#me as soon as i tied off the last stitch: SUCK ON THAT DEPRESSION | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

yoddream · 4 years

Text

missing | z.cl

pairing: chenle x fem!reader

warnings: graphic depictions of violence, PTSD, heavy angst, fluff, blood, kidnapping, nightmares, suicidal thoughts

summary: chenle saw first-hand how it all affected you

word count: 8.4k

requested?: i think we all know the answer to this question.

a/n: idk why this idea had popped into my head, but it did. it sucks, especially the end. the end is clearly rushed. read at your own risk.

Something was off.

It didn’t take much for the Dreamies to notice. You were declining more of their offers to hang out, claiming you had to study. When you did hang out with them, you were closed off. You kept your distance from everyone, squirming out of hugs when they lasted more than a couple seconds. Your smile rarely reached your eyes, and it would take a few tries to catch your attention. Everyone was worried, but there was one person who was affected the most.

You and Chenle had quickly become friends when you first started as an intern for Dream’s manager. He pestered you until you had finally given in and talk to him, only to learn just how charming the orange-haired boy was. The others were wary at first—and rightfully so—but he managed to get them to trust you. Your internship had ended a couple months ago, but that didn’t stop them from asking for your company. Pulling away concerned them, but they didn’t know how to approach the situation.

When the missing-persons report on you became public, the world felt like it had stopped rotation on its axis. With the way you had been acting, they all thought the dame thing; you left because you were suicidal and didn’t want to be found. That would explain your behavior. You had thought it would lessen the pain. They, unfortunately, had to continue their concerts, but that didn’t stop Chenle.

“Czennies, as you know our good friend, Y/N, has gone missing. If any of you know anything, please tell the police. We’re very worried about her, and we just want her home safely.”

He was yelled at by their manager for that, but his friends thought it was a great idea, so they started doing it at every concert in hopes of something coming about that would help locate you, even if it was just to get closure.

“Nothing is working!” Chenle yelled after a concert in Busan.

“Chenle, it’s going to take some time,” Renjun said softly.

“They need to find her before she hurts herself! There’s over a 90% chance that they’ll be too late by the time she’s found!” the younger boy snapped.

“You have to accept the fact that they may not find her alive,” Haechan said bluntly.

“No! No, she can’t be dead. I can feel it,” he rambled.

“Hyung.” Chenle whipped around to face Jisung. His best friend never used honorifics with him. “Please. I’m worried about you.”

A couple hours later, Chenle was hold in his room back home, ignoring texts from other members of NCT. They thought he was crazy, but he just had hope. His world would crumble if they found your body. While he would never admit it to his groupmates, he loved you. Losing you would leave a whole in his heart that one else would ever be able to fill.

Nobody knew of his feelings for you. He made sure to hide them. He knew they would tease him whether you were there or not, so he didn’t have a choice. He wanted you to stay in his life, so his love for you was buried deep in his soul.

SM decided it was best to give Chenle a couple weeks to calm down and work on his mental health. He was losing sleep every night due to your disappearance, and they felt his insistence you were alive was the start of a breakdown. The press release was vague, stating he would take a short hiatus for his health, so he was ordered to stay home and leave his house discreetly whenever he was to go in public. He felt he was a disgrace to the company, and it only caused his depression to worsen. His phone laid ignored, notifications adding up with each passing minute.

“Chenle, honey? Your friends are here to see you,” his mother said one day.

He lifted his head from his pillow as the other Dreamies filed into his room. Jaemin was the first to hug him, whispering whatever he could think of in the younger boy’s ear. Then it was Jeno, who kept it short and sweet. Haechan was next, making sure his hug was extra tight. Renjun mumbled something in Chinese that caused the other boy to nod. When it was Jisung’s turn, he bravely pulled Chenle into his lap and hugged him. The comfort from it was what made the tears finally fall. Soon, Chenle was sobbing into his best friend’s neck, mumbling about how much he loved you. The others gasped in surprise, but Jisung just nodded.

“I know, Chenle. I know,” he whispered.

Of course Jisung knew, Chenle thought to himself. If anyone were to figure it out, it would be his best friend. He was nice enough to not acknowledge it until Chenle was ready to talk about it. They wouldn’t be best friends if they didn’t know everything about each other.

There was a giant sleepover that night. Chenle and his mother blew up a few air mattresses and laid them together to create one, giant bed. He was sandwiched between Jisung and Jaemin, tear stains on his cheeks as he fell into a restless sleep.

///

It was a rainy day when Chenle got the call. He was reading the theories on how you were related to his health on Twitter. The two-month mark had passed a few days before, so he was desperate to find something, anything that would somehow give him a lead as to where you were. His phone was vibrating with a call, but he ignored it. When it started up again, he groaned and declined, spotting Haechan’s contact that ran across the screen. When it rang a third time, this one from Jeno, he finally answered.

“Why are you guys blowing up my phone?” he asked. “Shouldn’t you be at—”

“Chenle, they found her,” Jeno interrupted.

The younger boy’s heart stopped. “What?”

“They—they found Y/N. She’s alive.”

Chenle managed to get the hospital’s name out of Jeno before hanging up. He changed quickly and threw on a baseball cap before running all the way to the hospital, too impatient to wait for his family’s driver. He was out of breath by the time he reached the building, but that didn’t stop him from running up three flights of stairs to get to your room. He burst through the door and barely acknowledged your family and his friends, his eyes landing on you.

There were bruises and cuts all over your face and body, from what he could see. Rings of black and blue were painted on your wrists, indicating you’d been tied up. There was a handprint around your neck, which terrified him. Your face was swollen from being hit multiple times, a couple gashes on your eyebrow and cheek stitched up. Your left leg was in a cast, the top of it hitting just under your knee, and your dominant arm was in a sling. He sneakers squeaked as he took a couple steps forward from the water that was soaking his clothes and skin. He noticed you were asleep, so he stopped in his tracks.

“What happened?” he finally asked.

“A few fans called in tips that would lead to her location. They found her in an empty warehouse a couple hours away,” your mother explained. “They know she was kidnapped, but they don’t have anyone arrested yet.”

“Do they think whoever took her will be back to the warehouse?” Haechan questioned.

Your father shook his head. “From what they could see, she was abandoned. She’s very lucky to be alive.”

A couple nurses walked in at that time to run some tests, dismissing everyone temporarily. Chenle watched through the window as your chest rose and fell with each breath you took. He was so happy that you were alive, even if you were as beat up as you were. He knew your recovery would be very long, but he promised himself he would be by your side very step of the way, even when the physical injuries were healed.

The next day, Chenle found out you were in a medically-induced coma to help with the swelling in your brain. They were going to keep you under for another day before weaning you off the medication. He sat with you for a couple hours before deciding to head out with the other Dreamies for lunch, knowing there was nothing he could do at the hospital except stare at you until visiting hours were over.

The Dreamies could see that his smile was getting closer to reaching his eyes. It would take you waking up and talking to him for him to be happy again, but he was a step further than yesterday, and that was what mattered.

///

Chenle wasn’t there when you eventually woke up. That would be too predictable. You came to around three in the morning, and the bright lights scared you. Without knowing your new environment, a bloodcurdling scream left your throat in hopes of somebody hearing you and calling for help. A door nearby flew open, and there were multiple footsteps that raced towards you. You continued screaming as you fought against their grasp. The figures above you were blurry, but they seemed to be wearing scrubs. You feared you were in some sort of lab, even though that seemed unlikely.

“Y/N, it’s okay! It’s okay, you’re in Seoul! You’re in the hospital in Seoul!” That sounded like your mother, but you could be hallucinating.

“Let me go! Let me go!” you screamed. “Mom! Dad!”

“We’re here! We’re here, sweetheart.”

You couldn’t tell if your body melted at the nickname or some sort of drug. Either way, you stopped fighting, and you quickly lost consciousness again.

When you woke once more, you could see better. You were in a hospital room, with an IV connected to your arm. There were flowers on a table nearby, and balloons tied to a chair in the corner. You knew the balloons were from Haechan; he probably popped one or two on the way there to scare Renjun. The thought of it made you chuckle to yourself, but you winced at the pull of your throat.

The door opened, and your parents stared in shock at you sitting in bed, eyes opened and completely calm. Then, your mother burst into tears and rushed forward to hug you. You tried not to groan at the impact, but your whole body was screaming in pain. She pulled back and apologized profusely, your father pulling her towards him with an arm around her shoulders.

“We’re so glad you’re okay,” he said. “We were so worried when you didn’t come home from work.”

“How long have I been here?” you said. Your voice was very scratchy, but you knew it would be a while before it was completely back to normal.

“A few days. They had to put you in a coma to help with your injuries,” your mom explained. “Oh, the boys will be so happy to see you’re awake!”

“I don’t want to see them,” you stated quietly.

Your parents frowned, but the doctor walked in before anything could be said. You were run through tests to check your mobility and memory. Your memory seemed mostly fine, and the mobility in your left arm was limited from having your shoulder dislocated. Everything seemed fine, physically.

A couple hours passed where you sat in silence, staring at the wall in front of you. You didn’t know how long you were stuck like that until a nurse shook you lightly. When you looked over, she had a clipboard in her hand, and her brows were furrowed. You wondered how long it took her to catch your attention, but that thought quickly left your mind.

You were aware of time passing, but couldn’t keep track of exactly how much. The room got dark as day turned to night, and your parents headed home to sleep with the promise of visiting as soon as they were allowed. A kiss was pressed to your hair by your father before the door closed, and suddenly the company went from three to one.

With nothing to distract you, all that ran through your mind were thoughts of your captivity. The bright lamp on your face, the dry air, the ropes as they cut into your skin from being tied too tight; it was painful to think about, but you couldn’t stop. You thought of the hands that wrapped tightly around your neck, the fists that pummeled your face, the boots that broke your ribs.

A hand on your arm snapped you out of the hole you were spiraling down in your head. You looked up and found a familiar pair of eyes on you. Your brain acknowledged the hand that seemed to knows what its touch could do to you, as it had pulled away.

“Hey bud. How you feelin’?” Haechan asked.

Looking around, you noticed that all the Dreamies were there. You shrugged and muttered a “fine,” that you knew none of them would believe, but you didn’t have it in you to care. Chenle was in the chair beside you, wringing his hands. You knew there were so many questions that were on the tip of his tongue, and that he was doing everything he could to hold them back.

Jaemin took it upon himself to start a conversation with Jisung and Chenle about their next video. It relieved some of the tension in the air, making it more breathable. The words went in one ear and out the other, but not having the feeling of everyone’s attention on you was like taking a sip of cold water after being in the heat for so long with nothing to drink.

The door opened, and two men in suits stepped in. All conversation halted at the sight of new company. They introduced themselves as the detectives that were working on your case, and they were there to question you. Everyone started to leave, but your hand shot out to grab Chenle’s wrist. Your eyes were trained on the wall, but you asked him to stay. He looked to the detectives, who nodded, and he sat back down. The door closed quietly as the rest of the Dreamies left.

///

Jaemin was pacing back and forth as they waited for the questioning to end. Not being able to see you when you’d been gone for so long felt like torture. He wanted to baby you like you were Jisung, cook you food and tuck you into bed. He wanted to cherish those moments with you. He always cherished every second he spent with the people he loved, but almost having your presence taken away permanently fueled the fire.

The door opened suddenly, and the detectives walked out. Chenle followed with shaky legs. His face was white, and he looked horrified. The Dreamies rushed forward to check on him.

“What happened? What’d she tell them?” Renjun questioned.

Chenle looked at them. “She was kidnapped by sasaengs.”

Nobody said anything, nobody moved, not one person took a breath for ten seconds. It was known that sasaengs would go to incredible lengths to get what they wanted, but kidnapping their friend? What did they gain from it?

“Somebody got her phone number, and they were texting and calling, telling her that she didn’t deserve to be our friend, that we didn’t care about her, we hated her, and that she was nothing,” Chenle continued. “They did everything they could to knock her down, and when it wasn’t enough, they kidnapped her in hopes that we would forget, that we wouldn’t care. She thought she was going to die. They actually talked about killing her.”

“Oh my god,” Jeno mumbled.

