#while the other is still painfully grasping for recognition and acceptance

[tetherwick]

#toh #toh hunter #THE OWL HOUSE #toh season 2 #toh spoilers #my mamabear senses are tingling #one character finally received the maternal love shes been craving all her life #while the other is still painfully grasping for recognition and acceptance #one hates the other out of ignorance and the other is ok with being hated because at least hes seen #both are nerds under somber facades #THE RAVEN AND THE CARDINAL #if they did become found family though theyd def still low key try to one up eachother #first out of habit but eventually itd become a family sport #i just think theyre neat #toh lilith #lilith clawthorne

[angeli-marco-writes]

∘◦ ♪ ◦∘ Timothée Chalamet - Concerto ∘◦ ♪ ◦∘

A/N - I wrote and posted this almost a year ago on my Wattpad. My writing has evolved a lot since then, but I’m still proud of this piece, and hope you enjoy it. I do not know Tim, nor do I claim to in any way. This is a work of fiction and entirely my own. 

Warnings - smut. Detailed (but protected and consensual) sex, slight BDSM, overstimulation. Cursing. Legal alcohol consumption and smoking. Also 10k words of sickening fluff though, even the smut is fluffy.

Summary - At a classical music concert, the last person you expect to meet is a young man as charming and suave as Timothée. And the last thing you expected is for him to invite you back to his flat. Turns out music really is food for the soul, and other things...

IT’S A FRIDAY EVENING IN NEW YORK CITY. The sun is setting behind the towering silhouettes of undulating buildings all across the city, the moon casting shadows all around au contraire to the luminescence of building lights, beaming all around as well as the street lamps, bringing colour and light to people’s faces in the dark.

You’re standing on the pavement outside Symphony Space Concert Hall on the Upper West Side, people watching. Nothing more or less conspicuous, just observing everyone flooding into the hall, though none of them seem to be under 50 years of age. After checking the time, you take your phone out of the pocket attached to your delicate silk jumpsuit you’re wearing for the night, the one reserved for classy parties and sophisticated concerts only (though very handy). You open the email holding your ticket for the evening, a Poulenc appreciation concert, and you show it to the bouncer who grants you entry to the auditorium.

The room looks incredible. Photos of Francis Poulenc, as well as some old parchment sheets of his music spread out delicately over the usually bare walls. The lights create a perfect ambience in the hall for what's sure to be an incredible evening. The red velvet seats are half full, dotted with people at least twice your age, except from one seat near the front where you can see merely a defined jaw and brown curls. On the stage stands two glossy black grand pianos, slotted beside one another with plush velvet stools and their lids propped up, allowing one to see the inner workings of such wonderful instruments. Behind the pianos are seats enough for an entire orchestra, creating a crescent moon shape. A couple of the seats already have instruments atop them, aching for their owners to play beautiful melodies with them. You make your way down to where your seat is, familiar with the layout of the auditorium. You’re on the right hand side of the centre stalls, third row back, but as you arrive, there’s a boy you saw earlier, not much older than yourself.

“Hi, do you mind if I squeeze past?” You ask him, watching his head jolt up from the programme to reveal a mop of beautiful dark brown curls framing his chiselled face, piercing green eyes with flecks of hazel when the light changed direction. You recognise him, an actor, you simply can’t place him.

His look of incredulity melts into a smile. “Sure.” He says, moving his legs so that you can squeeze past and take your reserved seat on his left. He turns to face you, smiling. He’s wearing a crisp navy suit with a pale blue shirt and a matching tie. He looks well presented, and by his nervous and lopsided smile, you guess that he’s rather nervous to be at the concert alone too. “Timothée.” He tells you, holding his hand out.

You return his gesture, smiling right back at him, and tell him your name. “You here alone?” You ask him, turning in your seat to get a better view. He nods.

“Thought I’d be the only under fifty here.” He laughs, “I’m 24 by the way, but I shan’t ask your name since you're a lady.” You can't help but laugh at this, just a little giggle at how sweet he is, but your interaction is cut short as the lights turn down in the auditorium but shine brighter on the stage, and a full orchestra enters the stage, accompanied by their instruments, two pianists and a conductor. Murmurs in the hall settle down to a faint hum while the musicians tune to the sound of the oboe, and then begin to play.

The music is mesmerising, starting with orchestral pieces with faint piano accompaniment, then just a nocturne for piano, split between the two lead pianists. You could listen to it all night, but an interval has to come. As the lights slowly turn back up, you see an infantile smile on Timothée’s face, as though he’s just watched the most excellent thing in the world.

