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juminly · 4 years

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In The Arms of An Angel

Matchup story written for the lovely @marie-quentin <3

A/N: I couldn’t help but think of this piece when I was picturing you with Vincent. The sound is lighthearted, peaceful yet melodious and colourful. The tempo is not stagnant and the change in the course of this symphonic piece portrays, in a way or another, how the strings that bind you to him got stronger and your love was able to finally shine. Feel free to listen to it while reading if you’d like: Symphonic Suite DEVIL Second Movement i-AM by Hiroyuki Sawano.

Context: No one would really expect you to be all smiles and giggles considering the situation you were in (finding yourself back in the past, in a mansion filled with vampires and they all happened to be renown historical figures!). It was definitely kinda scary but you didn’t let that affect you. You seemed a bit cold and distant from the start but you were just analyzing everything around you. And of course, the mansion shenanigans started. Arthur was already teasing you about how the beauty of a woman is in her smile and how he thinks you’ve proven whoever said that wrong (lots of flirt-flexing happening from the mystery writer). Leonardo was smoking his cigarillo and telling him to leave “La Bella” alone and Theodore was already mumbling about how everyone is so taken by a Knabbeltje.

Your expression was neutral and your gaze was analytical. Obviously, there was so much to take in, lots of different (new) people around you and personalities. There was a lot going through your head and taking mental notes of everything around you would take a while. But Vincent, he was not fazed by your overall demeanour. The moment Vincent saw you for the first time in the dining room, angel came up to you, held your hand up between both of his and smiled brightly, letting the light of the Gods shine down upon you. His attitude was enough to grant him a genuine smile of your own (you couldn’t help it). His smile was so serene and genuine: How could someone so pure exist?

[Vincent explicitly invited you to visit him anytime and any day to spend time with him and he would show you his art whenever you’d like.]

As a way to get you to familiarize yourself a bit more with the residents (with the aid of some social lubricants and strong spirits), Le Comte organized a small welcoming party for you and it was such a blast. Mozart was a bit tipsy and actually smiling, playing happy tunes on the piano while Leonardo joined him on the violin and you were able to grasp and get a better feel of the residents that lived with you in the mansion. It was all part of Le Comte’s plan and it was clear to you when he politely asked you for a dance and whispered in your ear. “I wanted you to see for yourself, even if these men are vampires, they are all remarkable in their own unique way. Wouldn’t you agree?” (translation: they aren’t so bad, right?)

[That night, Le Comte picked up on how light you are on your feet and offered to be your dance instructor.]

It was only natural for you to create/find your own natural habitat in that mansion. It was the perfect environment to bask in the things that you loved. A library with more books that you could read in an entire lifetime, beautiful gardens and fields of greenery where you could spend hours just reading or writing. You found yourself in a time with 3 famous figures of literature (Arthur, Dazai, Shakespeare) and you could pick their brains about anything that went through your mind (same goes for all the other geniuses in the mansion such as Leonardo, Isaac). [The mansion was a fountain of knowledge and you had it all for yourself, to drink whenever you wanted[

When it came to your dance lessons with Le Comte, he timed them almost perfectly. He would invite you to the gardens for some tea/brunch/breakfast and right when you would finish, you could hear Mozart’s music resounding and echoing through the air.

During your first lesson, your eyes danced around you while you waltzed with Le Comte. You happened to notice that Vincent had set up his canvas and painting tools near the greenhouse. After you were done with your lesson, Sebastian happened to come across you while you were on your way to the older Van Gogh, handing you a tray with Rouge and a sandwich.

Upon reaching him, Vincent was so engrossed in his painting, your presence didn’t even register and you took it as an opportunity to watch a Van Gogh masterpiece come to life. However, you would have to interrupt him since, according to Sebastian, he hadn’t eaten since the afternoon, the day before. You could barely grab his attention but finally managed to do so. [And then, it became a thing!]

When you went for your regular visits to check on Vincent and check if he’s actually having his meals or not (Sebastian is a busy man and Theodore isn’t always there to dote on his brother), Vincent would take a break from painting and chat with you. He would stuff his mouth like a cute squirrel and listen to whatever you would say. He wanted to hear about even the smallest and silliest things and his interest in you was one of pure curiosity. He had no ulterior motives whatsoever (and that fact alone was more than enough to help him gain your trust).

Vincent never asked you for anything, never asked you to trust him or tried to make you like him. He was simply genuinely happy to have a new “friend” around and someone who was different.

Both of you ended up spending quality time with one another. Each of you doing their own thing, no matter the place or time, and enjoying each other’s company. You would watch him paint and marvel at the intensity of his gaze on the canvas. His focus was enviable and his presence was oddly soothing, as if he radiated peaceful energy. You would sometimes just sit and write while he painted, being his personal alarm clock (asking him to take breaks, eat, drink or even stretch).

Vincent would usually gently scold Theodore for calling you Hondje and Knabbeltje and ask him to apologize and call you by your name. It would usually go along the lines of: “Broer, be nice. Her name is Marie and she is no one’s Knabbeltje or Hondje. She’s a beautiful lady… Oh, that gives me an idea. Marie, is it okay if you could model for me? I… I feel a tingle in the tip of my fingers and I have a painting I would love to do. Of you.”

And that’s how the angelic man asked you to be his model. From the moment he laid his eyes on you, the artist in his mind was gnawing at him and crying out to paint you. He promised that his next painting would be one of you.

Your birthday happened to be around the time you arrived at the mansion and of course, there would be a celebration and gifts. Vincent bought you a thin choker/collar of braided gold and almost every single person in the mansion lost their minds (and he had no idea why). “I think you have a beautiful neck and something like this will highlight the length of…” And Vincent was not even able to continue his sentence. Arthur burst out laughing (and Theodore hit the back of his head and was grumbling while Dazai, Leonardo and Napoleon chuckled softly and Jean/Mozart/Isaac sat there, all oblivious about what was happening.)

Sebastian simply smiled softly and Comte swooped in to give you his gift to you, to get everyone to compose themselves (he got you a basket with a beautiful cashmere throw and a tea set with 2 cups with the most detailed and intricate design you’ve ever seen). While everyone went back to their chatting, Le Comte whispered in your ear as he left the room: “I got it for you so you could have something special only you two could use during your picnics.”

Your local expert in crime picked up on your interest in the science of criminology. Let’s admit it. This man is the sweetest deep down but he loves to flaunt and he has the absolute right to do so. He’s very intelligent and witty and coupled with your curiosity and your INTJ ways… you often found yourself engrossed in long and deep discussion with the flirt. It was so much fun and it was really interesting so why not? (Also, when Arthur has his game face on, he eases off from all the flirting so it actually makes your conversation very enjoyable [and not intolerable])

In the beginning, he thought nothing of your sit-downs/discussions/debates with Arthur and the amount of time you spent with him. He was actually happy to know that you were able to share such profound interest in a topic with someone. However, after a while, you’d notice a slight frown on his angelic face and that was definitely not an expression the painter ever wore. When you asked him what was the matter, he answered you frankly. “I don’t like the fact that Arthur spends so much time near you. I… I don’t want you to stop or anything but I wish I could be more like him so you would talk to me the way you do with him. I know how much you enjoy it. My chest sometimes hurts a little when you talk about him but it’s not that bad. I just… don’t understand it.” (The problem in this situation is that you could either take it as an expression of Vincent’s insecurity or jealousy… and it was definitely jealousy)

This beautiful pure vampire boy is an open book and he doesn’t even know it or realize it. He will literally tell you everything on his mind and make it seem like it’s completely normal from him to do so. His obliviousness is what brings you two closer together eventually and you know for a fact that he would never shy away from telling you the truth.

One time, you were absentmindedly ruminating out loud on your thoughts on your thoughts on whether you should go back to your original time or not. You had a lot to consider and you had to weigh in the pros and cons of making such a decision. Being such close friends with Vincent, you didn’t mind speaking your mind but you didn’t expect to find the man looking at you with tears taunting his soft rosy cheeks. Damn all those who would dare say that this man was emotionless.

He didn’t even realize that he was crying until you were in front of him and wiping the tears of his rosy cheeks. His body was frozen as his mind wandered to the darkest place he could imagine. A world without you. When you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him to your body, he finally snapped out of his nightmarish daydream and he murmured softly. “I’m sorry for what I’m about to say. I might be selfish but I like having you by my side… *sniffles* You’ve become my dearest friend. And if you don’t stay, I’ll come with you.”

Two weeks after you had arrived at the mansion, the time finally came for Vincent to start working on his painting of you (and you had already become close friends by then). It was a bit exhilarating and daunting being scrutinized by his gaze so intensely but on another hand, Vincent looked like he was enraptured and blessed by the inspiration of all the muses that ever existed. The gentle smile never left his face as the painting he envisioned slowly became clearer, right before his eyes.

Vincent had been unusually bold and acted on impulse. He began sketching multiple poses of you in his notebook before actually starting on his painting. Your eyes would widen and your breath would quicken as he’d inch closer to you, examining you only a few inches away from you. He would ask you politely in a sweet, inquiring and almost hesitant voice: “Can I please touch you?” and the question alone was shocking enough. Before you could even ask why, he answered the question that went through your mind. “Whenever I have trouble drawing something, I imagine myself touching it, to understand the texture and the picture becomes even clearer in my head”.

Deep down, Vincent was a perfectionist and his actions were driven by his desire to create a masterpiece of you… and his desire for you. It didn’t all happen at once though. It was a gradual crescendo of his desire and how he expressed/displayed it to you. He would hold your hands, lace your fingers together and run his thumb over your knuckles and each one of your fingers. He would hum and smile as he ran his fingers through your chocolate hair, twirling a lock of your hair between his long and slender fingers.

You would think that Vincent was a shy man but he proved to you that he was absolutely not.

Vincent: *places his chair in front of you and inches closer to you* “Marie… I just… the details of your face are the only parts left… will you allow me to… please?”

He didn’t have to continue his sentence. You knew exactly what he was asking for and a simple nod was enough to give him the courage to cradle your face in his hands. He caressed you so lovingly, letting his fingers trace the contour of your beautiful visage and etch each trait of yours in his mind. His fingers brushed over your eyebrows and lashes lightly, traced your nose and rubbed your cheeks. His eyes finally settled on your lips, letting his thumb trace the contour of your lips.

Vincent: “Marie… I want to… ”

Marie: “Just kiss me, Vincent.”

Vincent grinned and kissed you so softly, taking you to heaven when you realized that heaven was with him, in the arms of this angel. The moment you tried to break your kiss, Vincent just pulled you in for another, kissing you even more deeply, both of your dreamy sighs echoing loudly as you finally rejoiced in the love you both shared for one another.

When you became lovers, this man absolutely loved kissing you whenever he got the chance, wherever the time or place and he adores it whenever you do the same with him. (He used to get all blushy in the beginning but later on, he didn’t mind it at all)

He doesn’t even realize that he’s actually kinda clingy. When you’re around one another, he always wants to be next to you (you touching him, him touching you or just being in close proximity to one another).

He is the ultimate cuddle bug (he can’t even sleep without having you in his arms, holding your hand and simply by laying his head on your lap.)

He understands that you like certain things to be organized in a certain way and he absolutely doesn’t mind it. He’ll either get out of your way, let you arrange things the way you like but most likely, help you and try to make sure things are the way you want them to be.

He is the most supportive boyfriend (aka. best husband material) and stands by you in every single decision you make. He respects your choices and will back you up all the way (and he knows you would do the exact same for him, just like Theodore and even more). [You want to become a singer? Do it. You want to become a dancer? Do it. You want to become an artist? Why not!?]

This. Man. Gets. Extremely. Jealous. The residents of the mansion actually are kinda scared of what he is capable of doing (Vincent actually broke you out of a hug with Theo, his own brother). [Theodore was actually trying to be nice to you for once and thanking you for being there for his brother (cause being an artist in the old days in Paris was extremely hard). He was so grateful to you and you couldn’t help but hug him for being open and accepting of you. (Theo is a tsundere so you had to give him some credit)]

Nobody would dare try to make a pass at you or say anything remotely flirtatious to you (especially if you were dancing or singing). [They will meet the unknown and feared wrath of the angelic Van Gogh]

Sing to him. Night or day. Hearing your voice gives him the inspiration he needs during the day when he’s painting and soothes him to sleep at night.

PS: Le Comte let you have a dedicated area in the mansion so you could practice ballet. It was off-limits to all residents of the mansion. When you invited Vincent to come watch you practice (he actually expressed his wonder and his desire to see you and you couldn’t resist his cute eyes), the vampire almost literally melted when he saw how graceful you were and even got teary as well. Your beauty is absolutely ethereal to him (and now he wants to paint you in a ballerina pose).

PS: Vincent was so close to shouting (he never ever even raises his voice) at Theodore for calling you one of those two names but his younger brother caught himself in time.

Places he kisses to show you affection: your nose, your lips and the corner of your eyes.

NSFW Ahead ~

During your first time together, this man was not flustered AT ALL. He knows what he wants and he wants you. His human and vampire instincts were on overdrive, he was functioning on his desires and instincts alone. Before getting started, he apologized to you, warning you that he wouldn’t be able to hold back and you were more than grateful that he didn’t. He ensured that you were thoroughly made love to and marked. He undressed you slowly and he made sure to taste every single inch of you that he exposed. Your body was his canvas that he wanted to explore and discover and his lips were his brush, painting you with the essence of his desire and yearning for you.

From the first time, you knew that Vincent was more into servicing/pleasuring you then receiving any pleasure. The selfless angel made sure that you came multiple times (by stimulating your breasts with his lips, teeth and tongue, cunnilingus, fingering you and caressing you everywhere) before letting himself sink into you.

When he gets needy, he will either take you or have you take care of him. He absolutely hates to jerk himself off on his own or when he’s by himself. He feels like sex is something sacred that you both should always share and without any intimacy, without you there, your presence, your voice, your touch, he is not interested. (I believe there is a possibility that Vincent might be demisexual)

His moans and his grunts are soft and so erotic, you wholeheartedly believe that it’s ASMR material that the world would simp over. But this man is all yours and you could do absolutely anything you want with/to him and he wouldn’t mind. He wants to see the world from your eyes so he asks you to do things to him just like he does to you. He always treats you as his equal in all things and sex is definitely included.

Seeing him pleasure himself is absolutely salacious and mesmerizing things you’ve ever seen. Your angel doing the most sinful of things, he moans your name endlessly like a prayer to the heavens, begging for the release that he only wants to share with you. With his knees spread apart, his buttoned-up shirt open (cause he was so hot under his collar, he couldn’t take it), you would watch him stroke himself before you with his lips glistening, swollen from being bitten (while he edges himself because you told him to), he would tell you all the things he would do to you.

He had an absolute fascination with your neck and there was nothing more beautiful to him than seeing you lying on the bed, wearing absolutely nothing but the choker he gave you for your birthday and the marks he bestowed on you through your love making. In the heat of the moment, he would occasionally wrap his hands around your neck, in admiration and presses on it during sex, without realizing that he was kinda obstructing your airway. (he never really thinks about it when he does it, his body kinda moves on its own when it happens)

After sex, Vincent always asks if you’re okay, cleans you up and praises you, showers you with words of love and asks you if there is something you wanted him to do differently. He always makes sure to check with you whether you enjoyed yourself or not. There would be no point to making love if you did not enjoy it.

Whenever the two of you made love (and after a certain point, fucked)[Vincent is more of the lover type but when his emotions are intense, he’ll fuck you hard until you can’t walk], your bodies would be roadmaps of where each of you had been. You often spend time caressing each other's bodies over the mark you’ve both left on each other, the most satisfied of smiles on your faces.

Kinks: body worship (the artist in him - he is very fond of your neck and breasts) and loves it when you blindfold him.

Favourite place to bite you and suck on your blood: your neck. There is no doubt about it. He bites into your neck, lets you ride the wave of pleasure as it hits, pulls back only slightly to let the blood trickle down your neck so he could lick it back up while leaving a trail of love bites in his wake.

Favourite position: cowgirl (he sees you more clearly and likes to watch you unravel)

In the beginning of your relationship, he thought that it might be a gesture akin to “tainting” you if he let his release spurt on you. But the more he understood about sex from you and from his own desires, he actually starts feeling the urge to come on your stomach and inside you.

He becomes absolutely weak when you sing or when you dance (and not just in an emotional way). He kinda hates himself for getting a hard-on whenever he listens to you or watches you dance and you often take it as an opportunity to tease him about it. Sometimes, you have absolutely no idea what would come over him but your man could not wait until you would make it back to your room. If you were in the gardens, if you were in the hallway (and did as much as tease him), he will take you there and then. If you did as much as protest, he would tell you that he’s tall enough to cover you if anyone caught you. He was not afraid of doing risky things with you because he was not ashamed of the love and desire he had for you.

It all started with a painting lesson. Just some quality time with your boyfriend and there were traces of painting on his cheeks, hands and arms. You slowly began to undress each other and he began teaching you how to paint with your body as his canvas, and his body as yours. He would tickle you with his brush and you would both giggle. You consider this as an intimate activity between lovers, where they enjoy each other’s presence in the nude but it would be too much to ask if Vincent had to reign his desires in. You would often wake up the next morning, covered by sheets splattered with paint. (Poor Sebastian)

He would suggest if you could use chocolate instead of paint after a few times and he was so incredibly blushy about it. He has absolutely no idea whether you would agree to it or not, but he learned that the best way to make your relationship work is to make sure to always communicate with one another, candidly and honestly. He had absolutely nothing to hide from you.

Vincent likes it when you sleep naked so he could gently remove the covers and draw you/paint your nude body basked in the moonlight/sunlight. [PS: Theodore didn’t look at you for days cause he accidentally came across the collection of nude sketches Vincent drew of you.]

Runner-up Suitors: I honestly ship you so hard with Vincent. But if I must, have to, absolutely must choose a runner-up, it would probably be Napoleon.

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #matchup #ikevamp matchup #ikemen vampire vincent #ikevamp vincent #vincent van gogh #ikemen series #ikemen #fluff #smut #i really hope you like it <3 #i ship you together so much #ikevam

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oswaldsirius · 5 years

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Once in a Lifetime

Chapter Three: Answers...?

Pairing: Leonardo/Arabella

Word Count: 2563

A/N: A little later today. Forgot it was Friday XD

Slowly exhaling, Leonardo watched the smoke drift off but for once the action didn't soothe him. Not that that was a surprise. He didn't think much of anything was going to calm him at this point. Not with what he had just seen.

He closed his eyes, trying not to think but the scene replayed in his head. Her stepping into the light, realising who she was...realising what she didn't have. He blew out another breath. That last one hurt. Even if he hadn't seen that stormy gaze in nearly a century, not once had she ever looked at him like he was a stranger. Not even the first time they met. Frightened, curious, panicked, yes. But not with the indifference that had been there this time.

Was this some kind of cruel, cosmic joke? To place his heart back in this world and strip her of everything he loved?

He took another drag, holding it for a moment, then letting it go. That wasn't right. Saint-Germain, while tricking him into coming here, had done his research before he had. Which was the real reason they hadn't had time before coming here. His old friend had dug as much as he could into her, which hadn't been easy even with his connections to the family. He knew that some families were protective of their children before they reached immortality but this one had taken it to another level. From all accounts, barely anyone had even known they'd had this daughter until she'd come closer to her new beginning. It had been complete chance that Saint-Germain had seen her at all. He wouldn't have known she existed until tonight and-

Leonardo sucked on his cheek, throwing a glance over his shoulder at the building. It hadn't been any different than he'd expected. A pretty show that prefaced what amounted to an auction of the newly immortal. Did any of these families actually care about their children or were they so focused on furthering themselves, on continuing a race that couldn't die, that they forgot they were dealing with living beings?

His stomach turned at the thought of what might have happened, what could still happen tonight. It was that thought that had driven him outside. The idea that anyone would do that to his Bella....

Not your Bella.

He flicked the cigarillo to the stone terrace and crushed it under his shoe. What had Saint-Germain said? That he'd looked into her? Learned what he could? That if she had just been a look-a-like, just the same face he wouldn't have told him? But what did that mean? Did she behave the same way? Did she sound the same? A face was only one part of a person and he had loved every single part of her, every part that had made her the bright, beautiful woman he had adored. For any of it to be missing...? She wouldn't be his Bella.