“How the hell has she not shut down?” Haechan asked.

It was a question that not even you could answer. You had dreams of standing at the edge of a cliff, staring down at the ground that was hundreds of feet away. You so desperately wanted to take that step forward and feel the air rush through your hair as you plummeted to the ground, but dreams were difficult to control. Sometimes, you wished the dream was real so you could take that step.

A couple days later, you were alone in your hospital room. Your parents had gone back to work when they realized you wouldn’t be talking to them anytime soon. The Dreamies would visit when they could, but they still had to practice for their concerts. The others stood at a distance, wanting to give you the space you needed, but Chenle stuck by your side, sometimes playing with your fingers when you weren’t as tense. They would try to get you to talk, but when you didn’t, they started conversations amongst themselves, not wanting to push you past your limit. You knew they felt guilty for what had happened to you, but there was no reason for them to. You wanted to tell them so, but a small part of you couldn’t help but hate them for what you went through. It wasn’t their fault, but if you’d stopped being friends with them after your internship, you wouldn’t be lying in a hospital bed.

It was a windy day when you were discharged. Your parents brought you home, their bodies practically vibrating with excitement. When you were brought to your room, you could see how they’d kept everything in place. There wasn’t a single speck of dust, and your sheets were changed. Everything else looked the same as the last time you’d seen it.

“Just let us know if you need anything, sweetheart,” your mother said before shutting your door quietly.

Even though the car ride was fairly short, you were still exhausted. Hitting as many bumps as you had, your whole body ached, and you’d taken a couple pain pills when you arrived home, so they were kicking in fairly quickly. Your movements were lethargic, and soon your eyes were closing.

The sky was cloudy as you stood at the edge of the cliff. You looked down and spotted an ocean, which was different from the usual view. There was a feeling of calm that had settled over you as you watched the waves. The sounds of the water crashing against the rocks, the smell of the salt of the sea, and the wind that caressed your face.

Suddenly, an unknown force pushed you off the cliff. You opened your mouth to scream, but nothing came out. You looked back to see a figure without a face, their features blurred out. You looked to the water and finally let out a scream as your body was getting closer to hitting the water. Just a few more feet—

You woke up with a start. Your chest was heaving as you tried to catch your breath, and your while body was covered in sweat. Looking out the window, you noticed that the sun was much higher in the sky than it was when you’d fallen asleep, which meant you slept a few hours. There was another presence in the room, but you were afraid to see who it was. Was it one of your parents? One of the Dreamies? Or was it one of your kidnappers, back to take you away again?

“I was wondering when you’d wake up,” Chenle stated. “I was getting lonely.”

You rolled over and stared at the boy, unable to do or say anything. He was sitting at your desk, and in his hand was a snow globe he’d gotten for you when he and Jisung went to Shanghai. Shaking it, he placed it on your desk again before turning his full attention to you. There was a smile on his face, but even from far away, you could tell it didn’t reach his eyes. He was worried about you, and it was difficult for him to hide.

“I brought you some applesauce,” he offered. “I know you’re still having trouble eating solid foods, so I figured this would help.”

You noticed the small cup that was on the desk, a spoon laying over its seal. You tried to sit up, but it was difficult with your injuries. Chenle stood to help you, but his hands hesitated, worried he would upset you if he touched. You nodded slightly, and that was all he needed. You were soon sitting up in your bed, a pillow supporting your back. You reached out for the applesauce, but he held it away.

“You won’t be able to eat it without getting it everywhere,” he said, gesturing to the sling.

You watched as he opened the applesauce and scooped some onto the spoon before guiding it to your mouth. The two of you sat in silence as he fed you slowly, making sure you felt okay enough to take another bite. Once it was all gone, he placed a glass of water by your mouth, a straw poking at your lips. You glared at him, but it didn’t faze him. Sighing, you leaned forward and drank some of the water, thankful for its cool feeling sliding down your dry throat.

Chenle took his spot at your desk and said, “You would not believe what I had to do to stop the others from coming with me. I told them that you would probably be overwhelmed, so they made me promise to let them know when it was okay to visit. Of course, I didn’t know if it was okay, but I wanted to take the chance. Since you’re not screaming at me to leave, I’m guessing I’m allowed to visit. Maybe I’m wrong, and I wouldn’t blame you. I know I’m a lot, and my personality makes it seem like there are two or three people in the room. Honestly, I don’t get how anyone puts up with me.”

Your eyebrows furrowed at that last part. Is that how he felt about himself? Did he really think he was too much for people? He lit up your world, but you didn’t have a way to tell him. You couldn’t find it in you to speak to anyone. Your voice had sounded so foreign when the detectives were questioning you, and it was scary. Something that’d been hearing your whole life suddenly didn’t sound like you. Would that ever change? Would you ever get better?

“Anyways,” Chenle continued, “I should probably get going. You need to rest as much as possible.”

“Stay,” left your mouth before you could stop it.

He froze, halfway risen from his seat. Slowly, he sat down and watched as you averted your gaze, suddenly shy. You hadn’t acted this way since the beginning of your internship, but things were different now, and Chenle had to accept that. He had to accept that it would take time for you to get better, and that you may never be the same again.

You watched as he stayed on the other side of the room, going back and forth between playing games on his phone and watching videos on YouTube. Not once did he text somebody, and you wondered why. If anything, you expected him to give the others constant updates. Something in you warmed at the thought of him keeping everything between the two of you. You knew how hard it was for him to keep things from them, especially when he felt it was important.

As the sun traveled across the sky, you watched Chenle fuck around on his phone, glancing to you every once in a while. Every time he did, there would be a soft smile on his face, and he would quickly turn his attention back to the screen. Soon, it was dark out, and he left your room without a word. Part of you wondered if he’d left, but the rest of you didn’t really care. However, your question was answered a few minutes later when he walked in with a bowl of tomato soup. He has a tray that you’ve seen your dad use for your mom on her birthday every year. You watched as he placed the legs around your thighs.

“It’s close enough so that if you spill any, it’ll get either in the bowl or on the tray,” he told you when you stared at it. “I know that you hate being fed, that it makes you feel useless. It’s all over your face whenever you eat.”

It was like he was reading your mind. This was why Chenle was your best friend; he knew whatever you were thinking, answered questions that were never asked aloud, and gave you whatever you needed before you even knew yourself. He knew you better than anyone, even your own parents.

You picked up the spoon, but it fell from your weak grip. Chenle noticed right away and sat on the edge of your bed. Grabbing the spoon, he started to feed you the soup, even going as far as patting at your mouth with a napkin. You felt like a child in a high chair, even if he wasn’t babying you. The whole thing was embarrassing, and you wished you could disappear.

The moment reminded you of when Chenle had the flu. He refused to eat or drink anything, unable to keep it down. Of course, the other Dreamies were giving him heavy food like dumplings and japchae, when he really needed some soup and a sports drink to help with his dehydration. You were called in the middle of the night and rushed to the nearest convenience store to pick up a few things before arriving at the dorms. You became his caretaker for a week, feeding him when his body felt too weak, and making sure he drank nothing but Gatorade and water.

Once everything was gone, Chenle told you he was leaving and brought the dirty dishes downstairs. You stared at the doorway, listening to him clean everything before bidding your parents goodbye. When the front door closed, your eyes landed on the desk chair that suddenly seemed emptier than it was.

///

The ropes around your wrists cut into your skin, leaving it red and raw. No matter how hard you tried to keep your hands still, you couldn’t help but shift to feel some sense of comfort, even though it seemed pointless since you’d been sitting in the same spot for two weeks. Your clothes reeked of every time you had to relieve yourself, but they wouldn’t let you use some sort of bathroom, even when you suggested someone going with you so that they knew you wouldn’t run away.

A bright lamp was kept on you at all times, making it difficult for you to get any rest. Every time you closed your eyes, it was too bright to sleep, and it wasn’t like you would get much, anyway. The images behind your lids were far too frightening.

A door slammed open somewhere behind you, and you flinched at the sound. Multiple sets of footsteps grew louder as your kidnappers got closer, and you braced yourself for whatever they had in store for you. However, it still surprised you when a hand was suddenly wrapped around your throat, squeezing tight enough to cut off your air supply. A phone was shoved in your face, but you couldn’t see what was on it, for your vision was getting spotty as your body craved for oxygen.

You awoke with a gasp, desperate to get air in your lungs. It wasn’t a dream; it was a memory. It was one of many that haunted you every time you passed out from exhaustion. You tried not to sleep, for you knew what was waiting for you once you were in a deep slumber.

Looking around, you found your phone sitting on the nightstand. The screen was cracked, but it still worked, so it was plugged into the charger. You picked it up and looked up what you remember the person hissing in your face. What came up were articles and videos of various NCT Dream concerts. You clicked on a video and waited for it to load. What played shocked you.

The boys were on stage, and their faces were serious. Haechan was begging the fans to go to the police with information on your disappearance if they had any. When you clicked on a different video, it was Renjun doing the exact same thing. They had used their platform to look for you, and it seemed to work, considering you were lying in your bed instead of in a casket.

It was only a little past two in the morning, but you knew you wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep. Suddenly, your phone vibrated with a text. You looked down and froze at the message that was on the screen.

Unknown number: Don’t think this is over. We know where you live.

Scared, you shut your phone off and threw it, unaware of where it landed. You were unsure if they actually knew where your home was located, but you weren’t taking any chances. A voice in the back of your mind screamed to tell somebody about the text, but you just wanted it all to disappear. If it disappeared, maybe the memories would, too.

Chenle knocked on your door before poking his head in. He smiled when you looked over, and it didn’t falter when you didn’t smile back. His heart swelled at the sight of you lying in bed, safe. The bruises on your face were fading, and the cuts were starting to turn into brown scabs. The sling would be able to come off in another week, and then you would be starting some PT exercises. Chenle already promised your parents that he would go to the appointments with you, but what he didn’t tell them was that he was paying for it all. He’d already paid the hospital bill, not wanting them to worry about it. Almost losing you was enough stress.

“Hey! Have you eaten yet?” he asked. When you didn’t answer, he placed his bag by the end of your bed. “Let me get some toast and tea for you.”

Rushing downstairs, he moved around the kitchen to make some breakfast for you. Your mother watched as he worked, admiring how he made everything quickly yet exactly how you liked it. He spread the jam lightly before grabbing the plate and mug and rushing back upstairs.

It felt weird, feeding you toast, but Chenle wouldn’t trade it for the world. Watching you eat and wiping extra jam from your mouth was so much better than you doing it all yourself. You were slowly gaining some strength back after having eaten proper meals, but he knew your arm got tired, especially when it wasn’t your dominant one. He liked taking care of you, even if you looked like you hated every second of it.

Chenle sat at your desk and took his phone out to watch a video. As he was searching through his suggestions, he noticed you were staring at the wall across from your bed. Without a word, he turned on the TV and connected his phone to it. He opened Netflix and put on your favorite movie before sitting back in the chair. Your eyes flitted to him, face unreadable. He simply smiled to you before paying attention to the TV screen.

Near the end of the movie, Chenle looked over and noticed you were asleep. Your chin was to your chest, and your breaths were slow. It looked uncomfortable, but he didn’t have the heart to wake you. He’d noticed the dark circles that seemed to be tattooed to your skin, so seeing you get the rest you needed warmed his heart.

Naturally, it didn’t last long. He watched as your face twisted into something, and small whimpers left your mouth. Standing up, he walked to your bed and gently sat down, not wanting to scare you. Suddenly, you gasped awake. Your eyes were wide, and tears were streaming down your cheeks. You looked around, and that’s when it hit him.

Fear. Fear was the something on your face.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he said. “You’re safe now. It’s gonna be okay.”

A sob escaped your lips, and you leaned to the side. When your shoulder hit Chenle’s chest, he didn’t hesitate to hold you as you cried. Your whole body was shaking as anxiety filled your lungs, imitating the feeling of drowning. He rubbed your back to help soothe you, knowing that that was all he could really do.

///

The day you were able to take your sling off, Chenle brought a homemade cake to celebrate. He told you that he made it with the other Dreamies (Jeno strictly decorated) and that they missed you. You wished they could visit, but they couldn’t see you like that. Chenle shouldn’t have, but he always marched to the beat of his own drum. He didn’t hesitate to feed you a small slice of cake, making sure you were okay and full before eating his own.