“Come on,” you say to him, smiling sadly while you tap his knee, “let’s get a drink.”

He reluctantly stands up to follow you out of the auditorium and to the small bar area. You order two margarita’s without consulting him, but he seems grateful as you sit beside each other on a high table, people watching once again.

“What's your job then?” He asks you, making small talk.

“I’m a piano major at Juilliard, teaching piano on the side though.” You respond, and he seems really taken aback. His jaw falls a little slack while his eyes bulge a tad.

“Wow, you must be excellent!” You blush a little at his words, elegantly taking a sip from your drink while he eyes you carefully. You feel awkward under his gaze, though flattered nonetheless. He’s gorgeous, and he’s complimenting you and accepting drinks from you, what a night.

“What about you?” You inquire. He's an actor, you know that, but asking means that you may be able to get some more context and maybe it’ll click where you’ve seen him before. He clears his throat, and you can see some older people walking by who pull faces, judging the pair of you, but you brush them off.

“I’m an actor, mainly small films though.” He says, remaining vague. You don’t push much more, realising that he probably likes not being fawned all over for once, so you simply ask of the favourite names he’s had the honour of working alongside, which must be an uncommonly asked question because a light flickers behind his eyes.

“Selena Gomez, Steve Carell, Armie Hammer, Saoirse Ronan, Emma Watson, Robert Pattinson, Maia Mitchell…” He begins to list, but only when he mentions Maia does it click. You aren't huge into films, but you have seen him in a film with Maia Mitchell and Maika Monroe a few years ago.

“Hot summer nights, right? You were in that?” His cheeks turn a magnificent crimson and he bows his head as though embarrassed. He mumbles something along the lines of ‘not my best performance’, but you disagree. “I think you were wonderful, and did you mention Armie Hammer?” He nods again, seeming a little brighter. You take another sip from your drink, and he follows suit, watching your poised movements.

“Call Me By Your Name.” You nod in recognition, you remember watching the film when it first came out and loving the music from it.

“You’re excellent you know, at piano I mean, and the intimate scenes aren’t half bad either, you make them better.” You say with a teasing smirk on your painted lips, making Timothée’s eyes widen again. You chuckle and grasp his hand, dragging him into the auditorium for the second half.

The second half is a whole concerto, Poulenc’s Concerto For Two Pianos And Orchestra. Ten minutes in, Timothée’s hand finds your thigh and seems very comfortable, so comfortable in fact that you don't dare move it. As the concerto flows further on, his hand slides further up your clothed leg and squeezes your upper thigh a little You tense under his touch, infatuation and lust filling every cell and exiting through your pores, just waiting for more passion to fill your body and make you drunk on the feeling.

When finally the concert ends, both of you stand to applaud the musicians for a solid few minutes, and you could swear you see a tear leaving Timothée’s mysterious eyes and rolling down his heavenly made, painfully defined cheekbones. While you clap, you surreptitiously edge closer together, millimetre by millimetre until you’re hip to hip with elbows nudging. Your head comes up to his chin, making you feel a little small, but you’ll feel even smaller once your heels come off. Once the majority of the audience have filed out, you grasp his hand and pull him through the crowds where you stand on the corner of the pavement, only metres from the venue. You’re reluctant to loosen your grip on his slim hand, as he is with yours.

“Cigarette?” He offers, holding a half full box out to you. You half smile and shake your head in refusal.

“I don’t mind if you do though.” You say, meeting his gaze. “I love the taste of smoke when I kiss someone.” You add in a whisper, leaning up on your tiptoes to whisper in his ear. He goes rigid, making you smirk to yourself. This is going to be a good night.

He lights his cigarette and takes slow drag, only looking away to blow the smoke in an opposite direction to you. How respectful, you think, as your stomach fills with butterflies and bubbles with anticipation. He puts it out on top of a bin and throws it away without littering, and just that small and helpful gesture makes you crave his touch, having his fingers trace your sweaty skin and making your body tingle, your back arch with desire and pleasure.

“Wanna get a drink?” You ask, pointing to a nice bar across the road. You’re desperate to sleep with him, but not without pleasantries first. He, however, shakes his head and intricately entwines his fingers with yours.

“I’ll do you one better than a drink.” His smirk sets off a different kind of longing in you, forcing your body to follow him wherever he takes you.

As you walk, he starts conversation, but you’re so breathless from the desperation speed walking that your answers are brief. He asks you why you attended the concert, only to remember that you’re a music student and piano teacher; so in turn, you ask him the same question.