Turning away from those thoughts, he started toward the door. He'd made a scene that Saint-Germain was no doubt smoothing over, his silver tongue coming in handy in moments like this. Along with his experience of these kinds of events. But Leonardo would have to behave if he didn't want to get kicked out and-

His hand paused on the door when he heard a soft squeal come from deeper in the garden.

Staring at the curtained panes of glass, Leonardo forced himself to breathe. It was a sound he'd heard before, many a time. A lifetime ago. Was she here? In the garden? He would have thought she'd remain at her party or that her family would have kept her nearby.

But curiosity got the better of him and he turned away. He followed the paths, gradually became aware of the sound of splashing, and froze when he rounded a hedge.

Moonlight shone down on the garden's centerpiece, a lavish fountain that filled the air with the sounds of water. It was wonderfully crafted but it couldn't hold a candle to the woman frolicking in its lower basin. Her skirts lifted to keep dry while she spun and kicked her feet in the cool water. Delight splashed across her face as she took this small moment of rebellion for herself.

"Cara mia," he breathed, drinking in the joy on her face. It would be too much if she wasn't the woman he remembered but that happiness, that joy, that life shining from her screamed that she was the same.

He watched her spin, tipping her face up to the moon, and he couldn't help it. The chuckle spilled from him, low and affectionate.

But it had the opposite effect from what he wanted. She immediately froze and he felt panic fill the air between them. That he had caused.

"No, no, you were enjoying yourself," he said, starting to move closer. "Don't stop on my account."

There was a moment before she twisted to look at him and he saw the fear on her face. Fear that made him feel a fool. She had been sheltered and was rebelling. He knew what the rest of their kind could be like, the schemes, the power plays; she thought that he would-"I-Oh! You!"

Her exclamation brought him back and he moved closer. "Me?" he said cautiously. "You know me?"

"I know of you. We've never been introduced."

This was wrong. He shouldn't be talking to her, but he was merely the moth to her flame. "No," he agreed, reaching the fountain. "We haven't."

She was staring at him, thoughts whirling no doubt of what to do, of what he might do, and her panic was still humming against his skin. "Signor da Vinci, I-"

Signor...? "Who's that?" he asked incredulously.

"...You?"

He shook his head, a low noise leaving him. "Haven't been 'signor' anything in a long time. Leonardo works though and is what I answer to, yes?"

Still staring, those stormy eyes full of uncertainty. But it was wavering. Was the curiosity at the heart of her winning out then? "Are you sure?"

Smiling at her, he didn't say anything. But he could still see the hesitation, the fear in her eyes. That wouldn’t do. That wouldn’t ever do.

He started to speak again before he realised he’d missed something glaring. “Scusa but…was distracted inside. Missed your name.” When she hesitated, he smiled. "If you don't want to tell me, I could think of a nickname for you."

The tease worked. He saw the flush settle on her skin, her chin raising a little almost in defiance of it. "Arabella. My name is Arabella."

What...? To share even the same name? What was happening? "Arabella it is," he said softly, trying to contain his thoughts before they could overwhelm him.

It wasn't any good, however. Being this close to her...seeing her, hearing her, after a century of nothing but missing her? How was a man supposed to recover from this?

But he saw the shiver she couldn't completely hide. "Come, you won't fit your pretty shoes if you stay in there much longer.

She looked at his outstretched hand but barely hesitated in coming toward him. Each step she took set his heart to pounding in his chest. The closer she got, the more everything in him screamed to scoop her into his arms, to hold her close and never let go. It was where she belonged. No. It was where she had belonged. This Arabella didn't know him, didn't love him the way his had. But that could change.

When she was close enough, he gave in. Only a little. Grasping her waist, he lifted her from the fountain. To save her from dropping her skirts in the water, he told himself, but it was a dirty lie. He wanted to touch her in some small way. Her gasp burned across his skin as he set her down in front of him and he stared down at her. Calm? Was he supposed to be calm when his beloved had been reborn? Was he supposed to be calm when she pressed her small hands to his chest like she had so many times? Was he supposed to be calm when everything in him wanted this woman in front of him?

"Leonardo?"

To hear her say his name again! "Yes, cara mia?" The nickname slipped out, soft and far more loving than it should have.

He saw the surprise she quickly tamped down before saying, "May I ask you a question?"

She...Did she truly not remember him? Them? "Can have one, Arabella."

A faint pout that brought a smile to his lips. Still didn't like that, did she? "Then I had better make it count," she muttered before squaring herself and meeting his gaze. "Why are you here?"

His head cocked. Never the easy questions, his Bella. "Do you not want me here?"

"You can't answer a question with a question. Especially if it doesn't remotely answer the first."

"Didn't realise there were such complex rules with your asking."

She stared at him, clearly waiting for him to answer. Properly.

"Clarification, cara mia." Damn it! "Here in the garden with you? Or here at the party?"

"The party. By everyone's account, you're a recluse. You prefer to spend your time with anyone not a vampire-"

"Ah, no. There are some I spend time with."

"-rarely then," she corrected. "A room full of purebloods is the last place anyone would expect you to be. A new beginning even more so."

Still so clever. "It is not my usual place, no," Leonardo agreed, choosing his words slowly. "I came as a favour for le Comte de Saint-Germain." Couldn't he have picked an easier name to use?

She wasn't satisfied with that answer. He could see it on her face, in the way her lips pursed to keep another question from spilling out when she'd only asked for one.

Still too adorable for his own good. He chuckled softly, trying to cover the ache he was feeling. "He told me that I wouldn't regret coming tonight," he said quietly. "I had no reason to doubt him." Another lie. He'd had every reason to doubt him, but he knew that if Saint-Germain had told him the truth, that his Bella had been reborn as a greater vampire, he would have tossed him out of that small cottage in an instant.

"You two were arguing earlier though."

Saw that had she? Which meant...she'd looked back at him after that initial pass over? A spark of hope leapt to life in his chest. "We were arguing. It is what old friends do."

She didn't believe him, but she was holding her tongue. "I see."

Leonardo couldn't help his smile. "You can ask one more, cara mia," he said. "Can give you one more, yes?"

"Do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Not regret coming here?"

There was still much of the night to get through from what he knew of these things. There was even more for him to sort through before he figured out what he was supposed to do. But right now? "No, cara mia," he said softly, honestly, "I have no regrets coming here. To the party or right here with you."

That got more of a reaction, her cheeks darkening, and she finally looked away from him. Perhaps too much honesty? If she'd been raised in an old house-which he knew was true-situations like this would be completely new to her.

"I should go back inside," she whispered.

Leonardo realised his hands were still on her hips, still holding her right in front of him. "Scusa," he said, letting go and stepping back from her. "Didn't mean to keep you out here."

She gave him a small smile. "You didn't. I wanted to be here."

How did she still do this to him? Holding out his hand again, he gave her a smile in return. "Allow me."

Her hand settled daintily on his before she paused. "Oh, my shoes."

He'd seen them at the fountain's edge and let go of her only long enough to sweep them up. "The grass feels better on your feet than these," he teased, leading her back through the garden.

"It does."

They fell into silence as they walked and he realised each step was getting them closer to where he had to say goodbye to her for now. He'd see her again at the party, her role wasn't finished yet, but there was no telling how long it would be before her parents brought her back out.

When they reached an open window, he cocked a brow at her. "Came out through this did you?"

"They're not about to let me walk out a door to get out here," she muttered, eyeing the windowsill.

It wasn't that high, but he saw her dilemma. "Up you go, cara mia," he said, grasping her waist again.

"Leonardo!" she gasped, her hands flying to his shoulders to grip him as he lifted her up onto the sill.

He grinned at the surprise and indignation in her voice. That sounded more like it. "Let me help you once more, yes?" he asked, lifting the hem of her skirt.

"What are you-!"

"Shh, cara mia, or you'll alert those inside," he murmured, only lifting the material enough to see her feet. He caught one of them in his hand, letting the shoes dangle from his fingers as he carefully brushed the underside of her foot.

She audibly shivered, sucking in a breath at the touch and mumbling something as he slipped the shoe on. He repeated the process with the other foot and he wasn't disappointed as she reacted nearly the same way.

She sat a few inches above him as he looked up at her, a golden halo of light spilling out around her from inside. She'd always glowed in his eyes, burning with an inner radiance that had always drawn him in, but now.... "Get inside, Arabella," he said softly, making himself take a step back. "They'll come for you soon."

"Leonardo...thank you," she whispered.

He watched her turn on the sill, tucking her legs inside before she slipped in and quietly closed the window. He stood there for a moment longer, forcing himself to breathe as best he could. He'd come into the garden to try to sort his thoughts out, but they were as muddled as they were before. Even more if he was honest with himself.

What had Saint-Germain said? That he wouldn’t have said anything if he hadn’t been sure that it was Arabella returned in more than just the flesh? Talking with her, he’d agree with that. She reacted the same, with a bit more restraint but he could simply accredit that to the difference in her upbringing. The fire that drove her was still there, he could see it. But if she had come back, why wouldn’t she remember? He hadn’t entertained the thought of reincarnation and it wasn’t like it was a science he could pursue to understand why she was the way she was now. There were too many variables to consider and not enough information to eliminate any of them.

But there was one thing he was sure of.

He wasn't leaving this party until everyone here understood that he had full intentions of courting Arabella.

#ikemen vampire #ikevam #ikevamp #ikevam leonardo #leonardo/oc #ikevam fanfi #arabella de vries #my writing #once in a lifetime fic

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kbstories · 5 years

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Lovely @klingoni commissioned me to write some more Morston!

The Manner Of Things

Tags: Arthur/John, Slice Of Life, Light Angst, Fluff, John Saves Arthur For Once, Javier Is There

>>Read on AO3!

☕ Commission me! ☕

Somewhere out there, Arthur Morgan fucked up.

“How can you tell?”, Javier asks him without looking up, eyes and mind tethered to the knife he's sharpening between deft, careful fingers.

Taking another drag from his cig, John shrugs, watches the metal glint and reflect the glare of the sun above. Half a lifetime of following Arthur around will do that to a man, the joke is on his lips – putting the truth into words has never been easy, not for him. Perhaps not even for Arthur.

We're Dutch's boys alright, John thinks. He hesitates.

Javier does look then, a fragment of a glance at John's face, his knees that jump with nervous energy. Being too transparent again, and sometimes John forgets there's more people involved than just the four of 'em.

“I just know.” The butt of the cigarette hisses against wet bark as John puts it out. “Besides, Arthur missin' poker night? Don't think so.”

Javier snorts, flipping the knife in his grip before sleekly sheathing it. “What are we waiting for then?”

John's grin pulls at the scars across his face, tender still but healing. “My question exactly.”

It's quite a stretch till Strawberry but to John, the miles blur into one entity that stands between him and Arthur, status unknown. They hear rumors, here and there: about a famous outlaw caught at last and high hopes for a hanging.

John's grip on his reins goes tight, knuckles bloodless and white. Old Boy picks up speed and Boaz follows suit soon after.

Usually, these rides are filled with chit-chat and teasing remarks; John is quiet, however, lost in his head and aware of the silence nonetheless and Javier, well... As loyal and dependable as the man is, he never seems to make a habit of prying beyond what could be reasonably deemed his business. It's a quality John has always liked about him.

Strawberry's jail is really nothing impressive. The brick wall to one side has been recently repaired – a vague memory of Arthur's angry voice comes to mind, lips pulled back in a snarl as he ranted about Micah this, Micah that – and Javier shoots him a smug little smirk as John digs in Old Boy's saddlebags for the dynamite.

This method, one of Dutch's, has none of the elegance of Hosea's more elaborate plans: get the horses ready, chat up the sheriff, plant the TNT and the rest is pure luck. John has done this spiel one too many times to be truly nervous. Still, there's a funny feeling in his chest between excitement and anticipation, and it only gets stronger when – boom! – the freshly painted wall is blown to smithereens.

Even before the dust has settled John is there, climbing over loose bricks and splintered wood. “Arthur! You alive in there?” His heart is loud in his ears, too loud to hear much of anything at first; then, finally, a string of curses in a familiar cadence–

“Fuckin' hell– Marston?!”

John's expression cracks into a grin. “Yeah, 's me. Thought you'd appreciate a little pick-me-up.” Helping Arthur to his feet, he presses a loaded revolver in his hand. “C'mon, Javier's got your horse–”

As if on cue, said man lets out a delighted “Whoop!” outside as he opens fire. “At least someone's havin' fun”, Arthur grumbles but follows the tug of John's hand on his arm–

“Wait! My hat...”

John sighs, loudly. “I'll get it, just– Get outta here, 'kay?”

For one infinite second, their eyes meet – John knows that deep, worried blue better than he knows himself, from moments just like this all the way to that fateful day in the snow. “Go”, he tells him, lets him go. “I'll meet ya on the hill.”

“John–”

Arthur stops, jaw clenching tight. He nods, and John watches him disappear into the dust.

Maybe risking his life for a hat wasn't the best of decisions.

Old Boy is huffing and puffing underneath him, clearly tired from the long ride but pushing on just as stubbornly as John is. The shootout with the law went on for quite a while, long enough that John was down to a few bullets and a prayer when the big gelding came into view.

Still: Arthur's hat is safely tied to his saddle, a little dustier than usual but in one piece. John allows his horse to slow when he's certain he's not being followed anymore, patting Old Boy's sweat-damp neck proudly. “Well done, boy... Saved my ass again, huh?”

The hill appears behind some trees soon after. There, at its crest: two silhouettes framed in soft, gold light. John smiles a little crookedly and waves, watches as the left one shifts and comes towards him. Arthur gains definition from his horse's white coat to the bright blue of his shirt until John can make out his face, the relief etched into every crease around his eyes.

“Sure took your sweet time. Me an' Javier was startin' to think up some ideas for your grave. What do you think'a 'John Marston, lived a fool, died a fool'?”

John snorts, getting off his horse in one smooth motion. “And leave you two to fend for yourselves? Don't think so. Here, you ungrateful bastard.”

Instead of taking the offered hat, Arthur leans over the neck of his mare until John can reach high enough to put it on his head. John opens his mouth – to call him lazy, or perhaps drop the ancient joke of “old man” that Arthur finds so irritating – but instead finds his lips occupied by Arthur's, chapped and warm and so familiar.

John's heart skips a beat; clinging to Arthur's collar, he pulls him into the kiss, pulse rushing with residue adrenaline yet calming with every sweet motion shared between them. They part gradually, with panted breaths and one last, lingering kiss.

“Thank you”, Arthur murmurs, the fondness in his voice making John's face feel warm. He tips his hat. “For this and for breakin' me out. I owe ya.”

Huffing, John pushes him back into the saddle, rolling his eyes at Arthur's quiet laugh. “Don't get used to it, idiot.” Back on Old Boy, he catches up to Arthur, following him to where Javier is smoking a cigarillo while he waits.

He doesn't mention the blush still burning on John's cheeks. Javier is good like that.

“What even happened? 's unlike you to be this careless.”

It's Arthur's turn to be a little flustered. “Ah, well”, he starts, scratching his neck. “I was comin' into town a bit hot and uh–”

“He ran over the mayor's lover”, Javier supplies drily. “The one that's not his wife. Thus exposing their affair....”

Arthur's expression is sheepish for it to be true. John chuckles, shakes his head incredulously.

“How do these things keep happening around you?”

>>Read on AO3!

#red dead redemption #RDR2 #arthur morgan #john marston #morston #rdr fanfiction #javier for best wingman 2k19 #i love them all so much #thank you for your support my friend!!!#commission #fanfiction #my stuff #RDR

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honeyedhoseok · 6 years

Text

Should We Go Downtown?

Genre | angst, smut // friends-->lovers->friends au

Word Count | 9K

Summary | “And I don’t touch you, goddamn, I want to / Can we go downtown?” Taehyung has watched you struggle in your relationship with your boyfriend for a while, always being your shoulder to cry on. He’s learned the best trick to pick you up when you’re down--besides his sensation of his mouth on yours–is a trip downtown to the riverfront at nighttime, so you can see the boats coming in on the harbor while he tries to piece back together the girl he absolutely hates to see sad.

Warnings | Detailed smut, smoking, foul language, dirty talk, infidelity.

A/N | Listen...this was supposed to be a simple, short, angsty piece that turned into a 9K smut. I have no idea what happened but I hope you like how it turned out as much as I do! Also, thanks @risinginfire for proof-reading part of this and making me really excited to post it, ily <3

Read the rest of the V2 Series HERE!

--> Based on THIS song by The Ready Set

It’s the shrill, annoying sound of a phone call that breaks the bustling atmosphere of a get-together with your friends.

Actually, most of these people weren’t even your friends—they were really closer to Hongbin—and you were there because you were his girlfriend and therefore your presence was required but not necessary, because no one was talking to you.

You stood to the side in the kitchen, nursing a slice of greasy pizza that sat in the box beside you on the counter. Your friends were the reason you hadn’t left yet—the few that decided to show up to Hongbin’s casual, casual, casual (he stressed this to everyone multiple times during the week) party at his new apartment—and they surrounded you in a semicircle.

It was a ringtone you knew well, one that you’d told Hongbin a thousand times to change because it was too loud for someone who could hear perfectly fine. You thought it made him seem like a senior citizen with a smartphone they didn’t know how to work. He only chuckled each time you brought it up, as if you were just being silly. But now, of all times, you really wished his ringer wasn’t loud enough for everyone in the world to hear.

It’s nighttime—nearing 12 a.m.—and every acquaintance that Hongbin had was standing in the midst of his living and dining room, including you.

The first ring makes a few people around him quiet down just enough for you to catch the tail end of it, and you look up and over the shoulder of your friend Yeonwoo, who was standing directly across from you.

You watch Hongbin dig for his phone in his pocket, pulling it out to check the caller ID just as the second shrill ring sounds through the apartment. You flinch at its ferocity, the sound seeming to pierce not only your eardrums but your heart, as well. You knew what a call at this time of night meant.

You watch your boyfriend excuse himself from the circle of people around him, catching your eye accidentally in the kitchen as he makes his way through the living room and into the bedroom the two of you shared to talk to his awaiting caller.

Any mood that you had for the casual get-together was certainly ruined due to the interruption—and it was not unnoticed by your friends, especially to one set of eyes in particular that had been lingering on you all night.

As those around you struggle to revive the conversation that had just been interrupted, ultimately feeling the strange mood twist and turn around the circle like fog, one pair of dark eyes captures yours and reads you like a book.

Taehyung knew you well enough after being your longest and closest friend that the sad attempt at a smile that tugged around the corners of your mouth was as phony as the black acrylics that donned your fingers. He takes a sip of the cheap beer clutched in his hand—provided so graciously by the host, who was now busy talking to his other girl in the bedroom—and watches you struggle to compose yourself.

You shift your weight from foot to foot and widen your eyes as you look at Hyebin—an attempt at looking ultimately interested, but Taehyung knows it’s a method of keeping the hot tears filling your water line from crashing over onto your cheeks. You laugh a little too loudly, a little too much, for a joke that Hyebin told—which made her laugh nervously in return, obviously not sure if she’d really told a joke that was worth that much. Your reaction probably made her think she had miraculously turned comedian in the last five seconds.

Taehyung sighs, shaking his head a little to himself as he finishes off the last sips of his beer, crumpling the can in his hand before sinking it into the trashcan across the room. It was cheap, low percentage and left a bad taste in his mouth, much like Hongbin. He knew what you needed, and it wasn’t another story about Yeonwoo or Hyebin’s antics from the weekend before.

“Hey, Y/N,” he says, waiting for a break in conversation. “Come outside with me right quick—I just put a new stereo system in my car and I wanted you to hear how some bass-boosted songs sound.” He pauses, grinning at you. “I swear it’ll move your hair to the beat if it’s turned up to twenty-two.”

You blink once at the random request, but your brain quickly catches up—Taehyung was doing this to get you away for a few moments—and you nod, letting him wrap warm fingers around your wrist and lead you outside.

You expect him to stop once you two are outside of your apartment door, but he keeps going, leading you down the stairwell and out to the parking lot where his beat-up, black Honda sits in one of the visitor’s spaces.

“Door’s unlocked,” he murmurs, clicking the keypad in his hand once.

You open the passenger door, listening to it give a usual protesting groan. You push yourself inside, settling into the familiar sights and smells of Taehyung’s car. An old Yankee Candle air freshener swings lightly to and fro from his rearview mirror, it’s fragranced inside shriveled from years of the sun; Taehyung has had it in his car as long as you can remember—in fact, you’re positive he took it from his mom’s car and put it in this one when he brought it, despite having little to no scent left.