It was late when a yawn left Chenle’s mouth. He looked at the time on his phone and groaned, announcing he was going to call the family driver to pick him up. You opened your mouth before you could think.

“Sleep here.”

Suddenly wide awake, your best friend looked to you with wide eyes. “What? No, wait, I heard you. I’m just—are you sure?”

You nodded. He left to grab the air mattress he knew was stored in the linen closet. As he was setting it up, you father poked his head, smiling at the scene before him before wishing you two a good night. You winced at the sound of the pump starting up, the sound cutting through the previously-silent air. Chenle sent a sheepish grin your way before running out the room again. When he returned, a pile of sheets and blankets sat in his arms. He worked quickly to set up his bed before opening the bottom drawer of your dresser. The bottom drawer was unofficially his, for he had stayed over countless times.

Once the lights were out and Chenle was settled, he noticed just how quiet your room got at night. The two of you usually talked yourselves to sleep whenever he slept over, but clearly things were different. The window was cracked open, letting the chirping of the crickets float into the room. He could see a couple fireflies on the screen, flickering every few seconds.

A pillow hit his face, and he squawked while flailing. Pulling it away from his face, he saw you turn away from him. He placed the pillow under his head, sighing at the support for his skull and neck. It didn’t take long for him to fall asleep, dreaming of riding bikes with you alongside a field of flowers.

It felt like only a few seconds had passed when he was woken up. He looked around for whatever disturbed his sleep. A whimper coming from your bed had his head whipping around to look at you. The covers were pulled over your head, and he could hear you sniffling as you tried not to cry too loudly. Quietly, he stood and slowly pulled the comforter from your head. Your eyes were red and shining with tears that seemed to go on forever. He sat down and started to run his fingers through your hair, feeling like there was something more he should be doing, but he didn’t know what.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” He felt you shake your head. “Okay.”

You didn’t fall back asleep, but you calmed down enough for Chenle to head to bed again. Your arm hung over the edge of the bed, so he grabbed your hand and held onto it as he started to fall asleep. You felt his grip loosen as he got closer and closer to dreamland, so you let go. He whined in his sleep, but it was forgotten quickly.

Throughout the night, your eyes stayed on Chenle’s sleeping form, studying how the muscles in his face were so relaxed. Your face hadn’t looked like that since before everything that had happened. You craved to be able to be that vulnerable again, to have that feeling of nothing upsetting you. You wanted to feel safe in your own bed.

It was around eight or nine when Chenle finally woke up. He turned over and froze when his eyes met yours. You looked even more exhausted than before, and that worried him. Sitting up, he asked, “You didn’t go back to sleep, huh?”

You shook your head. He didn’t push for an explanation, but you gave one, anyway. “I’m scared.”

“Huh?”

“I’m scared to sleep.”

“Do you have nightmares every night?” You nodded. He got up and sat on the bed, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “Well, I will be there every time you have one, so that when you’re scared, you won’t be alone. I just want you to get some rest.”

“Do you think they’ll go away?” you questioned.

He looked down to you with a sad smile. “Not completely, but I think with time, they’ll be less frequent.”

For the rest of the day, you sat in silence as you watched one of Chenle’s favorite movies. He was sitting in an armchair that sat in the corner of the room, curled into a ball with a blanket thrown around his shoulders. He looked so soft, and a part of you yearned for his touch, for him to hang off you like he’d done in the past countless times, but the two of you knew that it would be a long time before you were comfortable with that kind of affection.

///

You so desperately wished that you were living a fan-fiction life, where Chenle’s presence made all the nightmares suddenly disappear, but that would never be the case. The harsh reality was that you were traumatized, and you would be reliving those memories until the day you died.

It were getting easier at hiding the nightmares from Chenle. He thought you were getting them every other night, when you were really muffling your heavy breathing and whimpers on the nights he thought you were free of dreaming of your captivity. Those nights were the hardest, but he could never find out. You didn’t want to disappoint him.

There was one question you wanted to ask him, but you didn’t know how to bring it up. He was always so happy to see you, and you felt like the question could drive him away, no matter how innocent it was. Chenle could tell that something else was on your mind, but he didn’t want to push it for he feared he would also push you away.

It had been so long since the two of you felt you couldn’t talk about something. It was unnerving, thinking about how there was something that was getting between you and your best friend. It got so bad that you finally asked him once the lights were off.

“How are you able to stay here so much?”

Chenle looked to you from the air mattress. You were peeking over the side of your bed, the bottom of your face hidden. The moon was shining through the window, giving your skin a soft glow. He wanted to take a picture of you, to capture your beauty.

Clearing his throat, he said, “Management placed me on hiatus. They felt I needed a mental-health break.”

There was a short pause. “Is it because of the concerts?”

His cheeks heated up, but it was luckily covered by the darkness. “You know about that?”

“Yeah. I, uh, I had a nightmare about when they found out, so I looked it up.” Another heavy pause. “Thank you. For doing that, I mean.”

A small smile appeared on Chenle’s face. “Anything for you.”

The two of you fell asleep shortly after, and when you woke up from yet another nightmare, he held you a little tighter. It didn’t do much, but the both of you still needed it.

The next morning, Chenle was cleaning your room while you showered. Clothes littered the floor, so he was putting them in your hamper. A flash caught his eye, so he looked around and found your phone. Why is this over here? He pressed the power button and waited for it to turn on. Suddenly, it was buzzing with notifications of unread texts and missed calls, all unknown numbers.

Unknown number: Stay away

We’ll make sure they’ll never see you again

We will find you, just like we did last time

Say goodbye to your parents

“What are you doing?”

Chenle whipped around, eyes wide with shock. You were in clothes from his drawer, water dripping onto the white cotton of your t-shirt. You were leaning heavily on your crutches, obviously tired from moving around so much.

“I, uh—”

Your eyes grew wide with panic once they landed on what he held in his hands. “Shut it off.”

“What? No, Y/N—”

“Shut it off, Chenle.”

“But—”

“They’re tracking me, shut it off!”

Chenle scrambled with the power button before finally turning off your phone. Dropping it to the floor, he looked to you and asked, “What the hell was that?”

“It’s nothing,” you mumbled.

“Don’t lie to me.” You flinched at his tone, and his face immediately softened. “Y/N, I’ve never lost my patience with you since we met. Please don’t change that now.”

Sighing, you said, “A few months before I was abducted, I was getting phone calls and texts from sasaengs, telling me to stay away from you guys, that I was pathetic, you guys pitied me, whatever they could think of. I don’t know how they got my number, but I wasn’t too worried about what they told me. I thought they would’ve stopped once I was found, but it started up the night after I came home. They said they know where I live.”

“We’ve got to take this to the police,” he stated.

“No.”

“Y/N, this is your life we’re talking about.”

“I don’t want to go to the police.”

“Why not? This could help your case!”

“I just want it to disappear!”

You rocked forward on your crutches, but Chenle managed to catch you in time. You sobbed loudly into his shoulder, the emotions finally spilling over from holding them in for so long. His heart ached at how broken you sounded. He held you as tight as possible, wanting so badly for you to feel safe in his arms.

“I d-don’t want to deal with it. I j-just want it all g-gone,” you wailed.

“I know. I know, love bug, but they need to pay for what they’ve done to you,” he explained. “Look, we’ll bring it to the police, and if we need to, we’ll get you a new phone.”

You sniffled. “Haven’t heard you call me ‘love bug’ in a while.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle. “I’ll make sure to use it more.”

When Chenle finally convinced you to take your phone to the police, they found out within a couple days that the kidnappers had tracked you through your iCloud. Wanting to play it safe, Chenle got you a brand-new phone under his account and helped you write down all the contacts that you wanted to save. He refused to let you pay for anything, telling you not to worry about it.

That night, Chenle slept in your bed with you. When you had a nightmare, all he had to do was reach the few inches to grab you; it was much easier than him stumbling on the air mattress. You were on the cliff again, but when you looked back after being pushed, your eyes had landed on Chenle’s face. You knew it was only a dream, but a part of you still wanted to get as far away from him as possible. Even after you’d calmed down, he didn’t let you go. It felt nice, being held. The warmth from his body seeped into your skin, and you could feel yourself falling back asleep. You tried so hard to stay awake, but then Chenle pressed a kiss to your forehead with a mumbled, “sleep, love bug,” and you didn’t want to disappoint him.

With an undercover-cop car stationed outside your house, the air seemed a little lighter. Your parents weren’t checking on you as much, seeming to feel more comfortable with leaving you alone. Chenle was still staying at your house, not having left even once. You wondered how he wasn’t getting cabin fever like you. He hadn’t gone anywhere since you told him he could sleep over. His drawer was luckily filled with enough clothing to last a little over a week, so it wasn’t too bad.

Chenle was able to convince you to contact the others. It started out with a FaceTime call that ended up with you in tears and the Dreamies panicking, but you assured them that it was just because you really missed them, and then they ended up crying. Jaemin and Haechan were, obviously, playing it up and acting like they hadn’t seen you in years. Jisung had Jaemin draped over him, and he tried to act pissed, but you knew that the older boy was actually comforting the maknae.

When your cast was finally taken off, the first thing Chenle did was take you to the park—after getting permission from the officers, of course. There was still a boot on your leg, but you were able to walk around. He pushed you on the swings for a while before something caught his attention. You watched him walk a few feet, bend down, and grab a flower that was growing by a tree. When he came back, he placed it behind your ear and smiled.

“Beautiful,” he mumbled.

You weren’t like the other Dreamies; you knew Chenle was in love with you. He tried to hide it, but the look in his eyes told you everything you needed to know. You loved him too, but the problem was how different your lives were. Being friends with the guys and even knowing the rest of NCT was unbelievable enough, but your best friend also returning the feelings you’d had since you met him? You were intimidated, to say the least.

It didn’t help that he’d confessed to you the first time he was drunk. You were the only one that remembered, though.

///

Chenle was in the shower when he heard a loud thump. Worried that you’d fallen, he hopped out and put on his clothes quickly, not even bothering to dry off. He was about to call out your name when there was a voice he didn’t recognize. Creeping down the hallway, he peeked through the crack in the doorway and froze when he saw the gun. It was pointed directly at you, and your hands were up as the girl in front of you rambled. He heard his name a few times, but her Korean was too fast for him to comprehend. He continued down the hallway and entered another room, flicking the lights rapidly for the officers outside. He heard car doors close, so he sneaked back to your room.

“Just do it,” he heard you state. “Fucking kill me. Add murder to your charges.

“Do you really think you’ll get me to doubt myself?” the girl asked.

“Did you not hear what I fucking said?” you snapped. “Kill me! I’d rather be dead than deal with the trauma you and your idiot friends gave me for the rest of my goddamn life! Go and pull that fucking trigger. The guys will mourn me for who knows how long. Is that what you want? To cause them pain? Do you want to be the reason why they won’t want to work on anything?”

“Shut up.”

The cops were down the hall, but Chenle wouldn’t move from his spot. “You don’t get it, do you? What makes you think this will solve anything? Kidnapping me did nothing. They still cared about me. They fucking looked for me. Getting rid of me will do nothing but make them hate you even more than they already do. You’ve got nothing to lose, right? You’ll be going to jail, anyway. So, pull the fucking trigger and end it all.”

Chenle’s heart seized at the words that were spewing from your mouth. Did you really feel that way? He knew you were struggling really badly, but did you really want to die?

The next few seconds were an absolute blur. The police pushed past him and managed to get the girl to surrender. As soon as she was in handcuffs, Chenle rushed forward and threw his arms around you. You started sobbing into his shoulder, but it felt like you could finally breathe.

“Please tell me you didn’t mean any of that,” he mumbled.

You shook your head. “No. I don’t wanna die.”

When you pulled away, Chenle placed a hand on your cheek. He wanted to look at your face and make sure you were telling the truth. However, a noise was swallowed by you when you surged forward and pressed your lips against his. He was taken by surprise, but it didn’t take long for his brain to catch up. His heart fluttered when you stepped back with flushed cheeks.

“What—” he started.