“When I was doing Call Me By Your Name, I had to learn the piano, and while I was learning classical pieces, I kind of just fell in love with classical piano music, I don’t know.”

His nervousness is sweet, making him appear far more humble than anyone of his stature would usually be.

You get to his building after a twenty minute dash in heels, and he pulls you flush against him while entering through the revolving doors, allowing you to lay your weight on him for a moment while you gather your breath. You feel his heartbeat thudding and racing against his ribs, reverberating against your own chest. You turn around to face him and place your hand on his chest.

“Breathe.” You say to him, allowing him to release a long held breathy chuckle. You leave the doors, both laughing, and fervently press the buttons to wait upon a lift. “So,” You then continue, breaking the silence where only your breaths were heard. “Favourite piano piece from the Call Me By Your Name soundtrack?”

“Hallelujah Junction!” You both answer at the same time, just as the lift doors open. You fall into the lift in a fit of giggles, clinging onto each other. You find yourself with your back pressed against the cold metal handle bar in the elevator with Timothée’s face inches away from your own. Your breath mingles together. As soon as he presses the button to his floor, he nudges his nose with your own.

“God, you're so beautiful.” he says seconds before his mouth is pressed hotly against your own, kissing you with an unrivalled passion. Your lips mould and move together like it’s second nature. His one hand holds your waist while both of yours grip his face, feeling a slight stubble.

The lift dings and he drags you out, unlocking his apartment door and leading you inside.

“Welcome to Casa del Timmy.” he says while hugging you from behind, allowing you to get a full view.

His apartment is stunning. Sleek, yet also vintage. Your eyes follow across the perimeter through a door to the left, where he has an office area containing a sleek white desk with a mac and a stack of papers and pens, next to it is a vintage white bookcase stacked as high as possible with novels of all shapes and sizes, and even an indie style rug underneath a colourful modern dining set..

The door next to the office is a kitchen, white countertops with wooden cupboards and a beautiful view of the city out of the window. To the right is a set of glass doors that open onto a small balcony where you can see the whole city, even Manhattan and Brooklyn depending which way you look and how the moon beams down. There’s a closed door right in front of you and through the entry hall and living room which you assume is his bedroom held behind a golden doorknob.

His living room, where you remain standing, holds an array of house plants with a couple of very comfortable looking plush sofas, his TV stand as well as his coffee table look like polished vintage items, refurbished from a flea market maybe, while his book shelf and rug are grand and modern. The best part of all though is a grand piano in an oak wood, matching the wood from his television table, and you become instantly entranced by the instrument that you don’t even notice the velvet stool or the perfectly organised cabinet of music, with a guitar propped up against it.

“Wow.” You breathe. Timothée grips you tighter, trailing kisses across your shoulder and up the side of your neck, inhaling every few seconds to treasure the scent of your perfume. Gardenia, rose champagne, grapefruit, davana; heavenly. You grip his hands with your own, holding them tightly where they’re settled on your tummy. You roll your head against his shoulder to give him better access to kiss you, but he stops abruptly and leads you to the piano stool. He opens the cabinet and pulls out a well loved piece of music.

“I know it’s for two pianos, but let's have some fun.” He says, grinning at you, an infectious smile that you can’t help but return. Hallelujah Junction, first movement. He puts the music out on the piano and takes a seat beside you, your thighs touching and hands overlapping as they begin to glide over the keys.

Playing this piece is second nature to you, allowing you to find your way easily, slipping your fingers between Timothée’s, and the white and black keys. You begin a harmonious melody spanning the whole of the piano, but after only a couple of pages, you realise that its not working as your notes cross over, making it very difficult to play on just one piano. You laugh together, but only for a moment before he is trailing his tongue up your neck, then your lips, and delving inside your mouth. You gasp, moaning into the passionate kiss that he’s giving you, and within seconds you find yourself straddling his lap on the piano stool. You trap his thighs between yours, moving and grinding your hips a little against his to receive more friction where you can feel how needy he is.

Within seconds, he has your legs wrapped around his waist and his teeth on your clavicle. The pleasure makes sounds escape your lips that you didn’t even realise were possible. You knot your ankles as he stands up with one hand around your waist and the other feeling his way around his apartment. After a few funny missteps and close calls of him dropping you while only walking the expanse of his living room, he pins you against his bedroom door, finding your lips again

He gently pokes at your dusty pink bottom lip with his tongue, slipping his tongue back into your mouth, exploring avidly and devouring every taste of you that he can muster. You do the same, but become too infatuated by his taste to put much more passion into it: gin, mint, bergamot and smoke. Smoke, sugar and sin, the most deadly combination of them all, and that's all you can smell on him, making you moan even louder. An erotic moan that makes Timothée twist open the handle to his bedroom door as quickly as is humanly possible.