Once inside, Taehyung turns the key in the ignition once so that the radio lights up, but the motor doesn’t run. He cracks the windows on both your sides, letting in a cool, fall night breeze that caresses the warm apples of your cheeks as it swirls between you two.

A light tune floats from the radio—one of Taehyung’s driving mixes, you guessed—but he doesn’t turn it up and instead, lets it settle as background music. You can tell he did get a new radio and new speakers, but he doesn’t intend on letting you hear them just yet.

Once you are outside and away from the bustling crowd of people inside your apartment, the reality and embarrassment of what had just happened finally settle in. You look down at your hands in your lap, fiddling with a loose piece of gel nail polish lifted up on your ring finger, and avoid catching Taehyung’s eyes.

He hates seeing you like this, hates the way that Hongbin can snatch a good mood from you so quick without having to say a single thing. He was a piece of garbage, through and through, but somehow you loved him through all of it—it was something Taehyung would never understand.

You sniffle suddenly, breaking him out of his trance and he looks over at you to watch as a single tear rolls down your cheek.

Taehyung busies himself with searching in the middle console as you wipe angrily at your face with the sleeve of your shirt, turning away from him to look out the window instead. He needs something to do, something to focus on so he doesn’t go back in the apartment and rip Hongbin a new one. Finally, his fingers grasp the box he’s looking for and he pulls it, along with a lighter, out of the compartment.

“You mind?” he asks you, showing you what’s in his hand. You shake your head no, as always.

Taehyung’s obsession with cigarillos was as puzzling to you as your obsession with your shitty boyfriend was to him. But you didn’t mind it—you didn’t mind a lot of the things Taehyung did because he put up with you all these years—and besides, the kind he smoked let off an air that smelled sweet and so like him. When he was around you, you would catch whiffs of it sometimes, like he himself was the embodiment of the skinny rolled tubes he smoked daily.

“I found a different kind,” he says conversationally. When you turn to look at him, you have new wet marks trailing down your cheeks, but he chooses to ignore it for the time being. “Cherry vanilla. Smell.”

He lights the end, inhaling once and then takes the skinny Black & Mild out of his mouth so he can blow its perfumed smoke in your direction. You sniff, wrinkling your nose at first, but he’s right—it does smell nice.

“I still like the summer blend the best,” you say.

Taehyung shakes his head in annoyance, taking another inhale. He blows this one in your direction, too. “Too bad they discontinued them,” he says, smoke coming out of his nostrils as he speaks. “They discontinue all the fucking good flavors.”

Silence settles over the both of you for a while. Taehyung sits with his cigarillo in hand, blowing clouds of smoke out of his cracked window and into the night air. A lot of it stays inside instead of escaping through, covering you two in a skinny, sweet smelling fog that reminds you of your hot-boxing days in high school.

Things were much simpler back then, when Hongbin wasn’t thought of and it was just you and Taehyung every day. During your senior year, Taehyung got you to skip more than you actually attended class. He could always tell when you weren’t feeling up to going to school as soon as you got into his car. He would toss your bookbag in the backseat, giving you a wicked grin as he backed out your driveway—you’d realize it as you pulled up to the school still going forty-five miles per hour that Taehyung had no intention of stopping, and instead was going to take you on one of the many adventures you two embarked on that year.

Each one was simple—a trip to an old bookstore or record shop, sometimes to a park, sometimes to eat at a ratty stand downtown—but his plans were always a way of getting your mind off things.

Taehyung was good at reading you, good at only speaking about whatever was bothering you only when he knew you could handle it, good at just being there for you—whether it was in silence with his hands, lips and tongue to keep you distracted, or with just being a shoulder to cry on and a hand to hold.

But that was then, and this was now. Things were harder when he wasn’t first on your list of people to vent to. You had a boyfriend—and even if he was shitty—he was the center of your universe. Well, except for when he took calls from other girls like the sleazy piece of fucking garbage that he was.

Taehyung inhales deeply after a puff, trying to calm himself once more by letting the smoke reach the deepest parts of him. He steals another glance at you after opening his eyes and you are looking at him too, your watery eyes searching the planes of his face.

He looks so cool and relaxed in the dark with his face lit up from the lights of the radio—something you’ve always envied about him. You feel like you are an anxious, shaking mess all the time, but Taehyung never seems bothered by anything.

“I don’t want to go back in,” you say, breaking the silence. Your bottom lip shakes slightly, and your teeth sneak out to latch onto it, stilling it for the time being. “Can we just stay out here?”

“He’ll come looking for you,” Taehyung says. “You know that.”

“Then let’s leave.”.

Your voice is pleading, and Taehyung hates that. It sounds like honey to his ears—this is how you hold him in, with that little sweet voice of yours that keeps him trapped and sticky. You aren’t doing it on purpose—you certainly can’t know what kind of hold you have over him—but he still hates it.

Taehyung sighs, dropping the end of the cigar into an old fast food cup sitting up front. He rattles the contents side to side, making sure the water in the bottom puts out the existing flame before sitting it back in the cup holder.

“Please?” you say, making sure he hasn’t forgotten your mention from earlier. “Tae?”

“Put your seat belt on,” he grunts, reaching out to turn the key in the ignition.

Your face lights up with gratitude and you sit back in your seat, clicking the belt over your waist with a grin.

You look like a maniac. Your makeup is a little smeared from the crying and your eyes are red but at least you’re smiling. You’re smiling because once again, Taehyung and his Honda are going to take you away from all your problems, even if it’s only temporary.

Taehyung cuts the radio up a little louder once you’re on the road, and it’s an R&B mix that’s playing through the speakers. This song seems to be just the beats; he listens to a lot of music without lyrics because lyrics are distracting, or so he claims. But over the years, you’ve gotten attached to the style. You listen to lo-fi playlists when you have big projects to work on, and it helps you concentrate.

You roll your window down a little more, allowing the night time air to rush through the car. With your elbow propped on the door, you rest your chin on your folded arms. Tonight, thanks to the mix that plays through the speakers, you’re able to focus on the scenes of the city-scape coming into view as you drive down familiar streets away from your apartment.

“Are we going downtown?” you ask, your hair whipping around your face as you turn to look at Taehyung. He’s put the black hood of his jacket up to shield some of the wind from his own face, but he gives you a nod in answer.

You turn back around to the scenery flying by you, your lips twisting up in a small smile. Taehyung knows you love going downtown because the riverfront is there, and your new favorite thing is to watch the boats going past while the city lights reflect on the murky harbor water.

It’s the weekend, so downtown is a little more crowded than usual. You realize this as you pull into the city blocks that hold the many bars, restaurants and clubs that downtown has to offer. A party bus comes to a stop beside the car as Taehyung waits at a red light to pull into the parking deck, its inhabitants laughing and talking loudly enough to overpower the pounding baseline coming from the speakers inside. It looks to be a pre-wedding celebration of some kind—you can see a congratulatory banner on the side of the bus, but it pulls off before you can finish reading the swirly script it’s printed in.

Taehyung drives through the brightly lit parking garage, stopping and parking on the first floor thanks to a car reversing out of its spot just in time. He winks over at you at his good luck and places the parking ticket on the dashboard before getting out.

You follow him in his haste, excited to be away from your crowded living room and on to indulge yourself in the night life of the city you lived in. Downtown had its own energy that permeates you as soon as you step out of the parking garage and onto the cobble stoned streets. Your flat-bottomed sneakers allow you to feel each ridge of the rocks on the arches of your feet.

Taehyung stops once you two round the corner onto the main street, pulling the box of Black & Milds out of his pocket to light one up. He hovers in front of a parked car, the hood of his jacket still up and covering his face. He uses it like a shield, blocking the slight breeze from putting out the little flame produced from his lighter.

“You look so emo in this lighting,” you tease. “Let me take a picture.”

Taehyung quirks an eyebrow at you but says nothing as you pull your phone out of the pocket of your jacket.

You were always taking pictures of everything—always wanting to document your visits to places—but at some point in your friendship, he realized you really enjoyed taking them of him. You had so many of him doing mundane things like eating, talking, walking, and he never understood why. He let you take them though, and imagined that sometimes, maybe, you sat at home when he wasn’t around and looked at them, missing the time you two spent together; he knew he certainly did the same thing when you weren’t around.

With that in mind, he stands in front of the car with the lights of the city reflecting behind him and hides his cigar behind his leg while you snap pictures of him.

“Wanna see?” you ask when you’re finished, but he shakes his head.

“I’ll just want you to delete them.”

“But these are really good,” you protest. “Just look. You’re like a model, Tae.”

Taehyung takes a peek at the phone and lifts one shoulder in response, grunting in semi-satisfaction.

You didn’t understand why he hated to take pictures—there were rarely times where he ever wanted to pose for one, regardless if it was with you or a group. You roll your eyes at his unenthusiastic response, clicking the lock on your phone and stuffing it back in your pocket.

“Mean,” you mutter, bumping Taehyung’s shoulder as you walk past him and down the sidewalk.

It wasn’t long before he caught up, his long legs bringing him to you in no time, and he was bumping your shoulder back. A small smile plays on the edges of his lips and you both know all is forgiven. Taehyung doesn’t move over on the sidewalk as you keep walking, switching his lit cigar from his left hand to his right so he can take drags, with his other shoulder nudging yours occasionally.

It takes one, two, times of his hand bumping into yours before he grabs it finally, sifting his fingers through your own in a tight hold. You don’t mind this either—his hand is big and warm and feels like home, and so you let him hold it.

“Let me try,” you say after walking a few steps, reaching for the lit cigar in his other hand.

Taehyung passes it to you, watching you bring it to your overly pursed lips and breathe inward. Your form is bad because you don’t smoke, but at least from being around him all the time you don’t cough on the inhale.

You blow it out, hard, in the direction of his face and giggle. “How do you like it, huh?” you say, grinning. “How’s this feel to you?”

Taehyung inhales air deeply using his stomach muscles, yanking you by the hand to come closer and breathe on him again. The action makes you laugh, loudly this time—a brilliant sound to his ears—and you take one more drag to blow softly on his face, which was now mere inches from your own.

The smoke cascades over his tanned cheeks, seeping into the cracks of his hoodie and settling around his neck and hair. He accepts it gladly, breathing in the sweet scents of cherry and vanilla and something reminiscent of the virgin Pina Colada you’d had earlier. He was glad he’d brought you out—you were so pretty when you were happy and smiling like this, your eyes sparking from the lighting of the shops downtown and staring with excitement into his own.

You hand it back to him, still grinning as you continue walking.

“Let’s go in there,” Taehyung says softly, nudging you with his shoulder in the direction of a bar across the street. “We can get those shooters you like.”

You nod, leading the way and dragging Taehyung behind you as you cross the street to the sound of the walk signal beeping. You both flash your IDs to the bouncer and Taehyung drops the remains of his smoke on the ground, stubbing it out with the toe of his sneaker before following you inside.

You walk straight up to the counter, flagging down the bartender and ordering two green tea shooters. You hand her your card, telling her to close the tab while you wait for the drinks, Taehyung hovering somewhere behind you. When she hands you the glasses and your card back, Taehyung’s arm appears over your shoulder, reaching out to grab his. He waits for you, and you two clink glasses before tipping them back.

“The green tea is so good!” you yell, moving closer to his ear to be heard over the loud atmosphere inside of the bar.

His hands fall to your waist as you lean in, steadying you on your tip toes, and his own answer comes at your ear, “But I like the purple Gatorade better.”

You pout at him and he gives you another wink, and then you’re grabbing his hand in yours again to pull him out of the bar and back onto the sidewalks of downtown. This time you make a beeline straight for the street that runs behind the buildings of downtown—the one paved in front of the river.

With you glancing back at Taehyung every so often, your hair whipping around your face as you give him a grin while you lead him through the throngs of people on the sidewalks—he can’t imagine how Hongbin has the audacity to hurt you over and over. The simple thought of it gives him a pit in his stomach, which you wash away with each and every look you throw back at him over your shoulder. Its like you think he’s going to disappear if you don’t keep turning around to check, which is silly: the tight grip you have on his hand says that would be quite impossible.

And Taehyung wouldn’t want to be anywhere but here right now, anyways.

“It’s so pretty!” you exclaim upon rounding another corner, finally able to see the riverfront from where you are standing across the street. You wait for a car to pass by before tugging Taehyung along again, until you’re on the dock that hovers over the water. There’s not many people on the riverfront—most are doing their part in the bustling nightlife that encompasses a few blocks behind you two.

There’s seating right in front of the railing, but you chose to stand, wanting the best view of the boats. Taehyung hovers by your side, his own eyes trailing over the water, over the evening skyline back-lighting a bridge in the distance.

You pull your phone out again to snap a blurry picture of what’s in front of you.

Taehyung watches your face fall as you realize your phone can’t quite capture the beautiful scenery seen with your own eyes, and he reaches out to take the phone from you.

“Let’s take one of you with the water in the background,” he says, backing up a few paces.

You pose effortlessly, tucking your hair behind your ear and leaning back against the railing, placing your elbows on either side. You look side to side while he snaps pictures before laughing at your own modeling antics. The one with the wide grin on your face turns out to be the best picture of them all, though when Taehyung turns his phone around to show you, you wrinkle your nose in distaste.

“My mouth looks funny,” you say, imitating your own grin in exaggeration. “Don’t you think?”

“It looks big,” Taehyung responds. But cute, he thinks. And kissable.

You smack him on the shoulder playfully before turning your attention back on the water.

A few years ago, if Taehyung was in this situation, he would be able to walk up behind you and wrap his arms around your waist. You would lean back into him, and he would press a few soft kisses to the warm apple of your cheek or your temple before resting his chin on your shoulder and watching the skyline with you.

He can feel the imprint of you on him like it’s still there—the way you fit together so effortlessly, your body always soft and warm beneath his hands. There’s an infinite amount of times he’s taken you into his arms and breathed you in, keeping his hold on you tightly until you squirmed out of his reach, giggling each time he held you tighter so you couldn’t go anywhere.

He itches to do this now, until he realizes you’re crying again.

You swipe at your cheek once, twice, with your shoulder until the tears are falling too freely and you have to use both of your hands, taking them off the railing in front of you to wipe your face clean.

“Y/N,” Taehyung murmurs softly, and now he’s right at your side instead of somewhere behind you, his voice close to your ear. “What’s wrong?”

“Why am I not good enough for him, Tae?” you whisper, your voice on the edge of breaking. “Why does he keep doing this to me?”

When you turn to look at him, your eyes are rimmed red and glassy again. Your lips are parted, the bottom one trembling with how hard you are trying to hold yourself together.

“He’s not—” Taehyung trips over his words, trying to hold back his own feelings on the situation. “He’s not thinking right. He’s making mistakes.”

“Mistakes,” you scoff. “You’d think after a while he’d get it right.”

“Maybe.” Taehyung shrugs. “Maybe not. Guess it depends on how single-minded someone is.”

“I know it was a girl calling him tonight, Tae. I just know it. He’s been acting weird for a few weeks now, you know—how he always gets when he’s tired of me again—”

Taehyung takes a deep breath in as you say the words so casually, as if that were a normal part of the ups and downs of a relationship.

“—and then he started turning his phone over on the table, started putting it on vibrate when he was around me, started taking a really long time in the bathroom.” You pause, sniffling. “So, I listened in on him the other day—the shower was on—and he was sitting there, talking on the phone while the water was just running.”

“Could you hear was he was saying?”

“No, he was talking too low, so it was just murmurs. But why take a phone call in the bathroom?”

“Maybe he’s planning you a surprise birthday party,” Taehyung offered, picking up a rock by his foot launching it over the railing and into the river.

“Can you be serious?” you snap, suddenly looking at him with pinched eyebrows, your lips pouty with hurt.

“Okay then,” Taehyung huffs. “What do you want me to say, he’s a piece of shit? I think we both know that, Y/N.”

“I don’t know,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest to hold yourself. “Tell me why boys always hurt me.”

“Now that is unfair,” Taehyung says, turning his own hurt gaze on you, now.

“How?” you ask stubbornly, wiping at a stray tear streak on your face. “Didn’t you do the same thing?”

“I was young.”

“And Hongbin isn’t?”

“He’s not in high school, Y/N!” Taehyung explodes, slamming a hand down on the wood railing. “He’s not some dumb kid who didn’t know how good they had it until it was gone, okay? Hongbin is grown. You two live together, and he still can’t get his fucking act right. He’s done this what, three times now? And you keep going back to him, so I don’t know who’s stupider—you or him.” He ends the statement with a pointed, shaking finger at your chest and then one out to the lit bridge in the distance, where your shiny new apartment with Hongbin lies.

“Or you,” you spit at him, slapping a palm on his chest. The movement catches Taehyung off guard, giving you the opportunity to land another one as you release your anger. “What about you, huh?”

“What about me?” Taehyung asks incredulously. His tone raises an octave before he realizes there are people down the dock from you two, and he repeats in a whisper, “What about me?”

“Why are you still around, Taehyung? Why are you still here if this bothers you so bad!”

Taehyung chuckles humorlessly. “You want me here just as much as I want to be here, Y/N. Let’s not kid ourselves. We both know you use me—in many ways, I might add.”

“It was one time!”

“And another time after that, and once more, and then a make out in my car, and then you came to my house in the middle of the night—” he ticks the moments off on his fingers, tilting his head in confusion. “Oh, I’m sorry, do those not count?”

“You’re disgusting!” you cry, hitting him again. “You’re fucking disgusting—”

“Not as disgusting as your boyfriend who does this to you,” Taehyung says, holding you by the shoulders in order to stop your assault on him.

Your chest is heaving up and down and your face is contorted, streaked with hot tears that don’t seem to be stopping anytime soon. You’re sure you look like a really drunk girl to anyone passing by, mad at your boyfriend for talking to other girls in the club, so he bought you to the riverfront and away from the parties in order to calm you down. If only they knew how spot-on that scenario actually was in the moment.

“I would never do this to you, Y/N, do you hear me?” Taehyung says softly, pressing you to his chest. “I was just a kid back then—don’t hold that against me now.” He pauses, seeming to think of a nicer way to put his words before he says bluntly, “Unlike him, I won’t make the same mistakes twice.”

You let him hold you, knowing there’s some truth in his words, but there’s also a lie wrapped in there, too.

Taehyung knows this as well, because as you pull away from him, he cups your jaw with both hands softly, wiping away a stray tear with the pad of his thumb before he leans down and connects your lips in a familiar, soft kiss.

But kissing you is his mistake, because it means he failed once again to separate himself from his feelings. And this is certainly not the first time he’s chosen his heart instead of his head in the last three years that you’ve been with Hongbin. He’s sure it won’t be the last, either.

You respond to him feverishly, leaning up on your tiptoes and wrapping your arms around his hoodie-clad neck, bringing you chest to chest. There’s a beautiful city-scape behind you, but nothing compares right now to the slow and delicate way Taehyung’s tongue tastes every inch of the inside of your mouth with hot, slow licks.

He knows exactly how to kiss you to make you lightheaded, it seems. His hands comb backwards into your hair, scratching lightly at your scalp and you whine at the pleasurable feeling, separating your lips with a loud smack that has him smiling.

He kisses you a few more times—just soft pecks to your lips with your eyes closed. When you open them, his are still squeezed shut, eyelashes fanned out on his cheeks and his bottom lip barely brushing yours as he murmurs, “Should we leave?”

You nod, suddenly nervous and aware of the wandering eyes around you. You grab Taehyung’s hand for the second time that night, pulling him back through the streets and to the parking garage with determination. Downtown fades into the background as your need for each other takes over—this is something you are used to, as well.

The days when you would skip in high school were nothing compared to the moments when Taehyung would take you back to his parent’s house after your adventures, curling up with you on his bed before ravishing your body until just before they got home. You two would sneak out, all kisses and giggles again despite having left his bedroom smelling of sweat and sex, and he would take you home, his hand encased with yours over the middle console the whole drive.

He clicks his keypad as you two near, and his Honda gives an answering headlight flash as the doors unlock.

Once the doors are shut and the radio is playing softly in the background, you don’t waste any more time before you are swinging your legs over the middle console and settling yourself into Taehyung’s lap.

Your lips lock onto his again and he grunts, shifting you into a more comfortable position so you aren’t squishing his dick against his leg before his lips answer yours in fevered movements.

You push his hood backwards so that you can run your hands through his dark chocolate tresses, tangling your fingers within the fine strands and giving them a tug. Taehyung grins against your mouth, nibbling on your bottom lip as an invitation for you to do it again.