“I’m tired of being scared, okay?” You looked him in the eyes and smiled. “I love you. Like, a lot. And I know you love me. I was scared of starting anything with you because of how popular are and how the fans reacted when we were just friends, but my life has been on the verge of ending too many times, and I can’t live without taking this chance.”

Chenle’s mouth opened and closed a few times before he finally asked in a small voice, “You love me?”

You nodded. “How could I not?”

Grinning, he threw his arms around you and laughed, ignoring the detective that walked in to question the two of you. It wouldn’t be easy, being in a relationship with Chenle with the trauma that you had from his sasaengs, but his love outshined your fear, and you were willing to take that leap of faith from the cliff with him, hoping your landing would be easy. With him, anything was.

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always-and-forever-a-killjoy · 4 years

Text

Coming, Coming Home Chapter 3 (Except it’s actually called Building Home now)

Hello fuckers so I impulsively changed the name of my big fic because I have Plans for the title coming home so now it’s called building home, but it’s still the same fic. Also here’s chapter 3 please read the warnings and if you spot any typos lmk because I wrote this late at night.

Also! The last chapter title was from i hope ur ok by noll! The POV for this chapter is White Lily, which makes it officially the first chapter from the POV of an original character, so I hope you enjoy!

Title: Building Home

Chapter Title: The day it was suddenly real

Chapter Wordcount: 3404

Chapter Summary:

Cherri Cola arrives home. Wounds are stitched, impulsive decisions are made, and no one is especially okay.

Warnings: Needles, blood, injury, fairly frank discussion of death and child death. (If you want to know what parts to skip, go to the end notes on AO3- I also put a brief summary of any important info in those parts. Stay safe!)

Taglist: @wishiwasthemoon-tonight @sleevesareforlosers @stressed-depressed-emo-mess @tasteofamnesia @dagger-queen @no-braincells-here @piratecherricola (message me, send an ask, or reblog/reply to one of my posts if you want to be added or removed)

AO3 Link

Chapter 1 AO3 Link

Chapter 1 Tumblr Post

Chapter 2 Tumblr Post

(Actual fic under the cut)

Lily looked up as Cherri stumbled into the house, pressing a hand to his side and wincing. She and D had gotten back a few minutes ago, finding their mission for the day discouraging and hopeless. D was off upstairs somewhere, she thought, and she was nursing a cup of ‘tea’, which was something more approximating warm water with a little bit of some sort of dried leaf they had found in the kitchen cabinets boiled in it. They were both pretty sure it was actually parsley, but Lily insisted it was ‘minty enough’. It wasn’t as if they had anything else for tea. She would have gotten something to eat as well, but they were mostly out and they would need enough left for dinner and tomorrow’s breakfast.

So, in short, it had been an incredibly shitty day and it was about to get even worse. Given that Cherri proceeded to pass out on their floor.

Lily swore under her breath and set down her cup, hurrying over to the younger killjoy. “Cherri?”

No reply. She crouched next to the other and gently turned him over, sucking in a sharp breath at how much blood covered his side. “Cherri! D, get down here! Quickly! And bring the med kit!”

D came hurrying in a few seconds later, grabbing the first aid kit off the wall as he did. “What’s going on, Lil- Cherri!”

Lily grabbed the kit from him and dug around for the disinfectant, swearing under her breath all the while. In her opinion, there were times that called for generous usage of the word fuck, and this was one of them.

“Cher, wake up,” Lily whispered as she cleaned the wound, trying futilely to wipe away the blood so she could see.

Cherri jerked under her hands, eyes blinking open. “D- Lil- you have to go.”

“Go where?” D asked gently. It was clear Cherri wasn’t going to let them help until he passed on whatever he was going to say, so Lily let D talk.

“Go- just. Just go somewhere. They know about the radio station- bli, they’re coming to hunt us down soon. They know Lil’s in Zone Four.”

D and Lily exchanged glances.

“Go pack our stuff,” Lily told him. “I’ll take care of Cher.”

D nodded to her and hurried upstairs as she threaded the needle with hands that shook more than she wanted to admit. “Okay, Cherri, I need you to be brave. This is going to hurt like a bitch.”

“Got it.” Cherri’s teeth were clenched.

Lily started the first stitch, trying not to flinch as Cherri gave a tiny yelp of pain. “It’s going to be okay, only a few more stitches, okay?”

She got a tiny nod and another hiss of pain in response. Every pained noise cut at her heart, but she couldn’t let Cherri lose too much blood. Only the Phoenix Witch knew how much he had lost already. So Lily put in careful stitch after careful stitch, pausing to clean the needle occasionally.

“What happened, Cher?”

“Went to- went to raid a supply truck.” He sucked in a breath as Lily tied off the next stitch. “Exterminator was altered by the clap. Found me and shot me.”

“How the hell did you get away?” D was returning from the upstairs with almost everything they owned neatly packed away, getting ready to pack up any stuff in the living room that they’d be able to take.

“They-“ he winced. “They let me go. Threatened me, told me to tell you two that you wouldn’t win.”

Lily glanced at D again and found that the concern in his eyes mirrored her own. “Okay, you’re all sewed up, Cherri. Let’s go out to the van.”

Cherri tried to get up, but D pushed him down firmly. “Absolutely not, you’re barely even stitched up. I’ll carry you out.”

“Fine.” Cherri didn’t resist as D picked him up, following Lily outside. She watched to make sure everything went smoothly as they set him down on the small nest of blankets and other soft things Lily had thrown together, then headed to the front. By the time D had settled next to their youngest crew member, she was already in the drivers’ seat, getting ready to take them away from here.

Lily thought she heard Cherri mutter something about ‘I’m not a child’, but he was curled up and fast asleep within minutes as she stepped on the gas.

And meanwhile, Dr. Death Defying made his way back up to the front of the van carefully, sliding into shotgun.

“Feels real now,” Lily said as her best friend settled next to her. She was still carefully steering them down the road, trying not to bump too much and wake up Cherri.

“We knew the consequences from the start.” D’s voice was businesslike, but Lily could hear the strain of worry behind it.

“We did. We’ve seen enough death to know it could happen to us.” She didn’t take her eyes off the road. “But it feels more real when it’s Cher who got hurt.”

“He’s so young,” D agreed. Their voice had softened and grown quieter.

“He is. God, I know he’s hardly younger than we were when we were shipped off to fight, but he’s still a child, D.”

“I know, Lil.”

“He’s so small. So young. And he’s got that way about him like there’s kindness behind the pain. Who put him in this war? Who let him be one of our little rebel soldiers? He should be….”

“Happy,” D finished for her. “Safe. Not going head-to-head with exterminators and helping run a radio station.”

“Exactly.” Her voice shook more than she would have liked. “Are we doing the right thing, D? Can we justify letting children fight a war we know we might not win?”

“I don’t know,” he said quietly.

“It’s not like we can stop them from fighting, but sometimes I question if we should encourage them,” Lily went on. “So many of them are going to die, D.”

“That’s how war is. We know that.”

"We learned it well.” She knew her laugh was a little bit bitter. “It’s still not right, though.”

“No, it’s not. But we’re not fighting for nothing. There’s a future without Better Living, and we have to fight for that. Fight for it with everything we’ve got.”

Lily sighed. “I guess you’re right. I don’t like it, but we don’t have a choice now. Got ourselves into this mess, I guess we better get ourselves out of it.”

“That’s the spirit,” D said dryly.

“You think we should send Cher away?” It was an abrupt subject change, but that was what had been hovering in her mind as she and D debated morality. “He’s going to get hurt a lot by being with us.”

“He’s going to get hurt either way. He wasn’t even with us today when he got hurt, and the exterminator didn’t sound like they recognized him. Cherri is reckless, we both know. He’s going to get hurt.”

“And it’s not like he would listen if we tried to send him away anyways.”

“That too. He would stick to us like superglue.”

Lily took her eyes off the road briefly to glance back at Cherri, who was still curled up tightly as they bumped along. Even when he slept, there was a slight bit of guardedness to him, unwilling to fully stretch out. “I wish it didn’t have to be this way.”

“Me too.”

They hadn’t known where they were going when they packed up and left the house, only knowing that they needed to get out, but a plan started to form in White Lily’s mind as they headed down the road. D didn’t question her, seemingly absorbed in his thoughts as he stared out the window, and Cherri was passed out from a combination of blood loss and not sleeping well for a while. Ever, really. Lily didn’t think he had slept through the night since he arrived- he rarely actually woke one of them up, but she was up on her own often enough when he would be awake and bumping around. So even without the ray gun wound, he definitely needed sleep.

Lily turned them off the path they had been following, pulling up in a somewhat intact town. They were parked in front of the most intact house, an almost Victorian style home with sturdy walls. This was where Lily knew she could find an old friend, of sorts.

Autumn Assassin was somewhere between twenty-five and thirty years old, about five foot four, and utterly and completely terrifying. They were the best shot with a ray gun she had ever met, with the possible exception of Cherri, and could use a variety of other weapons with startling ease. They were also terrifyingly competent at cooking and keeping organized, and hadn’t put up with anyone’s shit in living memory. Lily had served with them for a time in the Helium Wars, and that brief service together was enough to give her a healthy respect for them.

“Where are we?” D asked, finally seeming to come out of their thoughts.

“An old friend’s house." Lily headed into the back, grabbing one of the bags as D lifted Cherri carefully. She led the others up to the door of the old and mostly intact house, knocking once she had finished laughing at the ‘House of Soup’ spray-painted next to the door.

Said door was opened by an unfamiliar killjoy with messy blond hair. “Hello, what can I do for you?”

“I need to talk to Autumn Assassin, do they still live here?”

“Sure do!” There was a loud crash and some yells from within the house. “I’ll get them in uhhh a second. HEY AUTUMN! WE NEED YOU UP HERE!”

A few more yells followed that, as well as one or two more crashes. “Now put that sword down or so help me!” The familiar tiny killjoy appeared at the door, putting their hands solidly on their hips. “So what is it, Princey?”

“These fine ‘joys showed up on our doorstep and asked to see you.”

“Ah. White Lily!”

“Hey, Autumn Assassin. You don’t happen to have a spare room, do you?”

Autumn Assassin looked them up and down, eyes raking over D’s tired face, the bits of blood splattering all of them, and Cherri passed out in D’s arms. “Of course I do.”

Lily breathed a tiny sigh of relief as the smaller killjoy hurried them inside. The interior of the house proved to be quite cozy, a nice living room outfitted with a verity of mismatching and likely stolen or scavenged furniture. There were also a variety of killjoys lounging around the living room and/or draped over said furniture, laughing and calling back and forth to each other as Autumn Assassin led the three of them further inside and up the stairs.

They turned left on the landing, opening the door to what had once been a bedroom, clearly. “Here you go, this is the best free room in the house, currently. We might even have an extra mattress laying around, you’ll have to give me a second to find it through.” They rummaged around in the closet of the room for a few minutes. “Ah! Here we go!”

It was a larger mattress than one would reasonably expect to fit in a closet, but Autumn Assassin had managed to cram it in there anyways, it appeared. They hauled it out and laid it across the floor of the fairly bare room. “Here you go.”

“Thank you,” Lily said gratefully as D set Cherri down.

“Of course. Now come tell me about your friends and how you came to be here, I’ve got to cook dinner but you can come downstairs with me.”

“I’ll wait with Cherri,” D told Lily. “He’ll probably not be very happy about waking up alone in a strange place.”

Lily nodded and so did Autumn as they tromped downstairs, shouldering past another killjoy to reach the kitchen. “And here we go, pass me that can of power pup, would you?”

Lily handed it to them. “So you’ve been living here…”

“Couple of months now, me and the brit boys settled down here first and then we acquired a couple of other friends along the way. It’s a safehouse of sorts, we give a room to anyone who needs one.”

“Gotcha.”

“So how did you come to be here with an injured teenager and that other guy?”

“That other guy is Dr. Death Defying, my friend from my very first squadron. And the teenager is Cherri Cola, a random killjoy who came to live with us after he accidentally stumbled on our house while looking for shelter.”

“Seems legit.” They were stirring a pot of power pup with a few other things thrown in. “So how did you end up here?”

“You know 109 WKIL?”