He as good as throws you onto the bed, but undeniably, it turns you on a lot to see his dominant side this early on into the evening. He doesn't seem like the type to pin you down and boss you around, but as he shuts his bedroom door and delicately takes off his probably very expensive shoes, you can see a glint in his eye, almost as if he’s planning on doing unspeakably pleasurable things to you. Just the thought makes you wetter than before.

As he locks the door and shuts his shoes away, you take a quick look around the room. His bed is nice, comfortable and exquisitely large, like other things you hope. He has a nice colourful throw, vintage looking pillows to match his nightstand, holding only a pillbox, a glass of water, hand sanitiser, and a box of tissues. The simplicity makes you want to laugh, but you restrain yourself. He has a big dresser to match his bedside table with the drawers a little skewwhiff and clothes poking out. His wardrobe is fitted to the wall and by the looks of it, surprisingly neat too. That much cannot be said for his sofa though. A plush, light grey sofa sits on one side of his room just away from the window, and it's covered with clothes. At least he made the bed though, that's more than you can say for most 20-odd year old mans rooms that you’ve been into.

He sheds his blazer and crawls up to where he left you on the bed, needy and craving more. He looks down at you with desperation in his eyes, and you can’t help but to attack his lips, threading one hand in his beautiful dark curls while the other nimbly pulls open his tie and undoes his shirt. You shrug it off his shoulders and run your nails up and down his spine. You feel him shiver beneath his touch while your hands travel all over his body. His shoulders, his biceps, his toned stomach; he’s skinny, but has enough substance to him to be strong and sexy as hell.

“You’ll kill me if you stop.” He whispers, followed by a string of breathy curses. His eyes roll into the back of his head, giving you ample opportunity to grasp his shoulders and slip the pair of you over, pinning him beneath you. His eyes flit all over your face before kissing you again.

“You are so freaking beautiful.” He mumbles between kisses. He slips his hands up to find the zip of your jumpsuit which he slides down crazily fast, only breaking the kiss to shrug it off your shoulders. He just lies in awe, noticing that you don’t have a bra on beneath it. His tongue darts out from between his lips as he examines every undulation of your body, following the swell of your breasts right down to your hips. Your nerves return under his scrutiny, making you want to hide your face, but instead he holds your wrists behind you.

“You never have to cover up,” he says, nothing more or less than genuine love in his eyes, “not for me.”

Despite only meeting him hours ago, you know that you can trust him, so you ungracefully clamber off his lap and lie on your back to shimmy off your burden of a jumpsuit. He practically leaps at the opportunity to worship your body, before him in only your panties. He starts at your ankle, placing feather light kisses all the way from your ankle, up your leg, not minding the slight harshness of your legs, and only stops at your knee joint to switch his lips to his tongue, licking a straight line all the way up your inner thigh, stopping centimetres from where you need him the most. Not through any of this ritual does he break eye contact though. He skips over your panties and only pulls them down a little to trail kisses from your pelvic bone, up past your navel, through the valley of your breasts, and finally back to your lips. He makes you feel things that you could only dream of before meeting him.

“Timothée…” you breathe, hearing his breath hitch in his throat at the way your tongue curls around his name.

You reach between the two of you to his trousers. You undo the belt buckle with ease and push his trousers off his hips and down his thin legs, allowing him to kick them off at the bottom. He seems embarrassed, wearing Y-fronts that make more visible just how much he wants you.

“How about we strip together?” You offer, and Timothée reluctantly nods. He pushes himself off of you and stands up, giving you a hand to stand up as well. He still hasn’t taken his eyes off you since the moment you left the concert hall. “3, 2, 1…”

You both remove your underwear, pushing them down your legs and stepping out of them, only to step closer together so that your chests are flush against one another. He moves his hand up to cup your face, brushing your hair away from your face while tilting your chin up, capturing your lips in a lustful yet also sensual kiss.

He nudges you and your legs hit the bed, making you topple over and break the kiss from a giggle, but he doesn’t seem to mind and only laughs with you, moving your body further onto the mattress. He doesn't go to you again, he just lies beside you and dances his fingers absently down your pubic bone, ghosting circles around your clit.