Taehyung’s hands roam your waist before pushing the fabric of your jacket off your shoulders and into the passenger seat. He carves a trail of sloppy, wet kisses down across your jaw and neck, fiery movements that seem to ignite your whole body.

It’s the smacks of mouths and breathy sighs that drown out the song playing on the radio. For once, you’re happy Taehyung’s windows are tinted a little darker than a normal car since you haven’t moved from the parking space in the garage. But you can’t wait—you want him, and you want him now.

It’s never like this with Hongbin. God, you couldn’t even remember the last time you had a quick, hot, passionate moment with him. Every moment like this in your memory is tied to images of Taehyung—his mouth, his hands, his cock—and each time it happens you get a little more memory for your spank bank when Hongbin is too busy for you.

Your mind isn’t allowed to linger on those thoughts for long, because Taehyung commands your attention, his hand shoving its way under your shirt to knead at the fabric of your bra. His mouth, hot and heavy on your neck, lap waves on your most sensitive spots. He licks and sucks his way up to your mouth and down again, all while you rut against the center of his lap shamelessly.

“God—” he murmurs against the skin of your clavicle, “you’re so fucking hot. Want you so bad.”

“Have me,” you say back breathlessly, mind foggy in the moment. Dirty talk is saved for only these moments with Taehyung, and you use it to the fullest because you know it gets to him. “I’m yours, Tae.” You breathe into his mouth, dragging your tongue across his bottom lip in a lazy manner. “Touch me, please.”

You don’t have to tell him twice—his hand immediately leaves your chest and travels south at your command. Taehyung unbuttons your bottoms with ease, snatching your zipper down and trailing his fingertips over the expanse of skin beneath your belly button.

You shiver a little at the ticklish sensation and let your head loll backwards, giving him a clear view of all the parts of your neck he hasn’t ravished yet.

Somewhere in between kissing you and feeling you up, he’d taken the opportunity to slide his seat all the way back, so when his fingers finally graze your most sensitive area, your body sinks back against the steering wheel into a more comfortable position.

A sigh escapes your mouth as he circles your clit, warming up the bundle of nerves with a few twists of his wrist. You grind down in his lap once more, finally feeling the bulge of his half-hard dick sitting between your legs. The thought makes your mouth water—knowing that the sensation of him filling you up is in the near future.

“Don’t tease me,” you whimper, leaning back up to suck at the skin on his neck. He grunts in response to your tongue laving at his throat, the tendons in his neck sticking out with how hard he’s trying to control himself.

Taehyung wants nothing more than to push you into the backseat and pound into your soaking wet center until you’re chanting his name, but he isn’t sure if that’s what you want tonight or not. Sometimes your hookups were just kissing, sometimes just oral, and rarely ever did you engage in full-blown sex.

When you’d shown up at his house in the middle of the night a few months ago, he’d thought you just wanted a body to sleep next to while Hongbin was out of town. Little did he realize you came over with a mission—or, he did realize it, when you swung a leg over him as you laid beside each other in bed, luring him in like a siren with your sinful hands and mouth. But you’d felt guilty afterwards, and so he never wanted to push you if you didn’t want it first.

“Please Tae,” you whine. You hand drifts down to his lap, squeezing his erection softly over his jeans. The feeling of you touching him makes him groan, and he pushes further into your pants, dipping a fingertip into your wetness. “I can’t—ngh—wait anymore.”

He doesn’t realize what you mean until you’re moving his hand away from your center, lifting off him to pull your own pants down just enough to expose your dripping core. You go to work at pulling his down then, too, and Taehyung groans again as your hand finally grips him, finding his erection through the hole in the front of his briefs.

“Fuck—” he grunts when you run your thumb over the head of his dick, swirling the bead of precum gathered at the top.

“I want you,” you whine, still not sure if he’s getting the point. “Do you want me?”

Taehyung picks his own head up from its relaxed position against the headrest just in time to see you pop your thumb in your mouth, spreading the taste of him all over your tongue. The sight is enough to make him twitch in your grip.

“’Course I do,” he says, his tone dropping an octave at the confession. It isn’t until he takes in the position you’re in—sitting on his lap, half-naked, with his cock in your hand does he realize what you mean. “Fuck, Y/N, right here?”

You nod slowly with your thumb still in your mouth, looking at him with those wide, blown out eyes that he can’t help but give into.

“No condoms,” he breathes, watching with half-sheathed eyes as you stroke his length with a soft touch.

“Don’t care,” you say. You lean your head down to let a line of spit dribble from your mouth and onto Taehyung’s cock, using the movements of your hand to lubricate him down to the base.

He’s hard as hell and in no position to tell you no. So, when you lift your hips above his, using your spit-soaked hand to line him up with your entrance, all he can do is watch you with his teeth sunk into his bottom lip.

You press onto him, letting him fill you up in a warm stretch that is so welcoming to your quivering insides. Taehyung lets out a low groan, his hands immediately latching on your hips with fingertips pressing into the skin of your thighs to aide your movements. You lean forward into his embrace, lowering your head onto his shoulder and burying your face into the soft, smoky scent of the material of his hoodie.

It’s sloppy and enclosed and hot inside the car because the air conditioning isn’t on and you’re both wearing way too many clothes, but a thrill runs through you at the thought that Taehyung wants you so much he’ll take you anywhere. He smells so good to you, starting to sweat a little around his temples and you want nothing more than to taste him, taste every inch of him you can get. You run a hot trail with your tongue up his neck, latching your teeth onto his ear lobe as you rise and drop your hips.

Neither of you know when this will happen again, and so you want to make the best of what time you have with each other.

“Fuck—” he grumbles, tilting his face to the side to capture your lips with his in a kiss that is hard and all teeth. “You’re so fucking hot like this—fucking yourself on me—”

A whine escapes your mouth at his breathy, low narrations. The bundle of nerves inside you is tightening, twisting into a ball in your stomach that you welcome with faster movements of your hips. Taehyung’s dick reaches all the right places inside of you, filling you up just right, like this is what he was meant to do: make you fall apart on top of him.

“Does that prick Hongbin f—fuck you like this?” he growls, leaning forward. While still aiding your movements with his hands, his lips latch onto your neck, sucking the skin into a pretty shade of pink with hard drawls of his mouth.

“Tae—” you whimper, because your head is too fuzzy right now to talk about Hongbin. All you want is him, him, him—but he doesn’t give in that easy.

“Does he?” he asks in a commanding tone against the skin of your throat. “If I’m so disgusting then why do you keep coming back, Y/N? Hm?” He trails one hand from your hip, pressing his thumb against your clit—it’s a movement that has your complete attention suddenly, your body on red alert as he makes slow, circular patterns that has your stomach muscles jumping. “It’s because you love this cock, isn’t it?”

He’s right, you do, and so you nod in agreement. But there’s something else about Taehyung that’s exciting and irresistible and comfortable and utterly familiar that you just can’t let go of. He’s unlike any other person you’ve ever met, and despite how hard you are trying to build a life with Hongbin because you know that’s what’s right, you still find yourself coming back to Taehyung for him to fill all the holes Hongbin can’t even think about reaching—in the literal and metaphorical sense.

Taehyung’s other hand comes up to grip your chin, making you open your eyes and look at him. His tongue darts out to wet his own lips, taking in your pretty face, eyes half-lidded as you continue to move up and down on his cock.

“Say it,” he says, in the softest voice. His ministrations on your clit fall unhurriedly to the smallest of circles, and you want to cry out at the diminishing tightness in your stomach as you slow your hips. “Tell me, Y/N. Tell me how much better I fuck you, than him.”

You kiss him with all tongue to shut him up, hard, wet and sloppy, hoping it will satisfy him. But you know Taehyung better than that, and you’re not surprised at all when he tilts his mouth away from yours, a devilish grin twisting the corners up.

“You don’t want to talk now, huh?” he asks impishly. “It was all Taehyung fuck me earlier, but now, nothing?” He mocks you in a girlish, breathy voice.

“Well, you’re not doing much fucking, are you?” you ask with a tilt of your head, playing along with his game.

He chuckles darkly, and you can feel the vibrations through his chest and onto yours from how pressed your bodies are against each other. His cock twitches inside of you, as if your words rile him up for a few seconds.

“That’s certainly not your pretty fingers between your legs, so I’d say I am."

You trail kisses along his jaw line with a smile—small pecks in order to warm him back up to you. You know he isn’t really bothered by all of this, Taehyung just loves to see what kind of dirty shit he can make you say when you’re all fucked out and desperate to cum. As usual, you give into him because you do want a release—but also because it’s somewhat fun. And somewhat the truth.

You start the slow movements of your hips again, loving the way Taehyung’s mouth parts and he lets out a sigh when you clench around him.

“I come back—” you mouth across his throat, making a trail up to the shell of his ear, “because you’re the only one who can make me, fall apart—like this, Tae.”

Your words seem to sate him for the time-being, and he releases his hold on your face, one hand coming back down to your hip while the other tends to your pulsing clit. He’s aiding you faster this time, the claps of your hips against his echoing through the car.

“God, yes, yes—” you cry out, eyes squeezing shut. “So good, Tae. So fucking, good—”

“Mm,” he grunts, feeling your warmth squeeze around him as you work quickly back up to your orgasm, “You’re so pretty with my cock filling you up.”

The car is filled with a cacophony of noises—your wanton moans and Taehyung’s deep, breathy murmurs in your ear, making you closer and closer to you release with each sinful thing that slithers from his mouth. Both your hips in rhythm with each other can surely be heard from outside the car—you just hope and pray with all your might that no one walks by to get into their vehicle until you’re through.

Taehyung’s fingers work magic on your sensitive bud and you grab onto the scruff of hair that sits on his neck, your fingernails scraping at his skin as you chase the impending snap of the coil in your stomach. Your whole body is tense, shaking, sweaty as you focus on his dick hitting you at just the right angle, scared to move too much for the feeling might diminish even the slightest.

“Gonna cum,” you pant, “Tae—Tae, I’m gonna—”

Your voice cuts off as your orgasm hits you, a heavy sigh releasing from your mouth as your body goes limp on Taehyung after the first wave rolls through. He takes control then, determined to help you ride out the searing pleasure as he ruts into you from the bottom. Each time his hips connect with yours, filling you up to the hilt, you swear you fall in love a little more.

“That’s it, baby,” Taehyung murmurs with a sated smile, nipping and biting along your collarbones. “Cum on me.”

You’re clenching around his length so well, the sounds of your heavy breathing in his ears as you come down off your high, he almost doesn’t catch it. As you press your lips to his over and over, soft, small kisses in way of a thank you—Taehyung’s ears pick up on the sound again. His hips stutter underneath you and then stop, and he sighs.

“Y/N, your phone,” he says softly, and even you can catch the hint of disappointment that laces his tone.

“What?” you ask, eyebrows furrowing—but then you hear it, too. The soft muted hums of it vibrating against the seat in your jacket pocket interrupt the moment and you shift on Taehyung’s lap reaching over to grab it.

Taehyung can’t help but feel like he’s part of some sick, cosmic joke because the annoying, repetitive sound of a phone call has now ruined both your nights. He leans his head against the headrest, his dick still hard and twitching between your thighs.

“It’s Hongbin,” you say softly. You stare at the screen, at his contact picture, finger hovering over the green button that will surely sour the mood upon being clicked.

“Don’t answer it, Y/N,” Taehyung says suddenly. His hands are soft at your sides, rubbing up and down your hips trying to coax you back into the moment. “Please—don’t answer.”

“Tae, I have to,” you say in a hushed whisper. You give him an apologetic look just as your finger hits the button, and you bring your phone to your ear.

“Y/N, please, I told you—”

You clap a hand over his mouth, begging him with your eyes to stay quiet as a shaky hello tumbles over your lips.

Taehyung wants to take the phone from you, wants to roll down the window and toss it hard, to smash it on the ground; but he knows better than that. If Hongbin knew you two were together, that would be it. He would get no more time with you, no more visits, no more small, intimate moments—and no matter how small they might be, he still enjoyed them.

He can hear Hongbin’s deep voice on the phone. He doesn’t sound angry, and instead, apologetic as he coaxes you with his excuses to come back home. Hongbin knows you left with Taehyung at first, but you quickly tell him you caught a cab downtown. It’s no secret that you love to escape by going to the riverfront, it’s just a matter of with who.

As you listen to Hongbin tell you about the party, you absentmindedly begin to swivel your hips onto Taehyung, earning an encouraging squeeze from his hands on your ass. He’s still half-hard in between your legs, and all it takes is a few rises from your hips to get him right back into action.

This is your apology to him for taking the phone call, and he knows it.

With your hand still pressed over his mouth to muffle any sounds that might come out, you help coax him to his own high, feeling the familiar tell-tale signs of his dick twitching between your legs with just a few, heavy moments.

His fingers dig into the spaces of your hip bones, big hands splayed out over your whole side as his eyes squeeze shut, barely audible grunts forming behind your hand as he spills his pearly release into your already spent core.

When you’re sure Taehyung isn’t going to say anything you remove your hand, wiping the perspiration from his upper lip on your shirt. He looks sated, his half-mast eyes hovering over your face as you finish your phone call. With his lips parted and swollen and his chest heaving, you can’t help but feel proud of yourself for taking part in his coming undone, and you trail a few soft fingertips down the side of his face.

“Love you too,” you respond softly to Hongbin, clutching your phone hard enough in your hand that your knuckles turn white.

Your eyes sting stupidly, your waterline filling as soon as the call is over—and they should, Taehyung thinks. He’s mad at you, but letting you know would only make those hot, wet tears appear on your face again, and so he holds it in and instead cradles your jaw in his hands for a few lazy kisses. You aren’t super into it anymore, but he’s glad you at least you return them with small, sad movements of your mouth.

The ride home is quiet. Taehyung drives with tight knuckles on the steering wheel and you sit in the passenger seat with your knees up, your arms bound around them tightly.

As usual, Taehyung pulls to the curb around the corner of your street where Hongbin can’t see. He cuts the headlights on the car off and lets it sit idling while you gather your things. He has so many things to say as you do so, but they all combine into one jumbled mess in his brain.

Taehyung finally mumbles out, just as your hand touches the cold, smooth metal of the door handle to leave, “Don’t be too mad at him, Y/N.” He manages this, even though it pains him all the way to his core to support Hongbin. “I think he’s trying. Some people just need a little forgiving, you know?”

“Yeah, Tae,” you respond softly. “I know.”

You leave him then, walking around the back of your apartment building to sneak up the stairwell.

Taehyung imagines you going upstairs and unlocking the door normally, bypassing Hongbin in the living room where he’s probably cleaning up all his cheap beer and pizza from the get together. You don’t say anything to him and head straight to the shower, turning on the water until it’s burning to scrub off any and all scents or traces that Taehyung may have left while you were with him. He supposes you do this every time, and the thought makes a hurtful twinge pass through his chest.

“Love you,” Taehyung murmurs, watching your shadowy figure finally disappear up the stairs as he pulls off from the curb, waiting until he’s somewhere down the street before he switches his lights back on.

As he drives back through the city, back towards his own lonely apartment, he can’t help but hope that someday he’ll get to hear you say those words back to him again.

#armiesnet #taehyung x reader #bts scenarios #bts smut #taehyung smut #kim taehyung #taehyung angst #bts angst #bts x reader #honeyedhoseok #should we go downtown #oneshot

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believerindaydreams · 5 years

Text

hot cross buns

conversation from Baker’s POV, shortly before the Road Trip of doom. I can’t say why he’s talking to the audience like this, except that he’s rather lonely and doesn’t have anyone else to confide in.

You want to know why I'm in love with Angel Eyes?

Ask me a hundred times, you'll get a hundred answers. That squint he does, trying oh so hard to look mysterious- and succeeding. His graceful sang-froid while blowing smoke, whether that's from a pipe or a gun. The best goddamn squash soup I've ever tasted or ever will...but number one, that one tiny crazy mystery that sets him apart from everybody else in this business, is this. Angel doesn't do this because he has to.

He did once, I'll grant you; anybody with that family background was bound to end up in the stew one way or another. Either ordering the hits or managing them himself. He told me once, he didn't have the guts for the former.

(In Angel's defense, he was younger, very drunk, and his last partner had just tried to do him in nasty while they were performing same. I got a call after, came over to help with the clean-up; realised I had a good shot at either sex or secrets and plumped for the latter. Closest I've yet got to fucking him, but that night I don't regret.)

Point is, Angel Eyes doesn’t have the blood-lust. He doesn’t want after power or money or both in ever-increasing numbers, and while it’s obvious he gets a kick from the danger like the rest of us, he’s last to feel and first to come down. A controlled addiction.

Not afraid either, the way we all are.

So- who knows where he learned it, but our cool, collected angel can make anything seem classy, up to and including a business that's about the shabbiest on this earth. James Bond, you say? Sure. Sean Connery's anything but class, he just dresses the part- and that's a fair enough metaphor for the whole damned situation.

First time I ever heard an assassin say they preferred Roger Moore, it was this lunkhead in front of me; and you know, I think he believes it.

"So why'd you track me down?" Blondie asks, lighting one of his trademark cigarillos. This cramped room he’s rented is already swelteringly hot, but he seems indifferent to that. "Angel send you?"

He's got the nonchalance down pat, I'll admit that- we're all good at faking in this business, but being is something else again, maybe that's what drew Angel to him. Certainly not his skill level, since even a third-rater such as yours truly could take him any day- probably he has offed someone, but strictly street-level, nothing big time. He doesn't seem to know or care about the distinction, which isn't so unusual; but it's coupled to a - a-

oh, hell, I don't know the word for it. Point is, Blondie's pretty fabulous, and he does know how to play up to it.

"Angel's boss. Ever heard of him?"

"Rose. Yeah, I remember." A sardonic little grin, which strengths my notion that Blondie has no idea what he's talking about. You get out of the habit of smiling that way about the guy before you meet him, or you might do it- and then, wallop!

(Rose says that if a man can't keep from laughing while meeting him, he'll break the minute a fed has him by the collar. I'd try the same tactic in his shoes.)

"Right. You've attracted his interest. Very unhealthy position." I’d prefer to sit down by now, but there’s nowhere except the floor or the bed, and both of those are fairly undesirable. Leaning against the wall will have to do, filthy as it is.

"I can take care of myself."

"Sure you can, sweetheart, and if it was up to me I wouldn't mind leaving you to it- but you get the same chances as anyone else." I take the gun out for emphasis, rap it against my palm. “After a lifetime of playing it by the books as is possible to get on the wrong side of the law, Angel Eyes just pops up one day with a brand new assassin nobody's ever heard of. You ever wonder what I do, Blondie?"

"Angel says you're an errand boy. A finger in half a dozen different pies, just about too useful and too lowly for any of the cooks to bother killing, so nobody does." He’s ignoring the gun altogether. It points to a fair instinct for when the instrument might actually be in play, that’s good to know.

"About the measure of it, yes. So how do you think I keep my hand in?"

"Don't know. Couldn't care less."

"Kid goats like you, mostly. You think you're the first man to try to shove his way into this business, on sheer pluck and willpower alone? I'm not saying it can't be done, but there are a couple entrance qualifications- and one of them's me."

"Thanks for the warning. I'll be sure to check for your shadow, next time I head down a dark alley."

Cigarillo finished, he's starting another one. I contemplate taking out my pipe, but it's hard to keep a grip on it while I'm talking. Last week I set my pants on fire trying that- so, no then.

"I'm the least of your problems. Here's the thing. Angel's vouched for you, but Rose wants some loyalty out of the fellow who's trying to filch his best hit man- so you do the job, I watch and tell Rose, Rose has prosecutable on you if he ever wants it. You can get on with romancing Angel all you like after that, he won't care."

And may all that oh-so-cute stubble of yours blaze like a bonfire in hell if you do, I don't say- but that's besides the point. Blondie's still chain-smoking, but he does that so often I can't tell if it's nervousness or nicotine withdrawal. I should recommend him my therapist.

"Who's the job?"

At least he's not as much of an idiot as the last amateur I gave this speech to- that guy had asked me what. "Take your pick. There's always a list of nobodies who could use the killing when somebody has the time, pour les encouragement- or maybe you want to take it closer to home. Rose has a funny sort of taste that way. Bad business but a man has his inclinations, and when it doesn't interfere with the cash flow- know why Angel never had to do this? Because Alma told him he'd helped her kill Romano pere, and that tickled his fancy no end."

