tell me you want the book signed,” you teased, glancing down to his hands. He did, in fact, have your book in his hands.

“Actually…” he said, handing it to you.

You rolled your eyes and shook your head. “You’re ridiculous.” Opening the cover, you found a good spot to write, trying to decide what to put in his book. You’d never signed books for anyone you knew other than your family.

To the man who inspired a legacy, thank you for being there for me, always. ~ Love, Y/N

You closed the book and handed it back to him.

“There ya go,” you said with a smile. “But you didn’t come all the way down here for me to sign my stupid book, so what’s up?”

He grinned. “You caught me. I’m down here for filming.”

“You didn’t tell me you were working on anything,” you accused lightly.

He shrugged, the smile still on his face. “I wasn’t sure if it was a done deal. I just got the call a few days ago, saw that you’d be here, thought I’d swing by to surprise you.”

You laughed. “Consider me surprised. I’m so happy to see you,” you said, more emotion in your voice than you intended.

“Yeah, you too…”

A sweet moment seemed to linger between you two as your eyes looked into his.

“Would you want to get lunch?” he suddenly asked.

“Uh...Hay…” you started, knowing this wasn’t a good idea, knowing it was dangerous, knowing that around him, everything was a slippery slope. Your agent came up to you and whispered that you needed to move it along.

“Can we talk after this?” you asked, gesturing to the line behind him.

“Oh, sure, sorry,” he apologized, his face turning red as he stepped out of line.

“You can stand there,” you quietly instructed him, pointing right next to the table. For the last ten minutes, you sat there signing books and chatting with fans, all while Hayden watched you with adoration and fascination. Although you had been writing for twenty years, you had evolved, it seemed. You were already mature while you two dated but...now you seemed to have this new classiness about you. You were refined, sweeter, more patient. He didn’t know how he didn’t notice it when you were on his farm, maybe because you were far out of your element.

Once everyone was gone and they started packing up the few of your books that were left over and the other advertising and marketing materials, your agent said goodbye to you and you went over to Hayden.

You’d thought about his proposition, knowing it was a dangerous game to play, you two alone, but if you couldn’t trust yourself, how could you ask Seb to?

“So...lunch? I’m craving some frozen yogurt,” you informed and he laughed.

“Anything you wish,” he said as he offered you his arm and took it.

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

The two of you had a light lunch of salads and bread to make room for the frozen yogurt you were desperately craving. You walked along the street, just strolling, casually talking about his film and the book signing.

“So how long are you in town?” you asked, scooping your spoon into the frozen treat.

“Till Christmas, maybe a little less. It’s not all based in New York so…” he explained.

“I’m looking forward to it, whatever it is.” Just then, your phone rang. “Oh, hang on just a sec,” you requested kindly as you shifted yourself to get to your phone. “Hey, Seb,” you greeted with a smile.

“Hey, babe. We took a fucking break, finally. God damn. I’m tired...Ugh...Anyway, how was the book signing? Are you done with it?”

“It went well. We sold almost all the copies we brought,” you informed, your eyes drifting to your friend and instantly you knew you needed to tell Sebastian he was in the city.

“That’s wonderful! I’m so happy for you. So what are you up to now?” he inquired.

You bit your lip, looking at Hayden who stood looking at you with a concerned expression.

“Uh, actually, I’m hanging out with Hayden,” you explained, knowing you needed to follow up, quickly. “He’s in town for filming, and stopped by to say hi.”

“So...you’re just hanging out? The two of you? Alone?”

“Alone, with about a hundred other people on the sidewalk here in SOHO,” you informed, the tiniest laugh in your voice.

“Y/N…” he started, his voice strained. “I’m not really comfortable with this.”

“Why? Do you not trust me?”

“It’s not that...it’s just...the last time you two were along, you weren’t exactly faithful,” he reminded.

“So you don’t trust me?” you said, it almost sounded like a question but it was more of an affirmation to what you had heard. “Look, you forgave me. It's not fair for you to keep dragging it up whenever it suits you. You either trust me or you don't, easy as that.”

“It’s not that easy. Yes I forgave you, I know, but I get insecure when you're around him, especially since I’m hundreds of miles away and it was distance that strained us the last time,” he reminded in a relatively calm voice. At this, you decided to face away from Hayden, trying to keep the fight a little more private.

“Need I remind you, it wasn't just distance, Sebastian. But either way, you and I are in a better place now. But this relationship will never work if we can't trust each other.”