“Jesus Christ.” You exclaim at the sudden feeling. Timothée kisses your jawline, but adds in between kisses, “Less of that, darling, I’m Jewish.”

You can’t help but laugh at him. You know he’s joking, just trying to mess with you, but as a punishment for laughing, he thrusts two fingers inside you with no warning, making you cry out in a mixture of both pain and overwhelming pleasure.

He pumps his fingers in and out of you, never going deeper than the second knuckle even when you cry out for more. Only when your moans turn to gasps for breath and you’re writhing beneath him does he delve in further and add his thumb to your clit, giving you a more intense orgasm than you’ve ever had before.

You immediately feel blood rushing back to your cheeks, colouring them from embarrassment, but Timothée doesn’t mind. He removes his hand from your core, and makes sure your eyes are fixated on his every movement as he licks his hand clean of all your cum. You’re so turned on that you even reach for his own hand, interlacing all your fingers except for his index one, of which he takes the hint and slips it into your open mouth, allowing your tongue to curl around it, making him groan.

He slips further down the bed and locks his eyes onto yours, you can see different shades of green and hazel in them and a whole world locked behind those beautiful eyes. Slowly, he delves into your heat, licking up everything that his hands missed. His mouth works wonders, sending your mind into a state of mild euphoria. The tip of his nose nudges your clit and you can feel yourself involuntarily gasp, so when Timothée finishes savouring every taste of you that he can get, he harshly bites your sensitive clit for just a moment, stimulating parts of your mind and body that you didn’t know could feel pleasure, let alone pleasure that intense.

He comes back up and kisses your lips, planting his hands in your hair as you kiss him back and get lost in the moment, your tongues dance together in an exploration, an experimentation of passion.

You pull away after a minute or so, gasping for air. Timothée examines your face for a moment, and you find yourself once again losing your thoughts and sanity in his eyes, until you feel the tip of his throbbing cock brush against your bare thigh. You feel bad for how much he’s been neglecting his own levels of desire in order to pleasure you, so you wrap your fingers around the base of his cock. He takes a sharp intake of breath and flutters his eyes closed, his long dark eyelashes twitching alongside his eyelids whenever you grasp harder or pump him.

He’s surprisingly big, causing you to take longer while rubbing your hand up and down his member. Half way down one thrust, you squeeze his cock a little, hearing him whimper a little. The mere sound of him drowns your core in want. You edge your way down the bed and swallow as much of his dick as you can take until his tip hits the back of your throat. He lets out the most sensual guttural groan that you’ve ever heard, his eyes still closed while placing his hand on the back of your head to keep you steady. You bring your head back up to look at him while your tongue swirls his tip, his mouth is parted a little with breathy moans of your name escaping every once in a while, his eyelids switching from being lazily half open to squeezed so tightly shut that they wrinkle a little.

You go back down slowly, inch by inch, hollowing your cheeks. You work your hand in the part of him that won’t fit in your mouth and continue to bob your head up and down. You lick a strip up a vein on the underside of his dick, making him near enough scream your name. With one final bob of your head where you deep throat him, you pull away with plump lips, climbing up his body to straddle his waist. He looks up at you with wide and loving eyes, pulling you down for a sensual kiss.

“Are you clean?” He asks breathlessly, kissing down the hickeys that he’s already littered your skin with.

“Yeah, i got tested after my last break up a few months ago, and I haven’t been with anyone since. Is that because I just…” He nods and you laugh a little, the vibrations from his chuckle rumble throughout your body.

“I did the same, but I’ll still…” You get what he’s saying and climb off him. He flings open the top drawer of his bedside table and after a minute or so of rooting through it he pulls out a condom packet and places it next to his glass of water. You give him a questioning look with your brows knitted together, but Timothée just smiles at you. He slips one slim arm beneath your back and the other under your knee joint before scooping you up and holding you close to his chest.

“Well hey there Timothée.” You say with a chuckle, secretly astonished at how strong he is, because with one arm still holding you, he throws away the decorative pillows and pulls the duvet back, throwing you onto the mattress and leaping on top of you. You smile into his kiss, savouring every second of the feel of his lips pressed hotly against your own, the taste of smoke driving you crazy.

He pulls away and sits up, tearing open the condom packet and grasping his hand sanitiser. He flicks the lid open and squeezes it liberally onto his hands before applying it and rubbing it into yours. “Are you sure?” He asks you, and your urgent kiss to his jawline is followed by a string of fervent reassurances that you are desperate to have him inside you, though you respect that he wants consent and that he wants to be clean. He slips the condom on, his eyes trained on your lips and the way they part from wanting every few seconds. He’s enjoying torturing you and making you wait, the same way that you edged him but denied him orgasm.