“The radio station? Of course I do.”

“We run that, you might know, and so Better Living Industries has been trying to track our signal. Cherri went out and got hurt in a clap with an exterminator, and the exterminator told him that they were close to finding WKIL, so we had to leave home in a hurry.”

“And he didn’t die? An exterminator?”

“Didn’t die, just got hurt. He’s a good shot and a much better fighter than you would expect.”

Autumn Assassin nodded, stirring the pot one more time before they put it over the fire already lit in the sink. “So you decided to come here?”

“I knew it would be safe, and I figured you would let us stay for a while.”

“Hon, you can stay as long as you need.” They made a face. “I’ve started talking like a southern grandma.”

“You practically are a grandparent,” Lily deadpanned.

“Rude. See if I let you stay here now.” Their voice was joking, and Lily didn’t think for a second they would actually kick her out. “But in all seriousness, you really can stay for as long as you need. You’re staying until your friend is healed at least. He looks like barely more than a kid.”

“He’s sixteen. Seventeen by now, I’m guessing, but he didn’t tell us his birthday.” She ignored the faint twinge of guilt that neither she nor D had thought to ask. Birthdays weren’t such a big deal in the desert, but they still celebrated when they could.

“See? Child. Baby. Youngster.”

“You’re literally twenty-five.”

“I’m still not a literal child. Plus, I’m a cat grandparent.”

White Lily raised her eyebrows at them.

“Princey- his name is Prince of Wales but we call him Princey- adopted a mangy stray cat. And we’ve decided I’m the collective parent friend.” Autumn gave the pot another fierce stir.

“Ah.”

“Yeah.” They lifted the pot off the heat. “Dinner!”

This was met by a cascade of killjoys thundering down the stairs and several more hurrying in from the living room, much to Autumn Assassin’s disgruntled “One at a time!”

Within a few minutes, everyone had snatched one of the chipped bowls or plates (some of which appeared to actually be empty power pup cans) and were lined up neatly. D and Cherri appeared to have been alerted by the noise as well, given that they made their way slowly down the stairs after everyone else.

“Guests first,” Autumn Assassin said firmly, and the killjoys all stepped aside to let D and Cherri by. “Here you go, Lily, here you go…Dr. Death Defying, Lily said?”

He nodded.

“And here you go, young man.” They dumped some in the chipped bowl one of the ‘joys had handed Cherri.

“Thank you,” Cherri said quietly.

“Of course. Go sit down, you three, I’m going to hand some out to the rest of this lot.” Within a few minutes, the entire household was sprawled back out around the room eating the mixture that Autumn Assassin had spooned onto their plates, and Autumn Assassin came to join the three of them over in the corner Lily had claimed.

“I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced, I’m Autumn Assassin.”

“Cherri Cola.”

“Dr. Death Defying. It’s nice to meet you; Lily said you were a friend of hers?”

“We knew each other during the Helium Wars,” Lily explained. “I figured they would be happy for us to come stay a bit.”

“And I am, you can stay as long as you need. We don’t turn away ‘joys in need in this household.” They gestured with their spoon a bit as they spoke, adding emphasis to their words. “If I have extra food and rooms, I might as well give them to people.”

“Well, we’re very glad you do,” Dr. Death Defying put in.

“Of course.”

The rest of the dinner was quiet, at least for the four of them. The rest of the room was filled with laughter and chatter and spirit, a bunch of teens and twenty-something killjoys talking between themselves and having a good time. Occasionally, one of them got up to grab more from the pot that Autumn Assassin had prepared, until the entire thing was empty and everyone seemed to have eaten their fill. After the meal was over, they all split off to different places, some off to bed and some to hang out on the roof, it seemed. The three of them went back to the little room, figuring that Cherri could use some rest and all pretty tired themselves.

Cherri was conked out within minutes, and D and Lily settled on the mattress but didn’t go to sleep just yet.

“I hope we don’t bring bli down on Autumn Assassin’s head,” D fretted softly.

“If we do, they’ll flip the corporation off and keep right on cooking,” Lily predicted with a snort.

D gave a small chuckle. “They might just, from what I’ve seen of them so far.”

“They’re terrifyingly put together. And a good fighter, but how organized they are is scarier.”

“They act like they have their life together.”

Lily flopped on her back, staring at the ceiling. “I’m pretty sure they do. Unlike us.”

“Unlike us. We’re trying to run a revolution at twenty-two and twenty-one though, I think it can be forgiven.”

“Probably.”

D groaned softly as he settled down as well. “I’m too young for achy everything.”

“So am I, and everything still fucking hurts sometimes.”

“Guess that’s life.”

The duo stared up at the ceiling together as Cherri slept well, not exactly peacefully, but not horribly, at least. They had already talked about the morality of all this, but Lily was sure that would have been their topic of conversation if they hadn’t. It was awfully hard to decide if they were doing the right thing, sometimes. They were fighting for the future of their generation and all the ones after, but that fight would take away hundreds or thousands of futures as well. Could the death of so many people, so many teenagers, just barely out of childhood, be justified? Could she ask children to die for her? It had been an exhausting day, but even in the safety of Autumn Assassin’s house, her mind refused to rest. She had a thousand doubts and no one to say them to, not even D. They doubted too, she knew, but D had a somewhat more utilitarian approach to it all. To him, the world they were fighting for was worth all the death and pain. It had to be, or why would they fight? So Lily didn’t say anything further about it, but she didn’t sleep either.

It appeared D wasn’t sleeping as well, as they shifted slightly on the mattress beside her. “It’s real now, isn’t it.” It wasn’t a question.

“It’s real now,” Lily agreed quietly.

In the history books that Better Living Industries would write, the Analog Wars began in 2010, when dangerous anarchists attacked a peaceful Better Living Industries encampment. In the stories passed down by the killjoys, they began a couple of months before that, with the attack on a small town of killjoys and neutrals by Better Living Industries. But to Dr. Death Defying and White Lily, the war began the second their friend staggered in the door with a hand pressed to his bleeding side and a dreadful warning on his lips.

#auri writes #building home tag #white lily #cherri cola #dr. death defying #autumn assassin #coming coming home tag #chapter 3 #angst

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ballisticbarnes · 6 years

Text

Just Listen- T’Challa

I’M SO GLAD I GOT A T’CHALLA REQUEST I LOVE HIM SO MUCH SEND IN AS MANY REQUESTS FOR HIM AS POSSIBLE I CAN’T WAIT FOR BLACK PANTHER AND I HOPE YOU LIKE IT xx

On another note, I’m so sorry there has been no posts for about the past month. I ended up having to give up my spot at uni because of health concerns that needed to be dealt with living where I currently am, part of it meant I was in the hospital for a week because my migraines were so extreme they were worried there may be something majorly wrong. So going back to my home country and then coming back to where I live was so incredibly depressing and hard for me. I hope you guys can understand and thank you for staying x

Pairing: T’Challa x Reader

Word Count: 1.8k

Request: T'challa x reader, Him and the reader are together and he gets a little frustrated with her because she didn’t follow directions well on a dangerous mission! Thanks!

* are time jumps

REQUESTS: CLOSED

It was early Saturday morning when FRIDAY put out the notification that there was a mission, new robots taking over a city in Russia, and the quinjet was leaving in 20 minutes. You groaned as you moved from T’Challa’s arms, sitting up in the huge bed in the Avengers Tower and making your way to the closet where you took out your combat gear.

T’Challa had stood up, walking from the bed to where you were standing, placing a small kiss on your temple as you tied your hair up and out of your face. You smiled at the action and took the time to dress quickly, hearing everyone else throughout the tower getting ready to head to the quinjet as you were doing. Before you finished fastening your knife holsters and lacing up your boots, you took off your engagement ring and put it in it’s holder, not wanting it to get damaged on the mission.

Both you and T’Challa started down to the quinjet. With your enhanced hearing, you could hear the details of the case being recited by Steve to Bruce, and frowned when you heard it.

“Are you alright?” He asked.

“Yeah. It’s more than just an elimination mission… There’s files Natasha needs to extract, and hostages that need to be brought back to the Tower.”

The two of you walked past a few of the others, going straight to the weapons room, where you took out the best knives you had and followed T’Challa out into the quinjet, where he was discussing the entirety of the mission with Steve.

Once everyone was in the quinjet, you were all debriefed, an given your assignments.

“Wanda, I want you, Clint and Thor on the ground, guards are going to be flooding the outside, and we need a distraction. Tony, Rhodey and Sam I need aerial views and schematics while Bucky and (Y/N) back up T’Challa, Natasha and I as we go in for the hostages.” You nodded at your assignment and watched through the front window of the quinjet as you came towards your destination.

The mission was not going well.

From the moment you came into airspace, you were surrounded, and had to send Tony out to deal with them before you could continue in semi-safety.

And because of the shit show you were in now, you were the only person close enough to where the hostages were. You had been separated from T’Challa early in the mission and soon after were lost Steve as he dealt with 2 hostages running through the building.

Now it was only you and Bucky together. Three hours into the mission and you had only 3 hostages confirmed saved with 4 more missing. The danger around you had seemed to die down as you led Bucky through the metallic doors and steps of the building.

“(Y/N), Bucky, the building’s going to blow in 3 minutes! Get out of there!” Tony’s voice was slightly more panicked than usual, making you look at Bucky before you stopped, noticing the sounds coming from the other side of the steel door to your left.

Guard threatening hostages. You could hear all the voices.

“They’re here. Only a few meters away, we can get them out and make it out on time.” You said to Bucky as you made your way forward towards the door, struggling to open it when the gunfire started.

“(Y/N), go! I’ve got these, I’ll meet you in there in a minute!”

As soon as the door was open, you climbed through, finding the door almost immediately before you heard the sound of the door behind you slam closed.

Your attempts to open it were futile, and did nothing to help your case. So you gave up and started running to the door you heard the sounds from and started talking on the comm as you assessed the situation.

“The door closed, but I have some hostages across this door, I don’t know how many guards but I’m going in. I’ll be out soon.” You said.

“Wait for backup!” Steve yelled into the com. You started working on the wiring in the door. You could hear them on the other side, the hostages being threatened by the guards, and getting their guns ready. Panicking, you worked faster, knowing that there was only a few more minutes before the hostages were dead.

“Steve, I can’t do that, I’m going in now!” You cut a few more wires before T’Challa’s voice flooded through the earpiece.

“(Y/N)! You need to wait for one of us, do not go in there!” You ripped the comm from your ear and brought the knife out, wrenching the door open as you threw the knife to the first man on the inside.

There were more men in there than you had anticipated, only 4 hostages, and 8 men with guns and combat gear coming towards you ready to murder you since you got in their way. With a slight grunt, you took the first man out by swinging your legs under his, knocking him off his feet, and grabbing his gun, slamming the end of it into his head as you pulled out another knife, ready to throw at the man coming towards your left.

It hit him in the calf, but was easily taken out and thrown to the floor. You watched as five of the guards took the hostages, moving them into a corner and trying to keep them from trying to escape through the door.

It was difficult but you took them out, leaving two of the guards remaining, but struggling to keep up with you. Not that you weren’t struggling either now, you were exhausted, and having to not only fight the guards, but making sure the hostages were still alive was taking its toll.

There was speaking and then there was a blunt pain in your neck, which made you grunt in pain before you took turned quickly and took out the person who was behind you. The last three were coming at you at once, with the fight going up and all the noise around you, you didn’t realize you were injured until two were unconscious and the last one was slowly getting up.

You were bleeding heavily from the shoulder, one of your own knives stuck in it, slowly sliding out. In defense of the last guard, you swung your shoulder up and blocked the gun coming towards you and threw the guard hard enough towards the wall for him to fall unconscious.

As you were going towards the hostages, the metal door finally opened, letting Bucky, T’Challa, and Steve come through into the room.

Rolling your eyes you took a piece of fabric from your clothing and tied it around the wound, stopping the blood flow momentarily.

“You’re timing sucks.” You said as you walked out, knowing the guys had it handled and now that the hostages were secure, you were going home.