“I know. I do trust you, but it would be nice if you tried to put yourself in my shoes as well... see this from my point of view. I did it for you, to forgive you. I saw it from your side. Now see it from mine. He’s still single, he’s still lonely, you still have feelings for him…”

You bit your lip. You didn’t tell Sebastian that, not outright. You’d said you would always love him, but most people held a special place in their heart for their first love and you were no exception.

“So you think I can’t control myself? Sebastian, we’re better. You and I are better now, we’re fine. You can trust me.”

“I don't want you hanging out with him until I’m home,” he said. His side of the fight was fair, you knew that. But did he really think you would just betray him again?

“You know, if I was going to cheat again, I wouldn’t tell you that he was here and that he was hanging out with me. If you think I need a chaperone or supervision, just say so,” you responded, getting angry.

“Maybe that’s what you need,” he retorted, upset himself. “I don’t see how this is so hard for you to figure out, Y/N. You two together is a bad idea.”

“I am capable of controlling myself,” you responded in a low voice.

“You sure about that?” he asked.

Your mouth fell open. “I’m going to hang out with my friend, if you have a problem with that, then that’s your deal, not mine. I’ll talk to you when you’ve gotten over this.” You hung up and spun back to Hayden. “Ready to go?”

“Where are we going?”

“My place. I wanna watch something with blood and gore,” you said, starting to storm up the sidewalk.

“Y/N,” he said, jogging to keep up with you, “if this is going to be a problem, I can just leave. I just thought it would be nice to see you since I would be in town, a friendly face, someone who knows what I’m going through. But if this is going to create a problem...”

You stopped and turned to face him. “You aren't the problem, Hayden, it’s him. Ugh,” you groaned. “The thing that happened between you and I was a mix of you being hurt, old feelings, and my anger at Seb. You know why I was mad at him?” you asked.

He looked left and right then answered, unsure, “Because he was ignoring you?”

“That’s only half of it,” you stated. “First, it was the six months with barely interaction. No big deal at first, I was busy with my novel, publishing, editing, all that fun shit. But then my writing slowed down, and I started to notice the calls were only about two or three times a week and maybe ten texts.” Hayden went to open his mouth but you stopped him by raising a hand. “I know, he’s busy. I get it. I know how hard actors work, I’ve been with enough to know it’s not easy and how many hours they have to go through. But it wasn’t just that. It was the fact that he didn’t read my book not till I had asked him about it a few more times. It’s about the fact that when he got home, he barely kissed me, and ran to bed. It’s about the fact that every night I tried to do anything intimate with him, he said he was tired and rolled over. Or if I tried in the morning, he told me he was late.”

You stopped to get a breath of air.

“Or dinner. I get it, he works hard, grueling hours. But sometimes having dinner brought in would be nice too. I spend every day cleaning, watching after Spinee, cooking, shopping, laundry, and writing. But some help would be nice. Not much, but ordering takeout or a pizza….Or maybe offering to clean the kitchen for once. I work too. It’s that this isn’t a two way street any more. He just expects me to do all of this shit without any appreciation. I was tired of being the invisible maid to him. Not once while he was away did he send flowers, or have a pizza delivered, or send chocolates, or hell, even read my fucking story. I mean, should I really have to beg him to read it? You read my shit and we hardly ever speak...” you said, waving your hand absently at your friend who listened to you rant.

“Why don’t we go get you home and we can talk and you can vent all you want? But out on the street…” he said, insinuating a media frenzy would start soon if they saw the two of you, clearly talking about something heated.

“Fine.”

You hailed a cab, the two of you climbed in, and once you got home, you offered him something to drink.

“Coffee if you have it. What’s this guy’s name?” he asked, petting Spinee, who had initially barked a few times at him.

“Spinee,” you informed as you set to work making the coffee. “I’m sorry about the rant. I guess….Yes, I know we kissed. I know I betrayed him. I know he’s in a tough spot, but he makes it out like he wasn’t to blame for me starting to stray in the first place. It’s not my fault he’s been absent in this relationship for seven or so months…” you commented angrily, nearly muttering yourself by the end of the rant. You placed the mug in front of Hayden at the counter as he sat on a stool.

“Is he really all that bad?” he questioned, knowing you were probably just frustrated.

You shook your head and sighed, leaning backwards against the island. “No. I still love him...and I know I fucked up...I know it’s not going to be easy to trust me...But...to tell me I can’t even hang out with you is just ludacris.”

“He has a fair point,” Hayden countered.

Shaking your head again, you replied, “I thought the last month was a sign of things getting better. He was spending time with me, making me a priority, doing sweet things...was that all just out of jealousy? Was he just doing all that stuff as a response to us?” you wondered.