"Hope you're not suggesting I kill Angel. That's going to be a straight-up no."

"Of course not. We both want him bad, don't we?"

"Difference is," Blondie says indifferently, "I have him and you don't."

"That's what you think. You're not the first incompetent Angel's taken up with, he's had quite the string of those in the past." Probably because he knows he'd outshoot them, in a pinch; for the thousandth time I wonder whether being just a little worse at my job would have made the difference. "That little Mexican who he's taken up with now? That one's different. Something's wrong there-"

"Wrong?" He’s still lounging across the bedspread, pretending to look casual, but that jealous frisson’s unmistakable.

"Angel cancelled on Rose last week. For the first time ever- we're talking about Angel Eyes here. Perfect record. Careerist. So proud of never letting a target slip through, until he sends word- sorry, cannot be bothered with this very choice assignment, otherwise engaged. So that's got Rose concerned, rather."

"I'm sure Angel Eyes could take him, if it came to that."

"Gawd, Blondie- I thought you loved him too." Or is he just that dumb? A street brat could just be dumb, I suppose. "If he ever kills Rose, hell breaks loose. Complete power vacuum, and Angel only has two ways out of it. Either he dies the next month or week or day, as soon as whoever scrambles to the top has him gunned down to show you can't do that kind of thing without consequences- or he has to become head cheese himself. Do you want to share Angel Eyes with the entire mob? Because I don't."

"Hmm."

Damn it, Blondie's unshakeable. Maybe he doesn't even care about Angel Eyes at all- nah. No. Angel's convinced of it, for one, and if Angel thinks so it almost doesn't matter what the man himself thinks.

"So you know what? Kill two birds with one stone. Off the Mexican, I'll back you up with any proofs you want for Angel Eyes. Rose gets off your back, you're all done."

(And so would he; Angel would never forgive the man who murdered Ramirez, I learned that much from my last visit. And with both his partners so neatly crossed from the list, why, who knows who Angel might turn to for comfort?)

"...I've slept with him," Blondie drawls, kinda slow and thoughtful. "Now that is what you might call impolite."

"Hell, you're not going to make it very far in this business if you make that a criteria for who you won’t kill. We've all done it. Angel Eyes has, I have. You will."

Blondie nods, takes a final drag and brushes ash from his hands. "Suppose I told you- suppose I said that I've never killed anybody before."

"Funny thing. Very funny thing. That's exactly what Ramirez told me, after I got him into bed- and he's a lot more believable when he says it, too. On account of not going around bragging the exact opposite, you know?"

"Mmm-hmm- you scare him with the same offer I just heard?"

"May have done." Didn't actually, but I never encountered a situation where a flat statement was better than a sly ambiguity. "Prisoner's dilemma of sorts, I suppose. Only if neither of you kills anyone, you're both getting into trouble, so...more the opposite?"

"Suppose," Blondie says, rather quietly, "I killed you."

"Well. You muck up quite a few people's plans. Rose gets rather put out- what makes you think you could manage it?"

He's a nobody. Unimportant. An amateur who’s never made a name for himself, what’s he going to do-

“I’d manage.”

I wait, for him to explain himself. I wait a long while.

I wait for a long time. Time enough for the initiative to slip slowly out of my hands, burning up in the room’s heat, dead in the air.

The amateurs, they talk. They get positively rhapsodic by this point. Spilling over with plans and hopes and eagerness- one with plans for favourite hated rival back home, or another just begging me for a justified target. I’ve never had any trouble supplying them with everything they desire.

And they’re none of them been so self-confident, as to think they can murder the man who’s offering them the way in to all their dreams.

“If you’d rather, I could find you someone else-”

“Don’t think you’re getting out of it that easy,” Blondie says quietly. His hands don’t move, his knees don’t shake. He’s sweating less than I am. “If Rose wants me to send a message, he’ll get it- but let’s be fair to you. Go home and get your affairs in order first. Come and find me whenever you’re ready- and we’ll have ourselves an old-fashioned duel. I’ll tell Angel Eyes to referee. You know he’ll play fair by you.”

“We- we don’t need to do it that way. If I had something else to tell to Rose-”

“You want Angel, don’t you? Same way I do? Thinking in the night that for the right look you’d let him gut you, bleed you to death, and you’d die smiling? That fantasy you’ve got, unpicking the ropes after you’ve saved him, do you think you’re ever going to get that from him? You won’t. Not unless,” and he’s smiling, close-lipped joy- “not unless we make it happen. Winner takes all, Baker. I’ll be seeing you.”

If I could speak- anything but oh god you mean it you mean it to reassert normalcy- I open my mouth-

“Go home, little rabbit,” Blondie says crisply. Takes out a third cigarillo and fires it with one quick flick of the lighter, while I stare. Stuffs it in my mouth, leans back to admire the effect.

The doorknob’s blistering under my hand.

But I get out of there fast, before he can make me feel any more sheepish.

#70s au #the good the bad and the ugly

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yeehanwritings · 6 years

Text

Murder At Shimada Castle

“Seriously Gabe,” Jack Morrison said to his partner “Do you really think it’s a good idea to talk to them? I mean, I heard that McCree character has a pretty explosive temper and that bodyguard of his…is a bit unsettling.”

“McCree may be the only one with information with what happened at the old Shimada estate,” Gabriel told him “And given the fact, he moved his husband to King’s Row, not two months after that massacre happens, isn’t a coincidence.”

The pair knocked on the front door of the estate and was met with a man who had vibrantly colored green hair and a sword in his right hand.

“Who are you and what do you want?” He asked harshly.

“Genji Shimada I presume,” Jack said, “We have an appointment with your brother’s husband.”

Genji glared at the two agents but let them in staring at the whole time. “I’ll take to him, follow me and don’t touch anything.”

“Understood,” Gabriel as they were lead upstairs to a large room with a foyer.

“Wait here,” Genji said walking off presumably to get McCree.

After about a few minutes an Omnic monk floated into the room with a tray of coffee and tea. “Compliments of Mr. Shimada.”

“I’m sorry, but who are you?” Jack asked.

“Oh, I’m Zenyatta,” The monk bowed.

“What is it you do Zenyatta?” Jack asked curiously.

“Healing mostly,” Zenyatta replied, “I mostly do any and everything asked of me.”

Jack and Gabriel shared a look. “Can you tell us about your employer?”

“Why don’t you vultures ask me your damn self, instead of talking to my employees,” A southern voice drawled.

The pair turned around to see the infamous Jesse McCree with a cigarillo between his lips staring them down. Genji who was right next to him said, “I’ll give you three some privacy, Master Zenyatta will you please come with me, there are some pressing matters that need your attention.”

“Ah, yes. If you will excuse me,” Zenyatta said following Genji out of the room leaving McCree with the two Overwatch agents.

“Have a seat,” McCree said gruffly stubbing out his cigarillo and plopping down still staring at the two men.

Jack and Gabriel took a seat right in front of McCree, Jack then flipped open his notepad. “McCree, we just a have a few questions pertaining to what happened at Shimada castle two years ago.”

“I’ve already given my statement to you Overwatch pricks more times than I can count,” McCree practically growled temper flaring slightly “What more could you want?”

“Just tying up a few loose ends,” Gabriel said watching McCree before he noticed something that gave him a little leverage “Now that there is mighty fine prosthetic you have there.”

“What of it?” McCree asked.

“Well, the last time we spoke you had both your arms,” Gabriel stated, “And that was right after I interviewed you and your husband the first time.”

Jack soon caught on to what Gabriel was playing at before going through the timeline in his head. Right after the murders were discovered, he and Gabriel had interviewed McCree, Hanzo, and Genji while they were still cooperating. Jesse McCree had both of his arms because he remembered seeing the Deadlock gang tattoo on his arm. So that means…he lost it somewhere along the way, maybe that’s why he moved to King’s Row with his husband. But why? And how or who did he lose the arm too?

“I don’t like what you're implying Ryes,” McCree growled, his temper flaring again.

“I’m only implying that you may or may not be in deeper than you think and maybe that’s why you moved to Kings Row,” Gabriel said unconcerned “Because you put your husband in danger and you can’t stay to admit it.”

At that McCree slammed his prosthetic fist on the table causing a spider web crack to form. “You have no idea what you're talking about!” McCree shouted in anger before turning a murderous gaze on Gabriel.

“Do I?” Gabriel said about to take another run at McCree when the sound of the door opening caught his attention. McCree looked up and his face immediately softens at who was standing there.

“Darlin’,” McCree started.

Jack and Gabriel turned to see Hanzo Shimada standing in the doorway in a blue silk robe that touched the floor. Jack immediately notice the dark circles under his eyes that he had attempted covered up with concealer and how his hair was in a messy ponytail on his head.

“You’re so loud Jesse,” Hanzo said quietly almost as if he was exhausted before giving his husband a weak smile “I could hear you on my way down.”

“I didn’t mean to wake you, darling,” McCree said standing up and making his way over to his husband. “What are you doing out of bed?”

“I woke up and you weren’t next to me,” Hanzo said before giggling “Then I got bored and decided to come find you.”

McCree’s brow furrowed in worried before Gabriel cleared his throat. “Mr. Shimada, it’s nice to see you again.”

Hanzo turned his gaze to the Commander, Gabriel could see the tiredness in his eyes and how it seems set deep in his bones. “I don’t go by Shimada anymore, I go by McCree-Shimada.”

“Did your husband insist you change your name?” Gabriel asked.

“I did it of my own volition,” Hanzo said, “I’m sure you understand.”

At this point McCree interjected. “Honey, are you alright? Did you take your medicine yet?”

“I’m about to,” Hanzo said giving McCree a wary smile “I just need something bearable to wash it down.”

After Hanzo said that he gracefully walked across the room to the mini bar and poured himself a glass of scotch before pulling out two pill bottles and shaking out a few. As Hanzo took them Jack took notice of the labels.

“Temazepam and Amitriptyline,” Jack observed, “That some pretty heavy stuff you're taking there.”

“He has a prescription for them if your wondering,” McCree said sitting down again watching the two Overwatch agents and his husband. “From a legal doctor.”

“I’m just wondering why your husbands is mixing sedatives and anti-depressants with alcohol,” Jack said, “Seems very out of character for an heir…”

“Former heir,” McCree growled before calming down as his husband draped himself across him with a glass in one hand and a bottle in the other. McCree pulled his husband into his lap letting the prosthetic rest on his hip.

“I like a good cocktail if you’re wondering,” Hanzo said chuckling before knocking back the rest of the scotch a pouring more in his glass “And it helps me get through the day. After all, I don’t leave our home.”

“Why is that?” Gabriel asked.

“If you haven’t noticed, I’m a mess,” Hanzo said smiling and swirling the liquid that was in his glass. “Physically, mentally…emotionally. It’s easier for me to stay at home, it’s safer.”

“What do you have to be afraid of?” Gabriel commented getting a glare from McCree.

“Everything,” Hanzo said simply polishing off his second glass of scotch and was pouring a third.

“Look what is it y'all want,” McCree asked “At this point, you're wasting our time.

“We actually found out some additional information about what happened that night at Shimada Castle,” Jack said.

“Oooh,” Hanzo chuckled teasingly unconcerned “Pray tell, what information did you find?”

“Well does the name Akande Ogundimu mean anything to you?” Gabriel asked.

Hanzo dropped the glass he had in his hand and it shattered as it hit the floor, McCree, on the other hand, grabbed the half empty bottle of scotch and quickly set it on the cracked table before he looked worriedly at his husband. “Darlin’! Are you…”

“I…I need to lie down again,” Hanzo mumbled trying to stand but swayed falling back into McCree’s arms in no condition to move.

McCree looked over to the agents “I think it’s time you leave.”

“Fair enough,” Gabriel said, “We’ll see ourselves out.”

“Genji will make sure you see yourself out,” McCree growled before tending to his husband.

As stated Genji made sure they left the property, and Gabriel and Jack looked at each other before walking back to their safehouse.

“That Shimada knows something,” Gabriel said, “You saw how he reacted when you said Doomfist’s name.”

“It’s not anything definitive,” Jack said, “And you didn’t help by railing his husband.”

“He knew something Jack,” Gabriel protested.

“And now McCree’s going to be even more reluctant to help since you may or may not have sent his husband in shock,” Jack sighed “Let’s just get some rest, and try to follow the leads we do have.”

“Right,” Gabriel agreed.

“Zen, how is he?” McCree asked as he finally stopped pacing outside their shared bedroom.

“He’s just woken up,” Zenyatta told him “I was about to fetch him some tea to keep him hydrated.”

“May I…” McCree asked.

“Go ahead, he was asking for you anyway,” Zenyatta said floating down the hall.

McCree slowly walked into their bedroom to find Hanzo sitting on their windowsill looking at the bright lights of King’s Row with one of Zenyatta’s healing orbs floating over him. McCree crossed the room in two strides wrapping his arms around Hanzo from behind. Hanzo leaned back into his chest running his fingers along the arms holding him.

“I’m sorry if I scared you,” Hanzo said quietly “I took too many at one and the alcohol didn’t help.”

“I almost thought I lost you for good, baby,” McCree mumbled kissing the top of his head “I couldn’t bear losing you.”

“I know, love,” Hanzo said softly “You want to protect me from the big bad wolf, that how you lost your arm in the first place.”

“And I’d do it again,” McCree said guff before smiling to himself hearing Hanzo chuckle.

“What did I ever do to deserve you?” Hanzo said finally looking at his husband.

“Just looking like your beautiful self,” McCree responded giving Hanzo a soft kiss.

“Ah, your finally awake brother,” Genji said interrupting the happy couple “How are you feeling?”

“Better, what do you want Genji?” Hanzo asked.

“I was checking in with my informant at Overwatch,” Genji said handing his older brother a manila envelope “And you were right to be suspicion Jesse, those two commanders are there to arrest Doomfist in connection to our family’s murder since they can’t prosecute him for any other crimes.”

“I knew it,” McCree growled, “And of course they don’t care about who gets hurt in the process.”

Hanzo looked through the files in the envelope before stopping on one in particular. “He could go away for life if they find enough evidence link him to the murders.”

“What are you thinking brother?” Genji asked.

“I don’t know,” Hanzo said handing the folder back. “I’m exhausted…” At that moment Zenyatta’s orb stop glowing and fell to the floor.

“I’ll go get Zenyatta,” Genji said quickly before rushing out of the room.

McCree looked down at his husband. “Think you can sleep tonight? If not, we can watch a movie or…”

“Jesse,” Hanzo said quietly causing McCree to shut up and reevaluate his words before he wrapped his arms tighter around him.

“I know darlin’, I know,” McCree murmured quietly burying his face in Hanzo’s hair again.

A few days later Gabriel Ryes was waiting for McCree to show up at the pier, he contacted him a day and only agreed to do the interview if he promised his husband was safe. Naturally, Gabriel agreed to his terms and they set up a meeting at night with the promise of mutually assured destruction.

“You’re late,” Gabriel said when he finally sensed McCree and turned around.

“Had to make sure I wasn’t followed,” McCree said gruffly puffing out a trail of smoke.

“Let’s get to business,” Gabriel said “There are two main theories our organization are using currently. The first is that Hanzo and Genji murdered everyone at the castle and escaped before they were charged, the motive for this theory is that Hanzo wanted to be in power sooner. The other is that Hanzo hired Akande to murder his family and to have a solid alibi leave him alive to diver the trail, this would be back up by financial records both you and Genji made to him a month after the murders.”

“Seems like you’ve got it all figured out Commander,” McCree said nonchalantly.

“I don’t believe any of those theories because something doesn’t add up,” Gabriel said looking directly at McCree “I was hoping you would fill in the blanks.”

McCree stubbed his cigarillo out before saying “What happened at Shimada Castle wasn’t an attempted power overthrow or even a family skirmish. It was an attempt to get back at me.”

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“I stole something from Akande,” McCree said, “Something so valuable that he’s will to make everyone suffer.”

“What did you steal? Information? Jewels? Technology?” Gabriel asked almost rapid fire.

McCree just shook his head. “No, even more valuable, something he could never get back.”

“What the hell did you take?” Gabriel asked.

“Hanzo,” McCree said simply.

“I…what?” Gabriel blinked.

“I stole Hanzo from Akande,” McCree said, “Hanzo by a definition should be married to Akande, but the heart wants what the heart wants.”

“Are you telling me…this whole thing started because…Hanzo Shimada wanted to get out of an arranged marriage?” Gabriel asked incredulously.

“It ain’t that simple with powerful families Commander,” McCree said lighting another cigarillo “You don’t simply just get out of an arranged marriage with the Yakuza.”

“What happened that night McCree?” Gabriel asked bluntly.

“That night…” McCree shallowed “Hanzo and I were going to run away together, however, Hanzo refused to leave without knowing his brother Genji was safe. So, I let him go back on his own, but something didn’t sit right with me and I followed him. When I got there…it was like a massacre had happened, there were bodies everywhere and none of them had any life in them. I started frantically calling out for Hanzo before I found him hugging his unconcise brother to his chest in fear before telling me to hide before they found us. I was confused…that was until Akande came out of nowhere and threw me through a wall.”

McCree paused to inhale his cigarillo. “He was about to kill me…had a hand wrapped around my throat, cursing at me for taking away his ultimate prize. I knew Akande only thought of Hanzo as a trophy…an object, but the fact he was willing to kill his entire family and I was another level.”

“Akande is an unstable power-hungry individual,” Gabriel said, “Hanzo meant more status and power to him.”

“But he did underestimate my Darlin’,” McCree chuckled before his expression went serious again “Hanzo chopped his right arm off with a katana and left was going to leave him for dead. But we found out he survived a few weeks later, we should have left Japan sooner but Hanzo and Genji wanted to properly honor their fallen family and get some financial records in order. That’s when I lost my arm to Akande’s sniper, Widowmaker.”

“You lost your arm to protect your husband and moved here for safety,” Gabriel said putting the pieces together. “I don’t understand, why pay Akande off?”

“Because he threatens to kill Genji,” McCree said “And Genji is the only family Hanzo has left…Hanzo…he deserves better but instead, he lives in fear. I need to ask, do you think you can put him away, for life?”

“Yes, Yes, I do,” Gabriel said, “But I need to ask, why now?”

McCree was silent for a moment before he said “My husband isn’t the man I meant all those years ago, he’s destroying himself from the inside out. I want him back, so I’m willing to take this risk for him.”

“I see,” Gabriel said.

McCree then turned and started to walk away but not before saying “Don’t make me regret this commander you’ve seen my temper.”

About a month later McCree was tending to Hanzo after he nearly collapsed in exhaustion again from his insomnia. Zenyatta had left to get supplies for an herbal tea that could help Hanzo with his psychical fatigue while he hoped mediation could help with his mental fatigue.

“You’ll be the death of me darlin’,” McCree said to Hanzo holding him close.

“Hopefully not too soon,” Hanzo’s tired voice said to lighten the mood.

“Honey,” McCree sighed nuzzling his neck when Genji burst into the room out of breath. McCree shot up along with Hanzo as Genji wheezed “They arrested him!”

“Who Genji?” McCree asked.

“Doomfist!” Genji stopped to catch his breath “Overwatch arrested him and his top assassins a few days ago, they say he could get life in prison.”

“Babe,” McCree said softly looking down at Hanzo who’s shoulders relax for the first time in a long while “It’s over, we have nothing to fear anymore.”

Dear Mr. Jesse McCree,

While working this case, I have had time to reflect on what I believe is right and what I believe is wrong. I used to see the world as black and white, right and wrong, good and evil. But as I worked this case with my Co-commander Jack, I realized there is no such thing as black and white, only shades of grey that get lighter and darker depending on the circumstance. Your husband wanted to get away from a life of crime to be with some who cares about him only to suffer the loss of his family and to bear the weight of the world. You were willing to protect him like a shining knight in armor no matter the cost as well as his younger brother. In this case, I have seen the truest fractures of the human soul and hope that you and your husband will have peace by the time this letter reaches you.

Sincerely,

Commander Gabriel Ryes

McCree read the card twice before burning it in the fireplace, he watches as the envelope went up in flames before leaving the living room. He was immediately met with a content looking Hanzo arranging flowers in a beautiful bouquet in a red stained glass vase. Hanzo’s recovery was going nicely, he slept more and was able to finally stop taking medication. He was still prone to panic attacks and nightmare, but it wasn’t as bad as it once was. Hanzo then finally catch McCree staring at him and said, “Jesse, you're staring again.”