Bruce cut the top piece of your shirt, and started cleaning the cut with saline and cotton balls, taking a breath before he explained that it wasn’t deep enough to need stitches, but that you needed to keep it clean and limit movement in your shoulder. You took all his advice and nodded, walking over to where T’Challa was sitting and starting to tell him what Bruce had said.

“I don’t need stitches or anything. Just need to keep it covered for a few days and limit the movement.”

He only looked at you once before getting up and going to speak to Steve, leaving you sitting there by yourself for the rest of the flight.

The worst thing about T’Challa was how calm, polite, respectful and collected he was. Growing up as royalty and with amazing parents, he was brought up to keep his feelings under wraps, and learnt how to positively channel them without coming to confrontation unless it was completely necessary.

On the other side of that was you, growing up by yourself, you relied on your words as a defense mechanism, and wouldn’t let anyone being you down. Despite it ending with trouble most of the time, you still let yourself do this, and it was starting to affect your relationship.

When you finally landed back at the tower you went straight to your bedroom, slipping off the outerwear of your combat gear- now stained with blood- and throwing it into the laundry. As you were doing so you herd the door creak open, seeing T’Challa walk through in his normal clothes walking right past you to go to the bedroom controls.

“Are you ignoring me now?” You asked, sighing as you shook your head and decided to just go to bed.

“You can’t stay angry forever,”

“I’m not angry (Y/N), I’m frustrated. Why would you put yourself in a situation where you are in danger without anyone to help you if you are injured or put in a situation where you can’t defend yourself?”

You felt offended that he would think you couldn’t defend yourself, and before you could stop yourself you were throwing it back in his face.

“I can defend myself without anyone else’s help! I don’t need-“

He cut you off by coming over and taking your hands in his, speaking in a calm, collected voice as he started to explain his feelings to you.

“Just listen for a moment, please?” He said.

“I know you are more than capable of defending yourself, and I understand you feel you need to protect that trait and that you take pride in it. But (Y/N), we all have some kind of weakness, and yours is you are stubborn, and when you believe something is right you don’t see any other solution, and you put yourself at risk. It doesn’t worry me, it scares me. It scares me that you don’t think about yourself, and one day you’re going to go too far and I’m going to lose you.”

His grip tightened on your hands affectionately as he spoke the last sentence. You had never thought of it in that way, you weren’t used to being so important to someone they were worried about losing you.

You were at a loss for words for moments before you bit your lip and leaned your head on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry.” You said,

He brought one of his arms back around you, gently laying his hand on your head, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. It was moments like these when you felt the most secure, when you and T’Challa were on the same page, able to appreciate and embrace each other like this.

“I love you.” You said quietly.

“I love you too, (Y/N).”

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amymel86 · 7 years

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Not How It Was Meant To Happen - part 4/5 - Jon x Sansa

Jon's not quite sure what he's done wrong - apart from ruin her life by knocking her up, you idiot - but Sansa has definitely been avoiding him lately.

Sure, they still go grocery shopping together and Jon attends all the baby related appointments and antenatal classes, but he finds himself alone in their lounge most evenings whilst Sansa secludes herself to her room. They don't even eat their evening meal together and Jon can't remember the last time she laid a sleepy head on his shoulder or lap to watch tv together. He misses that.

The only reason that Jon can think would cause this distance between them is the very thing he hoped Sansa had not noticed - his utter depravity.

He can't help it - the staring. His eyes are constantly being pulled to the roundness of her belly and the swell of her breasts. He's not forgotten all the other aspects of Sansa that used to fuel his dreams either - her long shapely legs, glittering blue eyes, perfectly shaped rosy lips and all that glossy copper hair - but these new admirations - they are there because of him, and it makes him feel oddly possessive and equally aroused.

He'll never admit to liking the way they look together, - on the odd occasion that they do venture out of the apartment as a twosome. Sansa's pregnant state is like a non verbal warning to all other men - back off, she's mine...even though she isn't.

Jon tries not to think too closely about what type of man that train of thought makes him.

Like she is a piece of land that Jon has raised his flag upon and staked his claim.

But Sansa is not that piece of land to be owned and claimed - she is an intelligent, witty, driven and caring woman. Jon knows this. He knows it to his core, and yet the caveman part of his brain often overrules him of late.

He wonders if other men look at her growing curves and feel the same tight feeling of carnal want that he does? Maybe they don't, maybe it's sparked something primal with in him because Sansa is carrying HIS child? Maybe they do? And in that case, Jon is completely willing to break a few noses.

Either way, he's a little ashamed at just how often he cums in his hand by imagining a pregnant Sansa riding his cock....He feels especially guilty when the crying starts.

It's normal, she tries to tell him with red puffy eyes. Just hormones wreaking havoc, she says with a sniff and a forced watery smile. But Jon can't help but think that there's more to it.

"I'm sorry...I'm so sorry Jon" Sansa sniffles and snorts one time when he finds her balled up on the couch, hugging her knees to her chest, her face wet with tears and snot.

"Sorry for what, Sansa"? Jon says in the softest voice he could muster, feeling like he wanted to cry himself, looking at her lashes, wet with tears.

"For what I've done....the mistake" she whispered in a shaky, gasp of a voice.

"....I don't...what do you mean, love"?

"Getting pregnant...all of it" she says so quietly it's as if she mouths it, her eyes fixed on the carpet.

"Getting pregnant"? Jon repeats "...why are you-....that was both of us Sans...I'm...I'm sorry too...it's not ideal, but it was both of us, we both made that baby...please don't be sorry, don't shoulder any blame" Jon curls one hand over her knee in what he hopes is a comforting gesture.

Sansa moves her eyes to try to meet his - except that they don't. She's not looking at him, she's looking through him, as one side of her mouth is forced to quirk upwards slightly to mimic something close to a smile. She blinks rapidly as if the movement would seal off her tear ducts and takes a quick, large suck of a breath. "I think I'll have a bath".

And just like that, she moves away from Jon, leaving him concerned on the couch as he listens to the thunder of water rushing from the taps in the bathroom.

Jon worries himself about Sansa's episodes of sadness so much that after one of her antenatal appointments, he makes an excuse to leave her side for a brief moment in order to corner a midwife to ask what he could do. Depression during pregnancy can be quite common, he's told, as the plump, motherly woman jots down a dedicated helpline number to pass on to Sansa.

"Here" he says, once they'd both buckled up in his car, ready for the journey home, handing her the yellow post-it note with the number on it. "A midwife gave it to me...its for if you want to talk to someone about how you're feeling....you know...ah...emotions and things".

Sansa doesn't say anything. Just nods and sticks the yellow square to his glove compartment door. She turns to her window which is littered with raindrops and has steamed up on the inside. Sansa idly draws little hearts on the foggy glass. She does that a lot, and Jon normally finds himself smiling when past hearts reappear each time it's cold out. Sansa spends the whole car journey gazing out of the window and stroking her now very round belly. Jon wishes he could just casually reach out and touch it too, maybe cover her hand with his and never let go.

*******

Sansa's busying herself with something new one day when he comes home from work. She's there on the sofa with needles and soft mint green wool, the tip of her tongue touching her top lip in concentration.

"I've taught myself to knit"! She exclaims breezily, not looking up from the click clack of needles. "Well - YouTube taught me how to knit really" her eyes flicker up to Jon with a smile that he'd not seen on her face for such a long time.

Jon grins back at her, just plain happy that she's happy.

He catches sight of what she's already made, laid out on the sofa next to her. Two little booties and a hat. "Sans! Did you make those today"?!

"Yea - those were easy. I'm doing a cardigan next"! She beams up at him before holding up the knitting pattern for him to see.

"You learnt how to do this today"?

"I've got a lot of time on my hands Jon... and I can't stand doing nothing all day, so I took at trip to the craft store first thing this morning".

Jon sits down and picks up one of the little booties, it was white and had a little blue ribbon thread through it at the ankle, tied into a bow.

"I've got pink ribbon too...to swap out if it's a girl".

"They're so small" he croaks, fingering the soft wool.

"So will our baby be" Sansa smiles.

He likes it when she says stuff like that - our baby - reminding him that whatever they are to each other, there will always be this something, this one thing, this little person that will link them together permanently. Our baby.

"I wish I could do more" Jon says, causing Sansa to still her needles and look up at him in question. "For the baby...I can't make stuff like this Sansa, you're great at stuff like this" he says, his fingers brushing over the turned up rim of the little hat.

"You do plenty Jon"! Sansa says forcefully "you found this apartment for us, you've bought the crib and things....and you'll be shouldering the rent alone after my maternity pay stops....until I get a new job".

"You don't have to if you don't want to...get another job that is".

"I don't want my career to ground to a halt Jon" she starts up the knocking of needles and looping of yarn again, her hands moving in an irritated fashion as she scowls at her slowly forming creation.

Jon brings his attention back to the little woollen boot in his hand. He clears his throat for words unknown. Sansa had always been focussed on what she had wanted to do, always been career minded. She'd had a couple of temp contracts with different magazines, shadowing writers and editors and generally being the office assistant, but she longed to be the one doing the writing herself, to put her Journalism degree to good use. Jon had never had that amount of focus in his life.

Until now.

Jon felt Sansa's eyes on him again, the noise of her knitting slowing down to a silent stop. He looked up to meet her gaze.

"Would you like to do some"?

He stares back at her, perplexed. Sansa smiles in return.

"The next few rows are a simple knit....you could do a couple for me if you like"?

"You think I could knit"?

"I know you can" Sansa replies, scooting close to be side-by-side, her thigh touching with Jons. She raises her needles out in front of her, all her previous work hanging from one of them. Glancing at him with an encouraging smile, Sansa proceeds to show Jon the proper loop, hook and pull of a stitch. She repeats the action three times and then hands him her work. She guides his hands and yarn for the first stitch but soon backs away, returning to the cozy corner of the sofa he found her in. Jon can feel her eyes on him even through his concentration.

Sansa giggles as Jon is nearing the end of the row of knitting. "Well I never thought knitting could be hot, but you've somehow managed to pull it off"!

Jon glances up at her, only a single beat of a second slips by before he beams back at her mischievous look.

"Even with that little tongue poke you do" Sansa chuckles.

"Tongue poke"?

"Yea... when you're really concentrating, you poke your lil' tongue out to the side like this".

Sansa mimics him and Jon thinks that there's no way that he looks as adorable as she does right now.

"I don't do that" he shakes his head happily. He doesn't mention that Sansa does something similar, he likes that she's unaware of it.

"You so do".

After their shared laughter drifts out of their grasp, there's an inkling of awkwardness to the silence that replaces it. Sansa picks at imaginary fluff on her leggings.

"How's Ygritte"?

"You know Ygritte"? He asks, genuinely confused and taken aback by the sudden question.

"She introduced herself that time I missed you for lunch" Sansa shrugged.

"She's fine, she's fine..." Jon nods "settling in well at work...she already knows a lot about the tools we sell, so she's pretty good at advising people on those".

"That's good" Sansa responds, forcing herself to look at Jon and give him a smile. Her eyes betraying the sunny farce.

"Is everything alright Sans"?

"Oh yes" she says quickly, nodding far too enthusiastically, before alighting the sofa. "I'm going to start dinner, do you think you could do three more rows of knitting, just like that"? Sansa calls over her shoulder, not waiting to hear his response before she disappears in the direction of the kitchen.

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

Two Weeks Later

Being a manager has many perks, Jon realises, as he yet again avoids Ygritte at work by locking himself away in his office while she's on the shop floor with Grenn.

He could have chalked up her flirtatious behaviour to either it just plainly being part of her character or his own over-active imagination....if it weren't for the conversation he had with Grenn last week....

"She's after you I reckon".

"Who"?

"The other redhead in your life - the one you haven't knocked up"

Jon rolls his eyes. "Ygritte? She's not 'in my life'....I just work with her".

"Ah-huh" Grenn nods, rubbing his jaw whilst keeping his eyes trained on Jon. "You'd better tell her that".

"You're being ridiculous" Jon muttered to himself before raising the level of his voice. "Why on earth would she be interested? She knows I live with Sansa".

"Just 'live with'"? Grenn raises an eyebrow. "Nothing more going on between you and your baby-mama"?

Jon ignored his friends question with a grunt before turning his back on him to busy himself by changing a till roll. He hears Grenn's quiet chuckle behind him.