“Does it matter why he did them, if he did them? Isn’t that what counts? That he was thinking of you?” Hayden questioned.

“Yes, it does matter. I want him to want to be near me, to want to do things with me or for me because he loves me, not because he’s afraid he’s going to lose me if he doesn’t. I want him to do this stuff because he wants it...not just a tactic to keep me from leaving,” you quietly said, crossing your arms.

He hung his head, nodding to the side. “I get that. So what are you gonna do? Just keep fighting him about us hanging out?”

“I’m just going to remind him that the last time I did something I shouldn’t have, I came clean. We went through hell and back just to be on good terms, why would I screw that up now?”

“I see.”

“Look, it’s not your problem,” you said, your voice lifting a bit. “Come on, let’s forget about relationship problems and watch something,” you suggested, waving him over to the couch.

“Sounds like a plan.”

But you couldn’t forget about the problems. How could you? You had told Sebastian that the kiss up at his farm was a one time thing, something to get out of your system, something to help you get over him. And in a way, you thought it had. Texting and calling really did feel friendly, but the instant you saw him in that bookstore, everything came crashing back down around you. For a few moments, Sebastian had completely left your mind and all you saw was Hayden, your first love, the one you always felt that had got away.

You had no idea how to feel. Hayden and you had been over for over ten years now, but yet, when you were right next to each other, it was as if nothing had changed. He was still the same sweet, funny, chill, easy going guy you’d fallen in love with. He still made the same dumb jokes. Being next to him you felt at the most ease in the entire world. He felt so comfortable...Inviting...He felt like home.

Yet...Sebastian was similar. Being in his arms at night, you’d never felt safer. Being by his side for the few events you could go to felt natural. Dancing with him at events or just randomly at home always gave you butterflies and you felt connected to him. He was the first man since Hayden to make you feel like you could even love again, even let someone in. When he was away, you missed him so much, and your writing reflected that. It usually turned darker and more somber while he was away.

#old flame new problems #Sebastian Stan #sebastian stan fic #sebastian stan x reader #hayden christensen #hayden christensen fic #hayden christensen x reader

54 notes · View notes

velkynkarma · 7 years

Note

If you're still doing the microfic...Keith and protective Shiro? Please? :)

(Totally still doing the microfic! Although this one is less ‘micro’ herp derp. I got a little into it, but I really like fight scenes, sooo…)

The Galra officer is massive—nearly as large as the prison warden back on Beta Traz. Even worse, he’s juiced on whatever that warden had used to make himself larger, faster and stronger, and he’s using the drug to its fullest to lay waste to the paladins.

If they survive this, Shiro’s going to make it a priority to research whatever that stuff is, and find some way to counter it. It’s rapidly becoming dangerous, and makes already skilled opponents impossible to defeat. They’d never even actually defeated the last warden, just escaped from him.

Shiro’s hoping on escape now. It’s only him and Keith against this monster of a Galra, hemmed into the Galra ship they’d boarded. But if even one of the others can show up in their Lion, they might still get out of this in one piece. Shiro’s already sent the distress call; it’s just a matter of if anyone gets there in time.

Because he and Keith are probably the most experienced in combat, but they are really, really not doing well. Shiro’s sure he landed on something wrong in his side, and breathing hurts; he might have cracked his ribs from the force of the last throw the Galra used on him when he smashed into the nearest stack of metal boxes. His head throbs where it cracked against a wall earlier, and he’s sure if he hadn’t been wearing his helmet his skull would have split open at the force of the blow. Keith is no better as far as Shiro can tell—he’s limping, favoring his right leg, and he’s long since switched to wielding his bayard in his left hand after his right wrist and fingers were crushed in the Galra’s grip.

Shiro tries for another strike with his glowing Galra prosthetic, but the officer roars and almost casually slaps him aside with an effortless backhand. Shiro manages to cross both of his arms in front of him to take some of the blow, but it’s still like getting hit with a train. He crashes into the ground and bounces twice painfully before he can convert his momentum into a safety roll. He staggers when he gets to his feet, dazed, and his vision swims when he tries to focus.

The Galra’s massive hand is less than a foot from his face.

Then there’s a snarl as Keith hits it from the side, knocking the hand off course. He twists his bayard and slams it savagely into the meaty part of the Galra’s arm, and for the first time team Voltron manages to draw blood. The officer’s attention is drawn away from Shiro to Keith—and he looks livid.