“Sorry darling,” McCree said wrapping his arms around Hanzo’s “I’m just glad to have you back.”

Hanzo just smiled at him. “It’s good to be back.”

#overwatch #mchanzo #jesse mccree #hanzo shimada #gabriel reyes #jack morrison #genji shimada #zenyatta #akande ogundimu

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muja-bunny · 6 years

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McHanzo Fic Rec List - Pt 2

Some hopefully fluffy (but mostly smutty) McHanzo fics since we could all use it right now.

Part 1 Here

His Only Tell by kinkyhanzo (trueblackhand) Rating: E Word Count: 4,000 Summary: Being an omega is a secret Hanzo Shimada plans on taking to the grave. His life in Hanamura was cruel enough to demand it, make that fate seem utterly inescapable. But Overwatch is different, the people here are different. He meets an alpha. One with honeyed words and deft hands to soothe the hardest of his hurts, one that can take him apart so gently Hanzo doesn't notice until he's stripped bare. It changes everything. Content/Warning(s): ABO, Lactation

Dangerous Pastimes by fishpoets Rating: E Word Count: 3,400 Summary: Jesse's exhausted, but Hanzo's followed him back to his room, and he's not one to waste an opportunity. He can still show Hanzo a good time. Content/Warning(s): Erectile Dysfunction

Smoke by Totalspiffage Rating: E Word Count: 3,000 (2/2) Summary: Hanzo is intrigued by McCree's cigarillos, and asks to try it. McCree gives him a very personal demonstration. Content/Warning(s): Trans Hanzo, Fingering but no PIV sex

Love so sudden and so sweet by kaijuborn Rating: E Word Count: 12,000 Summary: AU where Jesse meets Hanzo in Hanamura during a mission when they are both young. Jesse falls fast and hard for Hanzo, and they share a night neither of them will ever forget. Content/Warning(s): Switching

Target Panic by Philosophics Rating: E Word Count: 20,000 Summary: McCree looks him steadily in the eyes. “I said, I’m in love with you,” he repeats. Hanzo stares some more as the words sink in. “You,” he states imperiously, “are mistaken.” Then he promptly turns on his heel and strides out the open carrier door. - In which McCree confesses his love, Hanzo has some difficulty believing him, and the team seems entirely unable to keep from sticking their noses into the whole affair. Content/Warning(s): None Notes: Podfic version by Wontyoureadtome

Blue Roses and Salted Caramel by AsheRhyder Rating: G Word Count: 11,000 Summary: Hanzo hated Valentine's Day and everything that went with it. This got exceptionally awkward for a man whose courier service saw business triple in the lead up to February 14th. A series of 'special deliveries' between Mr. Jack Morrison and Mr. Gabriel Reyes drew his attention. Initially, it was because he wasn’t sure if it was the world's most polite form of hate mail or the world's most awkward flirting... But then there was something about Mr. Reyes' son, Jesse, that kept him coming back... Content/Warning(s): R76 side pairing Notes: Podfic version by Wontyoureadtome

Of the Pickle Persuasion by Byacolate, mywordsflyup Rating: T Word Count: 15,000 (7/7) Summary: Hanzo is convinced that his bento wagon is locked in a corporate deathmatch with the taco truck down the street. Genji just wants to flirt with the produce vendor. Content/Warning(s): None

Crown of Horns by pocketpom Rating: M Word Count: 151,000 (55/55) Summary: "But you know, I rather like the idea of you as one of those beasts. Wouldn't that look nice for the clan, Hanzo? A living, breathing dragon, chained to a post in the gardens." Content/Warning(s): None

Legacy by sciencefictioness Rating: E Word Count: 27,000 (6/?) Summary: Hanzo hadn’t even been on date since he came to America and started his life over, despite how long he’d called it home. Years upon years, finding his place there with Genji, slotting himself seamlessly into the city as though he’d lived in it all along. He’d fallen into a depression for awhile, worried that underneath the weapons and the dragon tattoos, without the trappings of his family name, out of the shadow of Hanamura, there was nothing left of him. That he was a Shimada, and nothing else.That he’d left all his worth behind. A bow, and some blades, and his birthright. Figuring out himself had been hard enough on its own. Now he was supposed to go to a bondage club, have a drink with a man he’d never met, and ask him to do things Hanzo still had a hard time talking about with his best friend? Tell me what to do, tie me up, put me on my knees, when Hanzo had never really kissed a man. Content/Warning(s): BDSM

The Cooking Cowboy, with Jesse McCree by SadakoTetsuwan Rating: M Word Count: 66,000 (26/?) Summary: It had started simple—he just needed a good recipe for matcha cake to surprise Genji on his birthday, and so he’d started clicking around for tutorials on YouTube. But now Hanzo is in deep, and is officially part of ‘The Chuckwagon’; the mostly middle-aged, mostly female fan following of YouTube cooking sensation Jesse McCree, the Cooking Cowboy. How had his life come to this? Content/Warning(s): None

#mchanzo #fic rec #ow fic rec #fic rec list

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rfergusondaily · 6 years

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British Vogue, November 2017

Running the Show ACTRESS REBECCA FERGUSON DIDN’T WANT TO DO A MUSICAL – SO HOW DID SHE END UP IN THE LATEST ALL-STAR PRODUCTION, ASKS VIOLET HENDERSON

When newly minted film director Michael Gracey met actress Rebecca Ferguson to pitch her his film (still then only an idea, albeit one to which Hugh Jackman had committed), he knocked on her front door wearing a beanie and clutching a television set. “Can you show me to your living room?” he asked. Ferguson raised an eyebrow. “Did I want, then, to do a musical? Hell, no,” she recalls.

Unlike the chart-topping former X Factor contestant with whom she shares her name, she makes no claims to be a singer. Gracey introduced his montage of video clips with razzmatazz. “The year is 1880,” he began, with a clap of his hands. By the time he was done, Ferguson felt “electrified”, certain she wanted to be a part of this all-singing, all-dancing vision. That part turned out to be the one of Jenny Lind, the world-famous Swedish soprano, so good at her trade that Queen Victoria befriended her and PT Barnum (played by Jackman) recruited her to his travelling circus (which also includes a dancing Zac Efron). The Greatest Showman features music by Benj Pasek and Justin Paul, the duo who worked on La La Land.

It was canny of Gracey to cast Ferguson as Lind. Even if the actress’s own singing is not used in the final film (that’s a decision still to be made in the editing room), her speaking voice is pure opera with its deep timbre and clipped clarity, heightened by the sort of meticulous enunciation that comes with not being an English native; like Lind, Ferguson grew up in Sweden. Starlets and ingénues don’t speak like Ferguson, who in person is neither girlish nor a slip of a thing but in secure command of her significant charisma. “In my life I never sat on my arse waiting for this or that,” says the 33-year-old, her pale blue eyes bright. “I actually make things happen.”

And happen they have. Before The Great Showman hits the big screen, Ferguson stars with Michael Fassbender in The Snowman, in cinemas this month. “My publicist keeps calling to say, can we talk about The Show... No, The Snow... Oh, Jesus, one of the men!” says the actress, laughing. They are, however, very different films. The Snowman, based on a novel by Norwegian crime writer Jo Nesbø, is a spartan spine-chiller, directed by Tomas Alfredson, another Swede, whose previous work includes Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy. The shoot for the film began in Norway the day after The Girl on the Train wrapped in America (Ferguson played Anna). “I wouldn’t worry too much about my workload. After all, I had four months with Michael,” says Ferguson, who is in turn knowing, funny, conspiratorial; in sum, an excellent raconteur.

We meet in the garden of a London square. The actress has rented an apartment near the Thames while she is shooting Mission: Impossible 6. She entered the high-grossing franchise in the fifth Mission: Impossible as Ilsa Faust, a sassy, gun-wielding assassin who may come to Tom Cruise’s rescue. She remembers the experience the first time round as “like going through labour: it was exciting, it was new, it was so goddam painful.” But then Ferguson went from smoking cigarillos (sometimes a cigar) and eating like a normal person, to training for six hours a day on a heavily restricted diet. “This time I’ve kept up my fitness so it’s not so hard. I could now practically sleep on the Pilates reformer, I love it so much,” and she inhales on a vaporiser that looks like a bullet.

Until recently, when Ferguson was not on location, she based herself in Simrishamn in Sweden, a small fishing village where her 10-year-old son, Isaac, lives during school term time with his father, from whom Ferguson split a couple of years ago. Now she’s renovating a house in London and her plan is to divide her time between the two countries. She has a new partner, who is English and “doesn’t work in the business”, she adds protectively, and although the travelling her job requires makes motherhood a challenge, “we make it work,” she says with a shrug. “It could be so hard, but it’s not because everyone gets on and supports each other.”

She pulls the sleeves of her sweatshirt over her wrists. “I feel British,” she says. “Mum brought us up that way.” In the family home in Stockholm, she and her elder sister kept rats, mice and budgerigars, watched Cracker and Inspector Morse, and learnt English manners. “Never answer a question with yes or no, always with a sentence,” she tells me diligently. Their summers were spent scaling Helvellyn in the Lake District, “until I discovered French boys, and then we went to stay with my aunt in France”. Her parents divorced when she was three and she lived between their houses. “We didn’t have a lot,” she recalls, “but because of Mum we never felt poor.”

Ferguson paints her mother, who originally hails from East Anglia, as a big character who has cast a colourful influence over her life, in many shades of Edina Monsoon. For a while she translated songs for Abba and lent them her wardrobe. “I think my mother finds my androgynous style very mundane,” says Ferguson, gesturing to her Acne black tailored trousers. She laughs – it’s a very big laugh. It was Ferguson’s mother who enrolled her in Adolf Fredrik’s Music School, a primary education with a musical and performing focus. “I think she wanted a lot for me,” she says.

At 15 she won the lead role in a national soap opera. So she switched school for a TV studio to shoot two and a half episodes every day each week. Her mother told her, “You’re going to pay rent now because you’re a working woman who is earning more than me, so you give back to the family.” Ferguson still respects her for it: “I learnt then the value of making money and taking responsibility for myself.” And she liked it. A year later, when the show had ended, she felt the ache of being separated from her peers. “I remember thinking, I’m just not a part of that world any more. I wasn’t going to university, I couldn’t, I’d left school early. By 16, I’d left home, too. My friends were older and I’d begun to drift from one friendship to the next.” With no roles coming in, she worked in “day care, restaurants, shoe shops, anything just to support myself ”, until a television series took her to Miami Beach, and although that went “tits up”, she says, “it didn’t really matter because I was 17 and I got to live in another country for a year”.

Unusually in the world of entertainment – where women’s careers are so often made or abandoned by the time they’re 27, the industry’s unofficial line in the sand – Ferguson’s international break came at the age of 30 when she was cast as Elizabeth Woodville opposite Max Irons in The White Queen for the BBC. “I got the part and three days later we were shooting,” she says. “I never really asked, what is happening here? Where am I going? Do I want this trip? I just decided to go with it. I thought, why not?’’

#rebecca ferguson #press #interviews #*

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blankdblank · 7 years

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X-Men Crossover - Pt 2 - Finding Bilbo

… Pt 2 - Finding Bilbo … You easily found your way to the large green door, taking a deep breath of the crisp air and pausing at the open gate. Logan chuckled and gave you a gentle push, following after as you slowly stepped up to the door, taking another breath then raising your hand to knock on the door when it swung open, causing the small Hobbit to fall backwards when he spotted you both.

You quickly stepped forward and helped him to his feet as he gave a nervous chuckle, “Sorry I wasn't expecting company.” “Not at all, entirely my fault I frightened you.” He turned and offered his hand, “Bilbo Baggins, Pleasure to meet you.” Glancing nervously between you and Logan, cautiously eyeing your basket before looking back to you. “Jaqi Howlett, and my brother Logan Howlett.” He gave him a small nod as he glanced back at you. “So, um…I was just going to sit out for a smoke.” Glancing up at Logan, apparently nervous of his non overly friendly presence. “Would you care to join me?” You both nod, “Sounds lovely. Oh we have deserts, bought them in Bree, would you like some?” “I would, Thank you.” Taking his seat on the small bench as you both sat your bags down next to the stones next to the bench and sitting on the stones, setting the basket down in front of you three. Bilbo smiled as he took a dessert and filled his pipe after taking a bite, then lighting it and blowing out a puff of smoke. “My Mother used to make these for me, when I was little.” Both of you helping yourselves to one each then Logan pulled out his cigar as you pulled out your smaller and thinner cigarillo, lighting each with your lighters, smiling as he glanced at your strange rolled smoking sticks that smelled just like Hobbit tobacco as it burned. “Where did you get those?” Logan answered, “Back home. Long way from here.” “Do you miss it?” Logan, “Not really.” You, “We actually wanted to talk to you about that.” Bilbo, “Hmm?” As he took a bite of his dessert, finishing it and grabbing another. You, “Well, there was sort of an explosion, and um…We sort of fell just a few miles from Bree.” Bilbo glanced over at you curiously, somehow not overly shocked at your story, as if he had heard of people just falling into this world frequently, “So you were sent here then?” You, “If we were it’s news to us. But in our world, everyone knows that if you find yourself in the Shire you have to stop at BagEnd. Then start your Journeys from there.” Bilbo, “My home is that well known?” Logan, “You have no idea.” As he shoved another dessert into his mouth. Bilbo, “So where will you go from here?” You, “Well, I was hoping we might be able to stay here, at least for tonight. We can pay you for our stay.” Bilbo smiled at the thought of company, he had been alone since he lost his parents, he nodded and said, “Alright, sounds like a fair plan, would you mind telling me about your home?”

You both ended up bonding with him quickly, both easing him into your abilities. Assuring him you meant him no harm, and informing him that, “Should you ever find yourself heading off for an Adventure of your own, we would be grateful to protect you.”

Later that day you and Logan headed to the market to purchase more Hobbit tobacco and rolling papers, on your way back your conversation runs back to your old world. Logan, “So how pissed do you think the Professor is, one a scale of paper cut to destroying the Universe?” You, “Close to destroying the Universe. But he can complain all he wants, I’m much happier here.” “Same here.” You let out a giggle, “I just thought of something, Victor won't be able to find us either.” Logan let out a laugh, “Oh I would love to be able to see his face when he won't be able to find me on my Birthday. Over 150 years he's been following me to prove he's stronger than me, what ever will he do now?” You chuckled as you ran your fingers over the tracker imbedded in the solar of your uniform, a thought repeating in your mind, Logan sensed the change in your pulse and asked, “What is it?” “The trackers, in our suits.” “You think they could use it to take us back?” “Possibly.” He nodded, “Then one thing to do. Let’s destroy them and bury them.” Wrapping his arm around your shoulder, “We are staying.” Kissing the side of your forehead. “Every other time we started over, it was my choice. It’s my turn to return the favor. Besides, I am loving the silence in this world.” You returned to Bilbo’s house, walking through the yard behind the house, each removing your trackers and smashing them with a stone then burying them under the stone, being careful to return the stone back to its original place.

…

Back in the Mutant Academy

Professor and the teachers and students are frantically searching for an answer to return you both back home. After hours of searching he slowly rolled through Logan’s then your room, noticing the empty drawers and closets, leaving no trace of your being there. As he left he spotted the paper on the printer, curiously grabbing it and reading it as Storm entered the room. Storm, “Professor?” He frantically flipped the page over hoping for more words on the other side, mumbling, “This answers nothing!” Storm, “What?” “Jaqi typed the introduction to her history that I asked her for. It’s vague, no details. I have thousands of questions and now I’ll never know unless we get them back.” “What happens if we can’t?” “We have to try.” “What questions could be so important?” “She knew Kings.” Handing Storm the Intro, “Her adopted Father was a King of Sparta, almost 200 years she spent there. She was alive when Alexander the Great was conquering the world, he visited Sparta countless times, she would have known them, their likes, their dislikes. How they looked, walked, spoke, if they hated apples. How many times they said the world moments, how they held their spoons, how the world really took to the invention of the fork. There is so much we could learn from her.” Making Storm roll her eyes as he kept mumbling out ridiculous questions he never got to ask you.

Over the next week he had finally gotten it rebuilt with the help of Magneto, declaring a ceasefire in their war, who even though he had tried to kill you and Logan several times, respected you immensely and was going to miss your presence greatly. Through his imprisonment you had visited him several times, knowing he would lose his mind with the solitude. With his great mind he needed someone with great intellect to keep him company, both bonding over your pasts, sharing several stories of your lives since the 1940’s.

Finally achieving the impossible, standing back as they fired up the machine again, only to have the professor gasp as your broken trackers, covered in a handful of dirt fell on the floor ahead of them before a stone landed on top of them. The Professor let out a quiet groan as he dug through the dirt uncovering the trackers, holding them in his palm as he stared at them intently, refusing to admit that that was his only chance. All of the teachers leaving him and Magneto alone to accept your fates as Beast shut down the machine.

Magneto looked at the trackers, smiling slightly as his eyes twinkled, remembering your yearning for a quieter world, “Perhaps they've found their perfect world. Jaqi had told me years ago that she wanted to live a simpler, quieter life, more like the world she was born into.” “How am I supposed to just let go of them?” He rested his hands on his old friends shoulders, “We remember them, and the life we shared. She told me once, all she could do to pass on after losing her family, was to tell herself to keep breathing and keep looking ahead as she held them alive in her heart.”

…

Back at BagEnd The next day

Bilbo is showing the two of you around his property, showing you both his gardens and telling you the Hobbit way to tend to plants to make them grow to massive proportions. Stopping suddenly as he spotted a small hole in his yard, where you had buried your trackers. Bilbo walked over to the hole, walking around it in a circle, then stopping and resting his fists on his hips letting out a huff as he stared at the hole. Muttering out, “Lobelia!” You walked over slowly, “Lobelia?” He turned back to you both, his face lightening up from his scowl, “My cousin, Lobelia Sackville-Baggins. Always taking what isn’t hers. First my spoons now my dirt, and my favorite stone. That was one of my favorite stones. The first time I held hands with someone was near that stone.” Quietly you collected a small plant from one of his pots inside, which he had meant to replant ages ago, then settling down for second breakfast. You both definitely loved his new part of your new lives.

… Both of you adapted to your new lives, but the main difference being you were both practically weightless. Since Logan became Wolverine as his bones were fused with adamantium, the metal had been slowly poisoning him, drawing most of his healing abilities towards reversing the effect of that, and also making him a few hundred pounds heavier. Your Metal form was revealed to be a purer form of adamantium, with its purity it had been more difficult for Magneto and other super villains to use it against you. With your weight, the both of you found yourselves very careful with where you sat, making the Professor to get industrial strength furniture for you both. But you still chose to stand mostly, or to sit on the ground out of habit, having dealt with this for most of your lives.

A few years after you had joined the Academy Logan had been attacked by a super villain. He had injected him with a toxin that latched onto his Adamantium bones, nearly killing him, leaving only one solution for you. As he laid there screaming on the floor you ran over and started to remove his adamantium from his body as gently as you could. His screams subsided as he saw you kneel next to him, telling him, “I’m sorry, I have to remove your Metal.” He looked you in the eye grunting out, “Do it.” As he started felt another wave of pain run through his body, you ran your hand over his face, knocking him unconscious, nearly comatose to keep him from the pain. Cutting his forearm with your nail and drawing out the metal, repeating the same on each limb then cutting his chest near his collarbone, removing the last and watching as his body healed. The venom had latched on completely to the Metal running through his body and nowhere else, making it a nearly instantaneous healing afterward. You ran your hand over his face again waking him up, giving him a kind smile as he lifted his hands, feeling the difference in his weight and feeling his body healthy again. Logan, “You got it all!” Sitting up to hug you. “Of course I did.” His eyes dropped to the giant chunk of discolored Adamantium next to you, “All that was inside me? No wonder I was so heavy.” “He definitely didn't waste any energy on making it purer before fusing it to your bones.” He looked at you curiously, “What do you mean?” “It’s not pure, it’s only 70% Adamantium, the other 30% was what was poisoning you all this time and why it was so heavy.” “So if it was purer, It would be healthier for me?” You looked back at his eyes tilting your head slightly to the side, “You want to do it again?” “I can protect you better when I have it, my bone claws break too easily, so do my bones. Besides, I kind of like the weight. Would you do it?” You opened your mouth slightly then closed it, taking a few breaths then said, “Alright, but your going to be unconscious when I do it, Your body doesn't fight against me when your out of it, and it will spare you most of the pain.” Over the next hour you collected the Adamantium you had drawn from your veins over the years from the trunk in your closet, as Logan waited on your bed, preparing himself for the procedure. He glanced at the amount of Mithril you had pulled out, matching the size of the former block, but shining far brighter, as he laid back you waived your hand over his face putting him into the same state as before and slowly giving him a cut on each limb and working the Metal back into his body. Waking him again and watching as he lifted his arms again, drawing out his new claws, staring in awe at their new shine and sitting up realizing the difference in weight. “I’m lighter.” “I used the whole amount, it covered your bones better than before, your bones shouldn't break nearly as easily now. We should still do an X-ray to be sure I got it all covered.” He cut his arm from his wrist to his elbow, watching as within moments it healed, gasping, “Woah, I'm healing faster now.” The X-ray confirming that the Metal had covered him better and the scale showing he had lost half the weight from the Metal before. Thoroughly pleased with his new addition and with your skills.