"Ok...so maybe I have noticed that she's....overly friendly with me sometimes...how do I let her know I'm not interested"?

"Fire her"? Grenn shrugs.

"Yes, that sounds fair" Jon snorts sarcastically.

"I dunno bossman....but the way that little firecracker stares at you sometimes?...." Grenn shudders "it's fucking intense man...in a lock-your-pet-bunny-away-safely kinda way, you know"?

After bumbling about in his office, managing to stretch out all of the paperwork he could possibly do, Jon heads to the stock room with a print out of a spreadsheet to do a stocktake.

He's in there, in the small, dark room, in amongst storage shelves, counting boxes of nails when he hears the door open and click closed again.

"So this where you're hiding" Ygritte says in a cheery tone.

Jon glances at her nervously, gives her a perfunctory smile and turns back to his stocktake. He somehow manages to finish his counting of one particular size of nail and takes the pencil out from behind his ear to jot down the number - all while he can feel her eyes blazing hot on his back.

"How's Sansa"?

Jon starts at her question, turning around to Ygritte, unable to stop the glare from leaving his eyes.

"She's fine" he says curtly.

"It's very good of you, you know" she purrs, stalking closer "letting her live with you".

"She's having my baby Ygritte, it's the least I could do" Jon replies, starting to turn back to face the shelves before Ygritte places a hand in his arm to stop him.

"But you didn't need to...you're a good man".

Jon looks down at her hand, feeling it scorch through his skin, branding his bones and marrow. "No....anyone would do that...anyone should do that, if they're in my situation....it's about being decent, not good....besides-" he raises his eyes to glare directly back at Ygritte "I would do anything for Sansa...for Sansa and the baby".

Ygritte's smile falters ever so slightly before she regains control of herself. "Your situation?...what situation is that, Jon"?

Jon shrugs his arm away from her touch and moves to face her square on. "What are you getting at Ygritte"?

"All I'm saying is..." she leans in closer, talking deliberately slowly "perhaps you'd like...a different kind of situation"? On her last words she quickly closes the gap and presses her demanding lips to his.

"What the hell you doing"?! He demands as he rears backwards, knocking into a shelving unit.

"Come on Jon" she steps forward, stroking his chest.

"No. Ygritte"

"Don't let this one little thing ruin your life" she says, hooking her hands around his neck and pushing herself into him making Jon feel penned in. "Kiss me Jon".

"No! I don't want this...I don't want you like that Ygritte"!

"Fine! Go back home to your precious mistake"!

"Mistake"?! Jon pushes her back by the tops of her arms, shaking her a little whilst lowering his head to level their eye-lines "have you said something to Sansa"?

Ygritte keeps quiet, the only sound in the small room being Jon's ragged breaths as he feels his anger rapidly rising "HAVE YOU"?! He yells, his grip on her arms must be painful by now. Ygritte just smirks in response.

"Do you know what Ygritte"? Jon says, deciding he'll get no answers from her by shaking her to death, "you're still within your probationary period - consider your employment with Castle Black Hardware terminated". Jon pushes past her and stalks out of the room, not seeing the confused look of panic on Ygritte's face as he slams the door shut behind him.

Jon strides out to the shop floor, past Grenn at the till without comment and straight out to the pavement outside. Taking in a large slow drag of fresh air, he closes his eyes and then scrubs a hand down his face.

His levels of irritation reach new peaks as his phone buzzes in his pocket.

"What"?! He answers angrily, not looking at who was calling.

"Jon...its the baby...I think something's wrong" Sansa sobs on the other end of the line.

#jonsa #jon x sansa #jon x sansa fanfiction #jonxsansaff #jonsa fan fiction #jonsa fic #jonsa fanfic #jonsaff #jonsansaff #jonsan fic #not How It Was Meant To Happen #pregnant sansa

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childrencryinncoffee-blog · 7 years

Text

Momming; it's not for the faint of heart

Parenting while living with Borderline Personality Disorder is probably the hardest thing I've done in my life; more so than labour & delivery, seriously. No one warns you and tells you just how heartbreaking and paranoia-inducing BPD is while you're a parent. Most people think of bratty teenagers who scream threats of suicide and self harm are the faces of BPD. They are, but they're one of MANY faces of it. My face is another; a lonely, desperate-for-attention, desperate-for-a-friend, mother of 5, who's been married to her best friend for 14 years.

And it's so much more than the anxieties of being judged by other parents, because that's the normal anxiety a first-time and maybe even a second-time mother experiences at the park or even the preschool, where the better-than-you0in-every-possible-way mommies, stand there are judge you and don't offer an opening to the conversation for your opinion. What I'm talking about is being a 5th time mom; who had only 5 immediate family members and no friends show up to her baby shower, so the paranoia kicks in. I'm talking about being the mom who has more than 3 kids in the same school and not one person knows who you are, despite having paid for PTA fees, volunteering and bringing in the goods (cupcakes) for the kids to share since it's your little one's birthday. I'm talking about scrolling through social media; being jealous of these amazing (on screen) mothers, who seem to have it all together and #humblebrag about their awesome #momtribe and we're sitting over here like; "I'll take ONE friend who gets me--I don't NEED a tribe." It's the moms like me with such a loving openness of acceptance because we've been so lonely for the longest time, that we "stand up for the little guys" in hopes that someone will witness our advocacy and WANT to befriend us. But that hope fizzles out way too quick.

It's hard being a medicated mom. Because you're not really mending your heartache or loneliness, you're kind of putting a band-aid on a wound that needs stitches. I take medications that "numb" me from the constant feeling of strong emotions. And I take them day and night. But there are afternoons like today--when the mood stabilizers wear off a bit too soon and I'm left with the sad, pathetic realization that my life will never be what I hoped it would be and suicidal ideation comes into play. You brain starts thinking you'll never be good enough. If they didn't like you at 19, why would they at 32? They didn't get you when you have 1 kid, so why does you having 5 kids supposedly make you somehow appealing, it doesn't.

I keep thinking there's more to this life of mine than waking around the clock to breastfeed, change diapers, make the bed, wash and fold the laundry, plan meals, shop for meals, cook the meals, clean up, shower and go to bed, just to do it all over again.

But I'm wrong. Or at least my brain has me thinking I'm wrong.

And it's hard to reach out to people about this sort of thing because there are only a few standard replies, you've got the "Oh, you have friends, don't be so negative." or "You're being so over-dramatic, quit being a crybaby." or the "You just have to get out and make yourself have friends."

None of these replies are helpful when you have mental illness. You can't just turn the paranoia off. You can't just blink away anxieties and concerns and worries.

I can't remember the last time I had a conversation that didn't pertain to the kids or some crude, sexual remark from my always-horny husband.

I just wanna meet like minded friends, who either have kids or don't, but don't' judge me for being 32 and a mother of 5. I wanna sit up and talk about the planet and the government and women's rights and so many other things, over a beer or three and just be chill and still like and respect each other afterwards, even if our opinions don't mesh.

And having to explain triggers SUCKS when trying to make new friends.

It seems like everyone is pro-weed, pro-smoking pot these days and I just can't. It's too triggering for me; and rather than people respecting me enough to understand or learn WHY marijuana is a trigger to me, they cut ties and I'm once again screwed in the friends-department.

I feel like when I meet someone new, I have to immediately apologize for who I am. I hate that. Even right now, I am struggling with whether or not I should delete this post, because it's embarrassing. But I wanna keep going to show how a BPD mind works.

And every time I feel rejected, I have to FIGHT with my entire being, against self-harm. Some people don't even realize the type of pain they're inflicting when they either say the wrong thing or don't say anything at all.

For example; a few weeks ago, this mommy group I am trying to become comfortable with, is hosting a MNO (Mom's Night Out) without the kids, to a stand-up comic series at the Irvine Spectrum. There was talk about carpooling, which would have been fantastic because Derrick works and needs the SUV and I wouldn't be back in time to pick him up, so carpooling would've worked perfectly. Except when the lady hosting the carpooling updated that we all needed to meet at her house at 4 to leave together....which negated the who carpooling thing. I replied that this wouldn't work for me and that reply went ignored for DAYS, WEEKS and when I finally replied to my own reply about getting a rental car and driving myself, SUDDENLY they replied about how someone could've picked me up and brought me. But rather than being short and rude with my reply, I just said "No worries, it'll give this stressed out mama of 5 an excuse to blare her music without hesitation." While on the inside I was sobbing and wondering if I could hide a cut on my inner thigh since Derrick and I haven't been having sex that often, maybe it'd go unnoticed.

And I can't blame them. For not liking me. When the ONLY examples of Borderline Personality Disorder are two insane movies "Thirteen" and "Fatal Attraction", which neither help my case when it comes to inviting people to be my friend.

So I sit here, depressed, lonely, crying and crying more because Ivy is crying while I asked Evelyn to hold her just so I could write this, while drinking my second beer because clearly I suck at handling emotions. And really, all I want to do is go to bed before my brain makes this worse for me.

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authoramandawilson · 7 years

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They say good things come in small packages.

And rightfully so, I cannot argue against that logic. Good things do come in small packages – my university acceptance letters did, my engagement ring (hehe!), and the countless books I ordered off of Amazon.

Good things do come in small packages.

But, there is one thing in my life that came in a giant package. Or rather, a cute black leather carry-on bag.

My baby girl, my drool-bag, my giant-ass English mastiff, Miesha!

This is a story about how a tiny bundle of fur slobbered her way into my life (and into my heart) like a force of nature. This is the story about how one sooky giant wrecked havoc on my house, destroying everything in her line of sight. This is the story about how after months of training, and destruction, and mischief, a large dog helped change my world.

It’s the story about how my English mastiff Miehsa helps me battle my mental illness.

Miesha Wilson-Thomas was born on November 20th, 2015 in Nova Scotia to a litter of ten other fur balls that were already the size of a small Chihuahuas after birth. It wouldn’t be until Christmas Day that I learned that this little wrinkly tribble (Star Trek anyone?) would officially be joining our family.

But Miesha came into my life during difficult circumstances. I had spent December in the hospital because I was extremely sick. I was due to have surgery in a few weeks and I was worried about bringing – in all sense of the word – a baby into the house.

But she was a gift from my fiancé, and after seeing the joy light up in his eyes, how could I say no? Even though, let’s be honest, he wanted her more than I did, but I wanted a dog. I was just worried about the timing.

But as the next week few weeks wore on, we planned our trip to Nova Scotia to bring home our quickly growing baby and I was getting excited. I was starting to feel a bit better and was released from the hospital until my surgery. Since I was on sick leave, I was looking forward to the chaos of being a stay-at-home fur momma.

And really, how could I say no after the breeders texted us pictures like this?

“She’s gonna have attitude,” I said to my fiancé one day when we went through the recent pictures that were sent to us. “I can see it in her eyes. She’s gonna have a big personality.”

“That’s just more to love,” Zack waved me off, melting over the photos.

But we were still excited. We made countless trips to stores stocking up and preparing for her arrival. The living room had morphed into a giant dog play room. Arty, our first cat, seemed curious and a bit alarmed by the recent additions to the household. By the look on is face, he knew something big was coming, but he had no idea just how big the surprise would be.

And the week before we were due to go to Nova Scotia, I got sick and ended up in the hospital again. To say we were stressed was an understatement. Doctors were talking about airlifting me to St.John’s and talks about doing mini surgeries before my big one were being discussed – and spending eight days drugged up on morphine and painkillers, I began to worry. I was stoned out of my trees, but I was extremely concered about bringing Miesha home while I was sick. Zack scrambled to change plane tickets as the breeders refused to hold her for an extra two days, and I watched the torture on his face as he had to choose between leaving me in the hospital by myself or giving up our girl.

There wasn’t a choice. I told him to get on the plane.

“It’s not like I can go anywhere,” I joked, shaking the hand that had my IV jabbed in it, smiling giddy besides being in a world of pain.

So Zack got on the plane.

And a few hours later, he texted me a picture of our baby – rather our toddler (because she was already over twelve pounds)! Miesha was finally on her way home. And despite being pissed and upset that I was stuck in a hospital bed, I was happy she was finally on her way to Newfoundland to where she belonged.