“Little shit,” he snarls angrily, and makes a grab for Keith. Keith tries to dodge, and might have if he’d had free reign, but he can’t get his bayard free from the Galra’s thick arm. He goes for his Marmoran sword instead, but in the split-second delay the Galra snatches him up first and squeezes. Keith’s eyes fly open wide, and he screams, until the noise chokes off into a frightening silence when the crushing force steals his breath.

Apparently not finished, the officer turns and throws him at the nearest wall. Keith smashes bonelessly against the wall, and collapses to the metal floors. He looks awful, mangled and broken. But even now he struggles to reach for the Marmoran blade at the small of his back, broken fingers shaky and weak.

“Still moving?” the officer says incredulously, as he rips the red bayard out of his arm and tosses it aside. It dematerializes as it clatters to the floor, and the officer ignores it as he charges for Keith.

Shiro’s vision is still blurry and swirling, but suddenly he sees red, and that doesn’t bother him anymore.

He charges forward, activating his jetpack for as much speed as he can. Ricochets off the wall and uses the momentum to help him twist past the Galra. Slams to his feet over the prone Keith, legs braced, and reaches up to catch the officer’s fist as it comes slamming down to crush Keith into paste.

Catches it, and stops it.

It shouldn’t be possible, but he’s far past caring if something is possible or not. It doesn’t matter how much of a beating he’s already taken from this bastard, none of his team are dying on his watch. Keith is not dying on his watch. Not when he can do anything to stop it. If he has to bend possibility to make it happen he damn well will.

So he strains against the Galra’s fist, and his own prosthetic whines to life at the challenge. He needs to be the strongest, the fastest, the best fighter in this equation, and the prosthetic is almost eager to assist, whirring and clicking loudly as it absorbs the force of the enemy’s blow and pushes back with literally inhuman strength. He can feel the strain of it in his left arm, his torso, his legs, feel every other piece of him trembling and straining with the effort of holding off that force, feel his cracked ribs all but screaming in protest at the pressure, but he does it.

He will not lose anyone again.

The Galra officer is shocked, and pushes against his arm even harder. Shiro snarls and shoves back with everything he has, and he can smell sizzling fur and flesh as the prosthetic activates and his white-hot fingers dig into his enemy’s wrist. “You do not. Ever. Hurt them. While I’m. Still. Breathing.”

The officer sneers. “Then I’ll stop you breathing first,” he snaps, as he raises his other hand.

Shiro vaguely thinks he hears Keith choking a soft, weak “No” down by his feet, but Keith is down for the count, and there’s no way he’s getting out of this. He stares the officer in the eye, refusing to go down without fighting, and—

The wall smashes open behind the officer, and there’s a sudden rush of air as the atmosphere is dragged into the void of space. Shiro braces his feet more firmly to keep himself steady and prevent Keith from sliding away, and the officer snarls in surprise, weakening his downward force on Shiro’s arms. “What—“

The blast from the Yellow Lion takes the Galra full in the back, and he screams in surprise as he lurches forward. Shiro finally drops his grip on the officer’s arm and barely manages to drag Keith out of the way before the officer collapses forward towards them, shrieking in surprise.

“Need a lift?” Hunk calls, voice resonating from the Lion’s speakers.

Shiro’s never been happier to hear any of the paladins. “Good timing,” he says, as he crouches to scoop Keith up into his arms; there’s no way Keith is walking under his own power after a devastating attack like that. Keith gasps in pain, but doesn’t protest. Shiro’s ribs do protest, but he ignores them. He bolts for the Yellow Lion’s open jaws, side-tracking just long enough to kick the red bayard into the Lion’s mouth. “We’re in!”

The last image he has is of the officer struggling to his feet and turning to snarl and reach for them. But then the Yellow Lion’s jaws snap shut and Shiro feels it withdraw from the hull of the ship, and they’re out of there.

“Shiro?” Keith gasps weakly.

“We’re okay. You’re okay,” Shiro promises him.

Keith groans in what Shiro is sure isn’t really agreement, but does settle a little, all energy spent and too exhausted and in pain to argue. Shiro keeps Keith supported against him as comfortably as he can to steady them in the Yellow Lion’s jaws; he doesn’t want to risk moving Keith any further up to the cockpit. He needs a cryo-pod, now.

But at least he’s alive, and already they’re heading for safety. They’d made it through the fight, and he’d managed to save Keith another day. And for now, that’s all that matters to Shiro.

Got a microprompt for me? Share it and I’ll see what I can do!

#totally bosstoaster #voltron #long post #fanfiction #fanfic #blood #injury #anonymous #Anonymous #writing meme #listen I have a problem when I get really into writing things #especially fights #sorrynotsorry #I had fun that's all that matters #velkynkarma writes

266 notes · View notes