Pt 3

#X-menCrossover #Bilbo #BagEnd #SmokingHobbit #Thranduil x Reader #lotr #hobbit #Thranduil x Reader OC

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duesternis · 6 years

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Call me predictable, but here we go: 'The cold light of a winter morning lay on the floor of the entry hall like spilled pearls. [...] „Okay, what d‘ya wanna know?“' from 'Lift you up'

This is gonna get super lengthy, folks, sorry for that.If you are in no way interested in reading anything about my overwatch fanfiction and my related babble, I advise you to scroll past this and forget you ever encountered this post at all.

Here goes nothing, Marik.(btw this is all about this post, basically: http://duesternis.tumblr.com/post/167812715352/rageprufrock-lets-go )

The most important thing i have to say about this whole fic and all its related parts is that it was never supposed to be anything this long.But, as usual, it sprouted on its own, growing tendrils of ideas and scenes whenever I turned my mind remotely into its direction.And who am I to deny myself (and you, by extension) the joy of fluffy, sappy men falling hopelessly in love to the backdrop of some organized-crime-drama?

And this is basically just that.The whole scene serves as yet another reminder that Jesse is falling head over heels for a man he barely knows and Hanzo likewise.Maybe even worse.

I’ll deal with this in small parts.

The cold light of a winter morning lay on the floor of the entry hall like spilled pearls. The house was quiet around them and for a moment there was a semblance of home between two breaths.McCree smiled lazily at him and Hanzo smiled back, eyes slipping to his favourite shape in the world.A door down the right hallway opened and Hanzo gave McCree‘s shoulder a squeeze, turned around and walked up the stairs. Turned at the top and looked at McCree.Who stood at the foot of the stairs, eyes huge and mouth open in a disbelieving smile.His cheeks were flushed.

The most noticeable thing about the whole scene with the stairs is the first sentence, for me. Maybe the first two.I could have ended the scene there, or cut it short and just beam them to Hanzo’s office. Because those two sentences say it all.The spilled pearls could be the unexpected beauty and worth Hanzo and Jesse see in each other.The light is just that. Light. But you may recall the fact that Jesse’s Santa Fe hideout had small windows. Not much light.Hanzo isn’t one to rise early. Morning light isn’t something he sees often.The house is quiet. They are, for a moment, alone in the world. Something else they are strangely unused to. They are often alone, but have never been comfortable being alone with a stranger.Then the “semblance of home between two breaths”. Sounded fancy. I liked it.And don’t we all know that distinct feeling of warmth blooming in our chests, between two breaths, when we just know that the person across from us is all we need right now?Yeah. Like that.

The rest of that bit is just Jesse being a huge dork, thinking that Hanzo looks so fucking gorgeous (like always) and Hanzo being awestruck and trying to hide it behind his stoic facade (nerd).

Hanzo jerked his chin at him and with a laugh McCree took the stairs two at a time. His long legs powerful, his spurs jingling happily.„Come with me.“„Right behind ya, darlin‘.“„When you keep saying that, it will lose its meaning, McCree.“ Hanzo grinned to himself and unlocked the door to his personal office. McCree chuckled behind him.The door swung inward and he stepped inside.McCree followed him.„Close the door.“ He did as asked and leaned against the wood. Lit a cigarillo. The room went out over the garden, a white pane of snow where green grass sprouted in summer.

Can spurs jingle happily?????More important: Jesse’s amazing legs and Hanzo’s snark. Secret grins and inviting people into very personal spaces (in this case personal office where important decisions are made).

DO I SMELL TRUST COMING OFF OF YOU HANZO SHIMADA??? (yes i do. it smells like cigarillos)

Jesse is getting nervous here, smoking to soothe his nerves. The white of the snow unnerves him as much as he finds it beautiful.It’s not something he is used to, something foreign to him, to see something so pure undisturbed.He may be afraid of tainting it.(The snow could be a metaphor i think. But I don’t know for what. I didn’t think much when writing the sentence. I just wanted to tell that the office is at the garden-side of the house and make it sound pretty at the same time. the aestheticTM stirkes again.)

Hanzo sat down at his low desk and pulled his glasses out of his shirt pocket.There was a sharp intake of breath from the door and he looked at McCree with an inquiring expression.„Golly gee, Hanzo.“ It came out flatly, powerless.„What is it?“ He frowned and McCree made a weak step forward. The cigarillo in his hand fumed faintly.„Ya look…“Hanzo put a hand to his glasses. „These?“A timid nod, a flush rising in McCree‘s cheeks. It was adorable. Hanzo smiled.„I need them for extensive reading. Since I was a boy.“A breathless laugh and McCree dropped to the floor on the other side of the desk. Barely on the pillow.Hanzo pulled a notebook out of a drawer and unscrewed the top of his fountain pen.McCree emptied his small bowl of paper clips and tapped ash into it.Hanzo raised a brow at that. „You‘ll clean that up later.“„Yessir.“ McCree grinned, face still flushed, and saluted sharply. „So.“„Yes?“

MEGANE HANZO. probably the only reason i wrote this was the mental image of sexy hanzo with reading glasses, looking over them at people, all pissed.and flustered jesse is cute.School-boy wringing his hands at the desk of his favourite teacher, acutely aware of the fact that he’s in over his head.Or sth like that…

Also imagine Jesse dropping on his ass b/c Hanzo’s too hot. *evil laughter*Hanzo’s mildly concerned for Jesse’s well-being, but thinks it’s cute too.

And I wanted Hanzo to be untrusting of modern media regarding important information. That’s why he’s using a notebook and a fountain pen. Something fancy. (My dad collects fancy fountain pens. They’re really pretty.)

And how devastatingly impractical is a low working desk? It needs quite a bit of talent to look down on people from your butt, but Hanzo can pull it off.He’s also a slut for anything tradtional and the contrast of a sprawling Jesse and a proper Hanzo on their respective sides of the desk made me giggle.That’s all.

„What‘s this about?“ McCree pointed at the notebook with his cigarillo. He closed his lips around the end of it and dropped his hat on the floor next to him.Hanzo wanted to touch his lips around the cigarillo and feel his breath on his fingers. It would be hot.„I need information about the workings of the Deadlock Gang.“„Ain‘t you got a division fer that kinda stuff?“ McCree rubbed his untended beard.Hanzo drew a tiny circle at the top of the page.„I need insider information.“Their eyes met over the desk and they shared an inhale.

Things are getting intenser (more intense?) here. I thought it best to slowly edge into the serious weight of the conversation that comes after the bit you asked me to talk about.(Which is actually one of my fav scenes in retrospect, I think)

And I wanted to show the tenderness that forcefully wedges itself into Hanzo, burrowing into his being with all the charm of a bulldozer.He’s completely at Jesse’s mercy at this point already, mostly unaware of it, thoughWhereas Jesse’s getting more and more nervous, his mind as far away from pleasant things as possible. He’s two seconds away from trying to talk his way out of here.He gets scared more easily than he himself would like and it shows.

Hanzo is probably aware of this. (I don’t know that. He writes himself and evades introspection mostly, the jerk.)

Jesse took three drags before answering.„Okay.“And with that he mentally tossed the old black leather jacket hanging in his closet in Santa Fe out the window.He was fair game now.The tattoo on the sole of his left foot itched suddenly and he had to laugh at himself.Damn superstition.Shimada frowned at him. „What now?“„Ah, nothin‘. Jus‘ had to think of somethin‘ funny.“ Jesse grinned and stretched his legs out along the desk. Held himself upright with leaning his stump on the desktop.Crossed his legs at the ankles and let his spurs twirl.„Okay, what d‘ya wanna know?“

Jesse’s scared, but trusting Hanzo to catch him when he jumps into water, not knowing if he can swim.And he thinks, privately, that drowning is preferable to staying a traitor with ties to the people he betrayed.

It took him half the series to come this far. It will take him the next half to come to terms with what that truly means.But he knows here and now that he doesn’t want to walk under the name of Deadlock anymore.

I actually rewrote this bit a few times, though. I’m still not really happy with the leather-jacket-sentence.I have this feeling I could have said it in a more elegant way, but i don’t know how. So it stayed like that.

This also is a great bit to show how Jesse masks his own nervousness and fear with bravado and a show of being particularly at ease.I’m not sure how much Hanzo sees through it. But I think he knows it’s not entirely genuine.He worries.

This is the second time (in the part you chose) that I draw notice to the fact that Jesse is without a prosthetic atm and the first time i do it directly.The first time is where I call his beard “Untended”. And here I outright say “stump”.Both instances relate directly to the fact that Hanzo wants/needs insider information about the Gang.I’m not sure what I wanted to say with that.I don’t plan stuff like that. I don’t plan stuff at all.

I bullshit stuff. I write overly poetic lines and bullshit the rest.

But hey. I think it works? (You must think so too, what with reading my stuff so avidly? :’‘P )

I’d tell you what music I listened to when I wrote this, but I can’t recall. Probably indie pop. (It’s always indie pop or eighties music.)And I think I have nothing left to say.

If you want to know some more, feel free to ask. X’D (Oh boi, this is probably all over the place)

#ask game #my platonic date #ow #my fanfiction #jesse and hanzo #writing #the first time i tried to analyse my own writing #it was fun!!!#send me more asks ppl i like asnwering them #hehe

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megsblackfirewrites · 7 years

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Two For The Road: Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Hanzo had been expecting Vanessa to be violent when she saw Jack. Her own first reaction had been violence and, from what Jesse had told her about his sister, Vanessa was a horrible person to see riled up. It was like she had two modes; calm and collected or murderous. She hadn’t expected Vanessa to be so calm when she walked into the room and saw Jack leaning on the table.

“Is it really you?” she had asked, gripping her rifle tightly in her left hand.

“I’m sorry, Vanessa,” Jack had said. “There’s been a lot of time between us.”

“At least you’re alive, you bastard,” Vanessa had said as she holstered her rifle and rushed forward.

She had thrown herself into Jack’s arms, pressing her forehead against his as she let out a sob. Tom had smiled as the two of them embraced tightly, fingers digging into each other’s jackets. Gabriel had been smiling the whole time, sharing an amused look with Jesse. Hanzo had felt a temporary pang of jealousy before she remembered that Jack and Vanessa had known each other a long time and that this was a very typical response between the McCrees and the people they loved.

Vanessa had then gently removed Jack’s facemask and ran her fingers over his scars. Hanzo tensed at the sight of his milky eyes, but that seemed to be the last thing that Vanessa noticed about him. Her fingers moved slowly over his jaw, then his nose, up into his receding hair, and then gently over his eyes.

“You got old,” she’d said.

“Stress will do that to you,” he replied. “Feels like I haven’t slept a day since Zurich, even with Gabriel at my side again.”

“You still don’t know how to fuckin’ relax,” she teased before hugging him again. “Don’t you ever fuckin’ do that to me again, Jack. I’ve lost enough in my life without addin’ you to the list.”

Jack had chuckled as he led her over to the couch where Hanzo, Jesse, and Tom were waiting. Vanessa sat down beside Tom and leaned back on the couch, waiting for Jack and Gabriel to explain themselves. Hanzo was not expecting the answer.

“Wait, Angela experimented on you?” Jesse demanded. “Angie?”

“She’s always been tampering with ways to bring people back from death regardless of how long they’ve been gone,” Gabriel said. “Her research…I think her heart was in the right place. It’s been four years; I try not to hate the girl, but some days are better than others.”

She lifted her mottled hand and watched chunks of blackened flesh flake off. Jack took her hand and squeezed it, perhaps a little tighter than what was needed, but it seemed to help with the dissolving.

“Still, you were decapitated,” Hanzo said. “I was the one that found your body. I saw what happened to you.”

“Would you believe me if I said I know because I was there?” Gabriel asked and shook her head, reaching up to run her talons through her hair. “It’s hard for me to explain sometimes; my soul didn’t move on. It hovered, like it knew I wasn’t supposed to be dead or something. Or maybe it was scared to leave Jack. Either way, I think that’s the only reason that Angela was able to bring me back to life in spite of what had happened to me. My soul was stuffed back into a partially cremated body and I wound up like this; caught somewhere between decaying and regenerating.”

“Partially cremated?” Jesse frowned. “Wait, they were already in the process of getting you ready for burial when they let Angela experiment on you? That means….”

“Angela knew you weren’t dead when we buried you,” Hanzo straightened in horror. “She knew we were burying the wrong people!”

Gabriel nodded her head. “Yes, I believe that is true. We won’t know until we track her down. She’s been quite elusive for someone that is a high-profile doctor.”

“That bitch,” Hanzo growled. “When I get my hands on her…!”

“Get in line,” Gabriel chuckled. “I get first dips on bouncing her head off a table.”

“What about Jack?” Tom asked. “He wasn’t dead when they pulled him out of the wreckage. Why pronounce you dead to the entire world?”

“No idea,” Jack shook his head. “I can tell you that they didn’t heal me for weeks. I was hopped up on a shitton of painkillers to keep me unconscious throughout it all and when I was allowed to move around, it was to get brought before the generals of the UN and told that I was to conform to their ideals.”

“And we all know how much Jack loves taking orders,” Vanessa laughed. “Especially from incompetent jackasses.”

Gabriel chuckled her amusement as she reached out to cup a hand under Jack’s jaw. “My argumentative darling needs some gentle reinforcement,” she teased.

“Yes. Gentle,” Vanessa narrowed her eyes. “Like the three hotel beds you broke on a ‘vacation’?”

Jack’s face turned a lovely shade of red as he looked away. “I forgot about that,” he grumbled.

“I had to hear it from Ana for about a week,” Vanessa growled. “Like I was supposed to control two grown-ass people or somethin’.”

Hanzo chuckled as Gabriel slumped on Jack’s shoulders and nibbled playfully on his ear. Jack huffed and grumbled, but he made no effort to chase Gabriel off. They all chuckled before Jesse leaned forward.

“So, why’re you a decent height all of a sudden, Gabe?” he asked.

“It takes a lot of energy to keep this decomposing body at seven feet,” Gabriel sighed as she put more of her weight on Jack’s shoulders. “Six-one is much more reasonable. And I adopted it for a while because I was mourning and honouring Jack.”

“Wait…you didn’t know the other was alive?” Hanzo stared at them in disbelief.

“Not a clue,” Gabriel shook her head. “It was a terrifying realization when I found out. I almost lost him again.”

“I seem to have this bad habit of getting shot in the head,” Jack sighed and rubbed the side of his head. “I’m lucky Gabriel has my back. I’d be dead by now otherwise.”

Gabriel nuzzled him gently and ran her fingers through his hair. “You are my darling, Jack; I would do anything for you,” she whispered.

Hanzo smiled at the gentle sight. It was comforting to see that they still loved each other so deeply. There was still some hope in the world for romance, it would seem.

“So, what’s the plan?” Vanessa asked.

“Plan?” Jack turned his head towards her.

“You can’t tell me that you came to L.A without a plan,” Vanessa arched an eyebrow. “You always have a plan.”

Jack tilted his head towards Gabriel and she nuzzled his cheek. “We did have a plan,” she said slowly. “We just didn’t expect you all to show up.”

“You’re kidding?” Tom snorted. “You show up in one of the safehouses and don’t expect me to come investigate?”

“True,” Gabriel chuckled before she settled against Jack’s shoulders. “We’re bringing Blackwatch back.”

“Yer kidding?” Jesse stared. “What about the Petras Act? Those damn enforcin’ units’ll kill us!”

“Overwatch has been forbidden,” Jack said. “It doesn’t say anything about Blackwatch.”

Jesse and Hanzo shared a look. Jack was not the kind of person that they thought would handle Blackwatch life very well. He had never been good with secrets and working in the shadows had never been his strong suit. He was better pushing papers or fighting a fair fight.

“Are you sure about this, Jack?” Hanzo asked. “You never took an interest in Blackwatch’s machinations before.”

“Times change,” Jack said with a heavy sigh. “People don’t want Overwatch. Fine. They never had a say in Blackwatch and the world needs an organization working from the shadows to keep the rest of the darkness at bay.”

“Poetic,” Vanessa commented. “And more than a little suicidal. I’m in.”

“Agreed,” Tom nodded his head.

“Hanzo?” Jesse glanced at her.

“I will do what I must for this world, whether it wants my protection or not,” Hanzo said with a firm nod of her head.

“Then it’s settled,” Gabriel chuckled. “We’re bringing Blackwatch back to life. Tom, think you have a list of trustworthy agents to bring back into the fold?”

“I’ll need to run it through you and your favourite specialist first,” Tom nodded. “But I think I know a few that would just at the chance to return to active duty.”

Jack nodded his head as he stared at some point above their heads. “I hope those bastards pray to whatever god they believe in to spare them; I have no mercy left,” he said.

Hanzo’s eyebrows rose, but she stayed silent as Tom and Gabriel started discussing recruitment and data collection. They had to set up a new base of operations, establish a roster, and figure out some way to tempt backers into helping get Blackwatch back on its feet.

“There’s the plane,” Jesse smiled as he watched the landing lights flare to life overhead. “You eager to see yer brother?”

“Yes,” Hanzo sighed as she sat beside him in the rental Tom had secured for them. “It’s been too long.”

Jesse grinned and flicked his cigarillo to the other side of his mouth. He knew that Genji would wait until the last possible second to get across the tarmac to where they were waiting, but he wasn’t sure how good at stealth Pet and Zenyatta were. It was bad enough Gabriel was trying to figure out how to get Reinhardt across the Atlantic without arousing suspicion; he didn’t need to think of two bumbling omnics accidentally setting off the National Guard.

“Bingo,” Jesse said as he pointed through the windshield.

He spotted the flash of Genji’s biolights as he slipped free of the cargobay. Genji ran as fast as ever, easily darting between cover to remain out of sight. He couldn’t see a Petras Unit following him or Zenyatta and hoped they hadn’t been found.

He jumped out of his skin as something thumped on top of the Jeep and rolled down to sit on the hood. A very dazed mechanical bat the size of a Great Dane waved at them before the omnic unfolded from its form. It flopped off of the Jeep’s hood and wiggled into the backseat, hugging Hanzo from behind.

“You can go into recon mode,” Hanzo said as she hugged the omnic in return. “I’m so proud of you, Pet.”

“It took a while and I can’t really fly, but I can glide,” the omnic’s ears flicked happily upwards. “Hello, Jesse McCree; it’s nice to finally meet you.”

“You must be Pet,” Jesse smiled and reached out to ruffle the “fur” on top of her head. “Yer a right cutie.”

“Thanks,” Pet wagged her tail. “We worked really hard to make my faceplates unique so I didn’t look like every other Unit out there.”

“I think we did a great job,” Genji said as he flipped up into the Jeep. “It took a lot of remodelling, but we finally got her a look she likes.”

Hanzo twisted around to hug her brother close, kissing over his cheeks as he chuckled that he was fine. Zenyatta floated into place on Pet’s other side and waved in greeting. He seemed exhausted and sagged against the seat, snoring softly before Jesse had even pulled out onto the freeway. No one talked the whole trip; Genji was clearly suffering from jetlag and Pet was barely staying awake.

Jesse pulled into the parking space set aside for them at the new underground headquarters and turned the car off. Hanzo carried Pet in on her back, chuckling as the young omnic protested being moved. Zenyatta floated tiredly after them, mumbling softly as he held Genji’s hand to keep from getting lost. Jesse led the way down into the bowels of the decommissioned production plant and smirked.

“Everyone, welcome to Watchpoint: L.A,” he said as he pushed the doors to the control room open. “Try not to smudge the paint.”