I just had to focus on getting better, trying to get my gallbladder in check so I could get out of that stinking hospital and be home in my own bed with my baby mastiff. I spent the next few days in the hospital, and really I don’t remember much of what happened. But through the hazy memories, Zack did bring her to the hospital – hiding her in a carry-on and covering her with his jacket so no one would be suspicious.

I spent ten minutes with her, getting teary-eyed over the shivering wrinkly lump that sat next to me on my bed, her chocolate eyes looking at me as if to say, “Who the hell are you?”

Yup, no doubt about it. She was gonna be just like her mudder.

But a few days later, I was released and finally got to be home with my fur baby, finally understanding all the chaos Zack had explained to me during his visits.

“She snores. A lot.”

Great! I thought to myself, shooting Zack a look of dismay. Another snoring body in the house. Just what I needed.

But even though I was still sick and recovering myself, I got to spent a lot of time cuddling on the couch with my new baby girl. She loved armpit snuggles, and I soon learned she slept a lot. A dog after my own, lazy heart.

And as the weeks wore on and I started to feel better, I fell into my mother role pretty easy, even though the first day Zack left me at home, alone, I was terrified that I would suck at this.

“What if I accidentally kill her?” I looked at Zack worried, staring down at the wrinkly lump in my lap, who stared back at me with worried eyes. Really Dad? You’re gonna leave me alone with her?

“How will you kill her? It’s not like you can roll over a squish her to death.” Zack kissed my forehead and left for work.

“Ok, princess!” I smiled down at Miesha, “We can do this!” I cheered myself on, even though she seemed less that thrilled. She had imprinted on Zack first and I was the new kid on the block. We had some work to do.

She slept for the first three hours of official mommy duty.

Jeez. This seems to easy.

And boy was a right!

The next few months was a constant battle of understanding what twitches of eyebrows meant, and recognizing the signs for poops and pees. She was a chewer and I fretted that she would never grow out of this terrible habit. Our old green couch had fallen victim the first three weeks home and I wondered if I would ever be able to buy brand new furniture.

But it was exciting to be home and spending every day with her, watching her grow, learning her quirks, and training her myself. Zack had dubbed me “Mean Mommy” within no time and I became the disciplinary in the household.

It was controlled chaos. My couch lost its stuffing, she chewed through at least three full packs of toilet paper, she was gaining five pounds every week and hadn’t quite figured out just how much strength she really had – which resulted in several split lips on my behalf.

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I cried a lot, I got mad a lot, but I enjoyed watching her explore her newfound world (even though she refused to go beyond the perimeter of the driveway). She loved Cheez Whiz and peanut butter, and I soon learned I was going to have a counter surfer on my hands. Nothing was safe, including a beautiful cake I baked one afternoon, which suspiciously had a huge chunk missing from it when I left it unattended for less than two minutes.

I was right. She had personality…and attitude…and way too much spite in her bones.

But damn did she look like a cute little baby moose when she got a bath!

Miesha had drooled her way into my heart and despite all the chaos and yelling, I was glad she was a part of my life. She kept me from being bored and loved to sleep in my lap while I wrote or read. She was Dad’s girl but she was Mom’s sook. Dad was easy to give into treat begging but she loved to cuddle.

She gave me purpose.

And then April came.

Nothing could prepare me for the bad depressive episode I sank into because of my PTSD. Within a matter of days, I had crashed and starting losing control over my anxiety. The flashbacks came back. The night terrors resurfaced. I was filled with intense anger and frustration that had no rhyme or reason. And then the terrible thoughts came back. The worthlessness broke my wavering confidence and I thought about death. The suicidal thoughts were back and worse than before.

I wanted to die.

And there was no amount of dog cuddles or wet kisses in the world that could snap me out of it.

I was consumed with my dark thoughts. I never wanted to leave my bed and I had barely any energy to shower, let alone make effort to doing anything to keep my mind preoccupied. I was on a self-destructive path that I was quickly losing control over. I was pushing Zack away. I refused to speak to my family. I cut off all ties with my friends. I refused to answer my phone. I wanted to disappear. I wanted the world to swallow me up whole and put me out of my misery.

It wasn’t until one day that I was sat in the tub, the water having gone cold two hours before, that I stared at my pills on the counter and thought: I could end this. I could make this all go away. I could make all the pain and hurt go away forever.

And somewhere in those twisted and tormenting thoughts, my last bit of sanity broke through.

“Run, Amanda. You need to run.”

Miesha was curled up against the frame of the bathroom door when I pulled open the door and she looked at me with curious eyes.

“Come on, girl. Let’s go for a run.”

And we ran. We ran until my lungs were burning and I had a stitch in my left side and I wanted to vomit. We ran until I finally exhausted my chaotic mind into a numbed sense of being.

And a few hours later as I sat on the couch, Miesha (who was over sixty pounds by now) trying to squish her way into my lap, I made a decision.

April 2016. You can see how exhausted and tired I was.

I made a decision to keep fighting.

This was just another battle with my PTSD. This was just another tough stalemate that I had lost. I came out bruised and battered, but the war wasn’t over.

The was would never be over, but I knew I couldn’t raise my white flag yet. There was so much more I needed to do.

So I made the decision to keep fighting.

The next day I went through the bathroom and tossed every spare razor in my house and got rid of anything (including painkillers left over from my surgery) that could give my suicidal thoughts intention. The first step to fighting my PTSD? Protect myself. And maybe it seemed strange or unreasonable, but I “Amanda-proofed” the house.

The next step? Get active. I was barely back to work since I was still recovering from surgery so I had a lot of idle time on my hands. With my mind on a precipice, I had to physically force myself to keep my thoughts from going haywire.

And that’s where Miesha came in.

If it was one thing we had in common, it was we both hated being stationary. Moving forward and keeping busy helped exhausted us into lazy couch potatoes. It was time to get to work. We went hiking, we went to the dog park, we lounged around in the city’s park. We did anything and everything to keep us out of the house, even if it meant going for long drives or sharing timbits from Tim Hortons.

And as spring bloomed into summer, and the days grew hotter, and the evenings grew longer, I was finally feeling better – I was feeling like myself again. Miesha was growing herself – she was still putting on weight, but she was slowly morphing into an adult dog. She was becoming tamer and friendly. She was my partner in crime, in everything we did, and even though she was outgrowing my lap, she was overflowing my heart.

She was helping me get better. She was making me stronger. And above all else, she was protecting me. And without question, she stayed by my side at all times, keeping a close eye on me – nudging my hand to get my attention to remind me to not stay idle too long. She kept a close eye on the both of us and she took her role seriously.

“Mudder. I’m sick of selfies! GAWD!”

But not everything was serious. Sometimes her attitude got the better of her and we had moments of indifference. She was still a puppy and had the devil in her. She had her defiant moments and had soon expressed her distaste for selfies.

And we had our quiet moments, too. Sometimes there were days the dark thoughts did win. Sometimes there were moments we needed to stop and just keep breathing – to remember that it was just as bad day. Bad days had their times, but they weren’t in abundance anymore. The dark thoughts were slowly retreating back from whence they came.

And on those bad days, I had Miesha. I had my guard dog and protector. She would nudge my arm with her drooly snout and snap me out of the hard moments. And on the days I didn’t have the strength to venture outside or to go for a run, “Not today, girlie. Not today.” Miesha would simply wiggle her way into my lap as best she could and squish me with her hundred-plus pound body and remind me that it was ok – to remind me she was there whether I needed to cry into her droopy ears or just needed a mastiff hug.

She would always be there with endless love in spades and countless kisses to share.

Looking back, it’s funny how life has a way of reminding us that there is still good out there. I had battle PTSD for five years before Miesha came into my life. I thought I had it all figured out. I knew my illness like the back of my hand. I had fought the dark thoughts and had resources on hand. I thought I knew everything I needed when it came to throwing all my efforts at recovery – therapy, journal keeping, staying active, writing, support from loved ones.

What more did I need?

But they say the best things come in giant-ass packages.

Because what is a dog anyway? Man’s best friend. A faithful companion. A cuddle buddy. A lump of fur that creates chaos in our organized lives. We get dogs for pets, but they end up being so much more than that. They become family.

And if you’re really lucky, they become your protector.

And looking back, I can’t say for certain that Miesha did save my life that day. Was she in the right place at the right time? Most definitely, but the day I contemplated swallowing a bottle of pills, she (along with everyone else I loved) was the furthest thing from my mind.

So maybe I saved myself in that moment, but Miesha guided me through the following days. She proved to me something that I truly needed to understand – that I was needed. She relied on me for everything. And at the end of the day, I needed her too.

Because she’s family and family doesn’t let their love ones give up without a fight.

So maybe there are days she’s a little weird.

Sometimes there are days she’s an attention seeker.

And other times, she truly disregards any sense of privacy or personal space.

“What?”

But she’s a good big sister to Arty and Daeny (even though Arty begs to differ most days).

She understands that being lazy isn’t necessarily a bad thing (but a necessity).

Because life is not just about the big things, but enjoy the small moments. And even though Miesha could draw a crowd with her beauty and loving personality, she knew the best moments were the quiet moments, and we had lots of those days.

Because Miesha has taught me many things in less than her two years of life.

Maybe she turned my world upside down. And maybe she has truly tested the limit of my patience (and made me question my decision to have children). She has created chaos and stolen one too many chicken bones from the kitchen garbage. There are days her slobber and drool has caused my OCD tendencies to skyrocket out of control and other days drained my bank account with expensive vet bills.

There are times she’s so lazy my anxious mind contemplates if she’s sick and I’m misreading the signs. There are times she has almost broken my arm by trying to chase other dogs on our walks and there were times she convinced me she had squished Daney to death when she body slammed her, and has kept me up countless nights with her loud snoring just outside our bedroom door.

And there are times when I get angry and she refuses to cuddle me that I question if she even likes me at all and there are times when she’s snoring away of my office floor that I wonder if she loves her home. And on countless occasions she has made be gag when I hace to clean up vomit or wipe boogers from her nose or when her farts are so loud she scares herself with the sound.

Miesha is a lot of things and has done a lot of things. She has scared off strangers and drawn the attention of one too many dogs at the dog park. She sometimes instigates fights with the cats or gets on my last nerve, but when she sits next to me, panting away, I truly understand just how much I am thankful for the 130 pound dog that crashed into my life like a bat out of hell.

She’s got a big personality and a no-nonsense attitude just like me. She’s sometimes bad and impy but truly makes up for it in kisses and drool. Above all else, she loves and protects us with her big body and her large heart. Because she protects me from the bad days and relishes in the good days with me too. She’s a force to be reckoned with and is quick to give you a warning bark if you get too close to food dish.

And when all else fails, she knows how to tell a hilarious joke that can go a long way.

Because at the end of the day my big dog plays a “mastiff” role in my life. She may not have asked to take on the heavy burden of helping me through the bad days. She may not understand what PTSD actually is or why I have it, but she’s quick to the recuse when I’m crying and she knows how to snap me out of my intrusive thoughts.

And while the good days are winning and it’s been a while since I dragged her along with me on a run, trying to escape my damning nightmares, I know that when my PTSD decides to take up arms again, I know I’m prepared – because I have a secret weapon at my disposal. And it comes in the form of a very giant-ass dog.

And when the time comes that she can no longer be here to fight along next to me, when the day comes that my heart will be a bit broken and a little more empty, I will always remember the brown-eyed beauty that sat shivering on my hospital bed that night, looking at me with wide eyes that questioned my intensions.

But until that day comes, I will enjoy every waking moment I have with the drooly face dog that also relies on me. Because for now, her story i still being written, and she has many more chapters of chaos and adventures left before the epilogue ends. She has countless days left of begging for peanut butter crackers and snoring on my feet while I write novels.

Because good things don’t just come in big packages.

They come in the form of a happy, drooling, 130 pound English mastiff with a heart of gold.

And forever, I will always be thankful for my mastiff guardian angel. ❤

And as always,

Fight the good fight.

-A xo

Miesha and Me (and Battling PTSD) They say good things come in small packages. And rightfully so, I cannot argue against that logic.

#englishmastiff #fightingthegoodfight #mieshathemastiff #PTSD

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