“Jack!” Genji shouted before he bolted forward and threw himself into Jack’s arms. “I missed you. I hate you. I missed you.”

“Missed you too, otouto,” Jack murmured as he hugged Genji tightly. “Good to see you. How was the trip?”

“Long,” Genji said. “But we can talk more in the morning. I need sleep.”

“Quarters are through the doors there,” Jack gestured to the doors at the back of the room. “Plonk yourself down on whatever bed you find.”

Genji flashed thumbs up before he trotted back to Hanzo and picked Pet up. She grumbled a meek protest, claiming that she could walk on her own, but she was out cold again before Genji had even started walking. Jack’s blind eyes followed them as they walked past, somehow still as analytical as ever even without his visor on. Jesse knew there was a story behind that, but his bosses hadn’t felt inclined to tell him anything.

Right now, they were all focused on getting Blackwatch operational again. It was almost like old times, but there was the nagging suspicion hanging in the air that if they expanded too fast that they were going to fall under the same troubles as before. No one talked about it, but they all wondered the same thing. Were they going to be betrayed by their own again? Could Gabriel keep Blackwatch from falling apart from the inside because of greedy, self-centered bastards?

He hoped so. He wanted this to work. He was so sick of running and hiding. He wanted to save people again and have a strong network watching his back to bail him out of trouble when he inevitably ran into it. He wanted Blackwatch back and he was eager to get back in the saddle. It was time for them to move through the shadows and put the fear of retribution back into the hearts of the criminal underbelly.

#overwatch #genderbending #Lady!Gabriel Reyes #Lady!Hanzo Shimada

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mothmancrossing · 7 years

Text

BPD and Actually Having It

Let’s talk about 🌸BPD🌸

Borderline Personality Disorder is probably the worst diagnosis I ever received, and one of the best diagnosis too. Now that I’m diagnosed, I can fight the dragon that was always hiding below the surface under incorrect or incomplete diagnosed disorders.

To be diagnosed with BPD, you need to present an active 5 out of 9 symptoms from the DSM. These symptoms are:

🌸 Frantic efforts to avoid real or imagined abandonment.

🌸 A pattern of unstable and intense interpersonal relationships characterised by alternating between extremes of idealization and devaluation.

🌸 Identity disturbance: markedly and persistently unstable self-image or sense of self.

🌸 Impulsivity in at least two areas that are potentially self-damaging (e.g. spending, sex, substance abuse, reckless driving, binge eating). This does not include suicidal or self-harming behaviour.

🌸 Recurrent suicidal behaviour, gestures, or threats, or self-mutilating behaviour.

🌸 Affective instability due to a marked reactivity of mood - intense feelings that can last from a few hours to a few days.

🌸 Chronic feelings of emptiness.

🌸 Inappropriate intense anger or difficulty controlling anger.

🌸 Transient, stress-related paranoid ideas or severe dissociative symptoms.

How many do I present out of the DSM? I present all nine. All nine. Let’s break some of these down.

I constantly feel as though I’m about to be abandoned. I was once, legitimately, due to my self destructive behavior. No matter who it is, friends, partners, my own parents- I’m constantly afraid, “They hate me, they’re going to leave me.” “I shouldn’t have made that joke, they hate me now.” And of course the all too common BPD cry, “I can’t let you leave- I’ll hurt/kill myself if you leave!!!” Luckily I’ve learned to manage this. I know that my parents and partners, if they wanted me gone, would tell it to my face. I know they love me, and I love them.

The second symptom can be described as “Splitting,” where one moment you think someone is great, and the next you hate them. This can happen at the drop of a hat. I’ve seen people with BPD start to abuse their partners out of nowhere, screaming at them, sending horrible angry texts, crying and yelling that they’re terrible and they don’t really love them, angrily typing away about how they prefer their friend or their other partner or their pet over the one they’re splitting on, only to beg for forgiveness later. Splitting isn’t fun. Splitting is probably my least favorite symptom of this hellish disease. I’d like to think I’ve never lashed out quite as extremely, but I’ve definitely lashed out. It’s better now, so much better now. Between meds that help stabilize my moods and the DBT therapy, I can recognize when my dragon wants to make me think I hate someone that I know for damn sure I don’t hate. It’s an incredibly difficult symptom to reign in, and I’ve even seen some people -to my horror- embrace the instability.

Self destruction! My favorite! A while ago I admitted to my mom that I was a smoker. I used to smoke cigarillos because I’m a snob and cigarettes taste terrible, but I still wanted the nicotine. I would spend a lot of money on smoking. Now I occasionally will hit my vape, and the nicotine level is very low thankfully. I also used to drink. My partner would come home to me crying, a mess on the floor clutching a vodka bottle that had been full this morning and was now half empty. I don’t drink anymore, period. It affects my meds, and overall I don’t need it. I’m depressed as it is, and taking a depressant when I’m working as hard as I am to not be depressed is a waste. I often think about killing my self, usually in a passive way where I have no motivation to act on it, but there are times when something -usually something small and stupid- strikes a cord and I want to throw myself from the overpass into I-5 traffic. DBT has helped a lot with those thoughts. It’s helped me learn to love myself and smack that dragon in the snout whenever it starts whispering in my ear about suicide.

I experience what’s called “mania” or “manic episodes.” They’re not that fun. My ego swells up, my impulsivity sky rockets, I engage in a bunch of stupid shit, push everyone away from me laughing the whole time, and then I crash into the largest pit of depression afterwords. I got my most recent piercing in a manic episode where I NEEDED to get hurt ASAP. I needed to spend money ASAP. I shaved my head and did a bunch of other stupid shit once and that too blew up in my face. After the mania is over, I collapse into a heap going “good god what have I done kill me now.” Mania also manifests in anger. Usually the kind where it goes, “I’m SO GREAT!! So great! Better than all of you, actually!!! God shut up! When did you all become so fucking annoying?! SHUT UP! I LOVE HATING YOU SO SHUT UP!!!” The mania is treated through a combination of meds, DBT, and meditation. I haven’t had an extreme episode in some time. I aim to keep it that way.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

BPD has a terrible stigma of being the “abuser disorder” or “manipulator disorder.” Honestly I believed that for a long time, avoiding anyone with the disorder like a plague. Then I was consequently diagnosed with it. My world shattered. I was half convinced one of my partners would leave me due to the diagnosis. I wouldn’t wish this disease on anyone. There are no black and white emotions. There’s no inbetween, no mediums, no grey areas on how you feel. Emotions are extreme all the time, the paranoia, the fear, it’s all so overwhelming and it never stops being overwhelming. There’s no real excuse to not get treatment for this disorder because it will destroy your life if you let it. With my help it nearly destroyed my life more than once. I can never shut up, I share too much personal information and then scare people off cuz oversharings a bitch. I can’t handle the idea of people not liking me or wanting to leave me, I need constant reassurance and validation that they don’t in fact hate me and it’s all in my head. I need my accomplishments or creations to be met with enthusiasm, or else I think you hate me and want me to go away. I need my pain to be met with loud, boisterous displays of sympathy, or else I think you don’t care. Silence is the worst. Silence means you don’t care. Not even that you hate me, you just don’t care. Etc etc etc etc. [word vomit]

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

BPD is a hellish disease and I refuse to call it anything but a hellish disease. I wanted to share my perspective on the disorder because I know too many sufferers who are reluctant to get help, and I know too many people who are reluctant to learn or accept BPD. BPD sufferers aren’t crazy. We feel so much more intensely than neurotypicals do. We can hurt more intensely sure, but we also love more intensely! We’re amazing with babies, we can be incredible lovers and artists, we can be amazing friends and partners too. We just need a little extra patience, and a little extra push to get the help we need sometimes. We ourselves need to be better about learning and managing our disorder too. So many of us are still in the dark about our own symptoms and available treatments because of the stigma. As black and white as the world looks to us, it’s truly a two way street.

I’ve gotten really good at dragon taming, and I’ve got this beast by the horns.

#bpd #actuallyborderline #actuallybpd #borderline #borderline personality disorder #mental illness

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hummingbirdsalt · 7 years

Text

MAG7 - Borrower!AU

Because as I mentioned recently, my love for extreme size difference follows me everywhere, and the thought of a pocket sized Mag7 character makes me happy. Writing isn’t really my thing, but sometimes it’s the only way to fully convey an idea. :P

EDIT - I posted a tweaked version of this on AO3 recently.

Vasquez is a borrower, currently living in the walls of an inn right next to a saloon. He's been living there a while, though it's far from the first place he's made into a home. He isn't the most cautious of borrowers, and he's learned how to slip his way into a human's travel bag when he grows tired of being in one place for too long. He takes far more chances than anyone his size probably should, but the unpredictability of humans keeps him motivated to stay well hidden.

Over time, he's put together a very useful set of tools for his "borrowing", as well as his overall survival, collecting bits and pieces from everywhere he's lived. Some things have been left behind, but one tool in particular has come along in every travel bag he's made his way into. It's a small, functioning gun he'd fashioned for himself a while back, which he keeps on his person at all times. It doesn't work like a human's gun, but it's plenty useful for scaring off rats and the like.

It holds a lot of value for him, as he'd had a devil of a time making it, so it's with no small amount of alarm that he watches one day as it fall to the floor of the saloon.

He'd been walking across the rafters, as he does from time to time, to get a look at the room and spot anything of interest. A lot of people pass through this town, so Vasquez likes to keep a close eye on things and see if any drifters possess anything he might want. Unfortunately, one stumble in the midst of his surveillance had cost him his gun, the object dropping right in the middle of a room full of humans.

Attempting to retrieve it while surrounded by so many eyes that could spot him is out of the question, and all he can do is hope it isn't crushed by one of the several large boots worn by the men below him. Soon it becomes clear that he has more than one concern, as the squeak of a chair catches his attention, and he watches as a man across the room stands from a game of cards, his lip quirking ever so slightly around his cigarillo.

"A pleasure playing with you, gentlemen," he says, lifting his hat up from the table.

The other men don't seem to share in his delight, and the reason is clear as the man collects a substantial amount of winnings from the table and deposits them in his hat. Luckily for him, the others aren’t fixing to question the validity of his success, but Vasquez doubts they'd have any interest in playing another round.

Untroubled by their discontent, the man gives them a small nod and leaves the table, walking towards the door of the saloon. Vasquez looks closely at the earnings in the hat, trying to see if there are any potentially useful trinkets, but his focus shifts when the man comes to a stop in the middle of the room. He pauses, looking at the floor, then crouches down as his arm extends towards something.

Vasquez watches incredulously as the human lifts the gun - his gun - from the floor and looks closely at it in interest. For some reason, the enormous nuisance of a man decides he finds it interesting enough to slip into his pocket, casually taking away Vasquez's most valued possession. The borrower all but growls in frustration, and doesn't waste a moment in making his way down towards the floor. With any luck, the man who's stolen his gun will be staying at the inn, and Vasquez be able to reclaim his weapon.

It doesn't take too long for Vasquez to make his way to the desk at the inn, climbing his way up to see the guest book. There are five names, all men, and all different rooms. He sighs, knowing this may take him a while, if the man he's looking for is even here at all. Shrugging, he sets off towards the closest room, too stubborn to let someone else take what belongs to him if he can do anything about it. Adding to that, he's certain he has nothing better to do with his time.

It isn't until he's on the fourth room and the sun is set that he finds the man he's looking for, lying in bed with his arm hanging off the side, his hand inches from a half empty bottle of whiskey. The lamp is still lit and the man is still dressed, only rid of his shoes, and while Vasquez had hoped his vest would be slung over a chair, he counts himself lucky that the human is asleep. Eyeing the man's vest pocket, Vasquez takes a deep breath, fully aware that this is far from the best idea, but unwilling to give in so late in his efforts. He approaches the bed, a small pack slung over his shoulder, and pulls out a long rope assembled with a hook. Swinging it up towards the bed, he makes quick work of lodging it firmly between the mattress and headboard, and climbs.

When he reaches the top, his movements slow, and he crawls cautiously for a moment before rising up to stand. He keeps his head down at first, focusing on his steps as he walks forward a bit. Just as he passes the man's ankle, he lifts his gaze, and is displeased at the way his heart seems to pound a bit faster when he takes in the sight of what is, to him, a slumbering giant.

Being so close makes the difference in size feel far more significant, and the feeling isn't helped when the man shifts a bit in his sleep, hips pushing up suddenly before settling back down and shaking the mattress. The movement is small but Vasquez stumbles backwards a bit, hit with the sudden reminder that one unfortunate toss or turn from this human could potentially knock him to the floor or leave him pinned under a crushing weight.

Deciding he should get this over with as quickly as possible, Vasquez continues moving forward, edging along carefully until he reaches the man's belt. Doubting he'll be able to climb easily up the fabric of the vest, he gets to work latching onto the belt loop, heaving himself up with as little noise as possible. Glancing up, he sees that the man is still sleeping, so he climbs further, using the edge of the belt to haul his body up all the way. Standing ever so slowly on the human's right hip, he looks towards the lower left pocket of the vest, eyes shifting to ensure the man is still asleep before making his move.

Carefully, he puts one foot forward, biting his lip when it sinks into the soft skin of the man's stomach. But he knows he can't spend too much time worrying what might wake the human, so he continues walking without hesitation, feet pressing into the man's belly as softly as he can make them. It takes him hardly any time to reach the pocket, and with a grin he kneels at the opening, knees pressing into skin and fabric.

Suddenly, the form below him shifts, pushing up abruptly as the man lets out a small sigh. Vasquez grabs onto the vest in alarm, heart stuttering in his chest, but everything settles again almost instantly, and one quick glance shows him that the human's eyes are still closed. Exhaling slowly in relief, he turns back towards the pocket, lifting it up and peering inside. He sees his gun right away, and with one swift motion he takes it from the bottom of the pocket and sets it back in its holster where it belongs.

He smiles to himself, not noticing the slight change in the human's breathing, and stands confidently in the belief that he's succeeded. He just barely registers the sound of a drowsy grumble and then--

"...The hell?"

Vasquez freezes, the sound of those two sleepily murmured words making his body stiffen immediately. Several thoughts speed through his mind, the loudest among them being a string of frustrated curses at his own stupidity. He'd known this was a huge risk, but somehow his own pride had convinced him he could do it successfully.

Now he's standing right in plain view on top of what had been a soundly resting human, hands clenched as he tries to shake off the unpleasant chill he'd felt in response to the man's voice rumbling beneath his feet. Swallowing, he turns his head to look at the human, and if not for the potential danger of the situation, he might've laughed. A disoriented gaze meets his own, and two large eyes widen in disbelief. The man looks utterly bewildered, hair sticking this way and that, his mouth open dumbly. From afar, it might've given Vasquez a good chuckle, but being the focus of this human's gawking isn't his idea of amusing.

With no other option available, Vasquez decides to try and take advantage of the man's initial shock, making his way across the stomach and towards the edge of the bed as quickly as he can. Unfortunately for him, this human is far more curious than he is gob-smacked.

"Whoa, there," the same voice protests, much more alert now that the subject of his interest is running away.

Before Vasquez has even managed to get off the expanse of the vest, everything is tilting and he finds himself rolling helplessly onto the man's thigh then further down onto the mattress. In all the confusion, he vaguely realizes the damnable human had sat up and left him to flail his way down awkwardly, and after landing on his stomach, he scrambles to his hands and knees, trying to stand and regain some level of dignity. He isn't given the chance, though, as he feels something strong tug forcibly at the back of his vest, not realizing what until he's sailing up through the air.

His stomach drops from the motion, and soon two very uncomfortably close eyes make contact with his. He dangles helplessly from the hold of the man's thumb and forefinger, twisting around in a useless effort to get free. Without hesitation, he curses furiously at the human, indignation overcoming any sense of fear. Apparently, though, this man has taken it upon himself to respond to Vasquez in only the most aggravating of ways.

For whatever reason, the series of enraged curses only seems to delight him. His eyebrows shoot up and he gives a slightly toothy grin before speaking again. "Hell of a mouth for such a little fella."

Well, that certainly does it.

"Hijo de puta!" Vasquez swings forward and kicks the man in the chin, doing absolutely no damage but feeling at least somewhat gratified at the action. It earns him a slight flinch from the human, and he takes the opportunity to pull out his gun and shoot at the enormous face in front of him. Still no real damage, of course, and Vasquez has never been so disappointed that his handcrafted weapon is a far cry from the real thing. The man does let out a small, irritated noise at the unpleasant stinging sensation on his cheek, and looks a great deal less cheerful.

Fury somewhat dampened by satisfaction, Vasquez smiles for a moment. It isn't long before he's reminded of his vulnerable position, though, as the man's other hand suddenly comes into view, massive fingers extending and prodding into the gun still in his hand. Rough skin brushes against him, and he grips the gun tightly in response, trying to ignore how the fingertips jar him slightly without even meaning to, unwilling to consider how very fragile he is to this human.

"That your gun, then?" The man asks, and it feels strange to receive such a direct question from him.

Vasquez pauses a moment before answering. "Sí." He holsters the weapon.

"No wonder you went off in a rage." The man smiles. "I wouldn't take too kindly to one of my guns bein' swiped either."

Taken aback by the human's expression of understanding, Vasquez responds with a series of quick blinks, not bothering to hide his confusion. He'd imagined being discovered by a human many times in his life, but his mind hadn't ever supplied such an easygoing conversation. He supposes he should be grateful for the lack of danger thus far, but he remains rigidly on edge. Laid back as the human seems, he's an infuriatingly smug bastard.

Vasquez scowls. "And you would take kindly to being hauled into the air by your vest, cabrón?" He gestures downwards with his head, as if to emphasize the height he's dangling at. The man glances down, only now seeming to realize just how high a few feet off the bed is from Vasquez's perspective, especially when suspended so precariously.

"S'pose I wouldn't," he concedes, and to Vasquez's relief, begins lowering his hand.

Everything sways back and forth as the man crosses his legs to make more room, and after a moment, Vazquez is placed gently on the soft mattress. He straightens his vest out, expression still sour as his gaze drifts upwards. Sure, he's pleased to be firmly on his feet, but he doesn't consider it to be any sort of favor. His mood isn't improved when he takes in the sight above him, not quite managing to keep his expression steady as he looks up at the towering human.

Even sitting down, the man looms over him, appearing in a far more imposing manner than he seems to be aware of. His large brows furrow at Vasquez's momentary flash of unease, but thankfully he makes no mention of it. He does, however, find another way to be insufferable.

"Got a name then, little fella?"

Hand placed lightly on his holster, Vasquez seriously considers shooting the enormous idiot again, but decides the insignificance of the shot would only give the human a reason to laugh. As it is, the man is already smirking at Vasquez's obvious disdain.

"If you don't want me callin' you that, I suggest we introduce ourselves." The man gestures towards himself. "Name's Faraday."

It seems that's all he's going to give, as he then looks down expectantly. Vasquez stares, meeting Faraday's gaze with apprehension. A part of him wants to walk away and slip back down the rope without a word, though he imagines Faraday might simply grab him again, not willing let go after a second escape attempt. On the other hand, this man has been unpredictable since the moment he picked up Vasquez's gun, and it's possible he'd let him go without objection.

With a mental shrug, he responds. "Vasquez."

Faraday smiles, a genuine smile with only the slightest hint of his enduring smugness.

"Good t' meet you, Vasquez." He leans backwards, reaching towards something on the floor. There's a soft clinking sound as he pulls a bottle into view and unscrews the lid, taking a hefty swig before holding it out in offering. "Whiskey?"

Vasquez narrows his eyes at the overhanging bottle. "You expect me to drink that without drenching myself, güero?"

Faraday huffs out a laugh. "Enough whiskey to take a bath in sounds just fine to me."

"I'll bet it does."

Looking only slightly offended, Faraday takes another drink. After bringing the bottle away from his lips, he looks down as if considering something. "How'd you know I had your gun, anyway?"

Vasquez smiles. "I know a lot of things. Someone my size tends to go unnoticed."

"Well, I noticed." He looks proud for a moment, but it fades. "Don't suppose it's usual for you to take a risk like that, though."

"Not like that, no."

Faraday looks interested. "What sort of risks do you take?"

Vasquez nearly rolls his eyes. "I'm smaller than your shoe, cabrón. Every day is a risk."

A look comes into Faraday's eyes, something unnervingly close to admiration. "I'll bet you have some stories."

With a small grin, Vasquez replies, "A few."

#mag7 #magnificent seven #fic #my stuff #borrower au

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