He slips the condom on and slowly enters in one smooth stroke. You gasp at the contact, especially how deep he goes with the first thrust, so deep that his pubic bone hits your own. He reaches for the duvet and he pulls it up over his shoulders, covering the pair of you since he can see that you’re shivering a little in the open. He looks for reassurance, but then begins to thrust inside you, holding his weight above you. You can see his biceps tensing while trying to hold his weight up and keep a steady rhythm.

“How about we spice this up?” He suggests, a sly smirk playing on his lips. He cocks an eyebrow, and the sun hits his face at an angelic angle, only making him more beautiful. You nod eagerly to him, only making his smirk grow wider.

“Yes Mr Timothée,” you say, triggering a dominant smirk to relight behind those stunning eyes.

“That's Mr Chalamet to you tonight, Miss.” Words cannot even explain how wet he makes you by saying that, already making your mind want to submit to his every want. You let out a whimper and remove your hands from his hips to lay above your head on the pillows. He joins his fingers around your wrist and proceeds to lay his slender hand flat against your wrists, preventing you from moving.

“Is this okay?” He asks, his movements coming to a halt. You nod and kiss him again. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

He must really enjoy what he’s doing to you. “Yes Mr Chalamet.” You reply, making your eyes as doe like and innocent as possible.

Timothée’s thrusts restart, faster this time. You moan louder, ecstasy filling every inch of your spent body before you’ve even properly begun. His moans are lower, more like groans, all of your name. It sounds heavenly coming from his lips, the way his mouth moves when he says your name just makes it better. His hips hit yours with vigour, adjusting to get a better position where he hits the best spot inside of you.

“There Timothée!” You scream desperately, your back arching on the mattress while your hands fight to break free. Submitting isn’t as easy as you hoped.

“I’m close.” He warns you and frees your wrists, but he doesn’t let your hand go too far. He interlocks his fingers with yours, using one elbow to prop himself up. His thrusts turn sloppy, more fervent, and just as he’s finishing, he digs his thumb into your clit.

Your entire body turns limp, screaming his name in a state of complete euphoria like you’ve never felt before. It travels from your brain to the tips of your fingers, setting a fire in your belly and making your toes curl. Your back arches so far off the bed that your chest becomes pressed against Timothée’s, your breasts moving in time with his breathing. You feel him come to his own climax, silencing his screams by kissing you with more passion than he has before.

You ride out your highs, but the level of pleasure illuminating every nerve ending in your body means that you don’t notice Timothée pulling out and disposing of the condom, you only notice when he flops down beside you on the bed and pulls you closer to his slightly sweaty body. You rest your head on his chest that seems to be glowing in the moonlight from the sheen of sweat. He absently plaits your hair, staring off into the distance. The faint thudding of his heart within his ribs comforts you, it's a little faster than would be normal, making you smile a little.

“How was that?” His hand grips around your shoulder even tighter, pulling you closer to his body. He seems content in simply holding you, maybe he just enjoys cuddling. “Wait, don’t answer that.” He corrects himself, his pupils dilating and his excellent, angelic body going rigid. You chuckle to yourself, drawing circles on his chest with the pad of your forefinger,

“Excellent, Mr Chalamet.” You tease him.

“I wasn’t too rough, was I?” He looks fearful, fretting, it's evident in the sudden sulk of his face, pulling his cheeks and forehead down. You shake your head again, slowly but surely moving your leg to lie over his. Ye inclines his neck to place a gentle kiss to our hairline, and you can feel him smile into it.

“Timothée?”

“Yes beautiful?” Just his simple words make you giggle and blush, such a sweet sentiment from a gorgeous and well meaning man.

“I’m hungry.” You say, feeling slightly embarrassed. He laughs, you feel his body move from it, and he proceeds to pepper your face with the softest and sweetest kisses possible.

“I’ll make us some food, grab any shirt you want and meet me in the kitchen.”

You watch him pull on a pair of grey sweat pants and walk out. His pale hips sway just a little as he walks, and he looks so lanky from where you’re laying on his bed, the covers pulled up around your chest. He kissed your forehead before heading to the kitchen, what kind of a man does that on the first night? He’s a famous actor and the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen, let alone a couple of years above yourself. He really knows how to please a girl, your skin rises in tiny goosebumps of pleasure while a shiver shoots down your spine and leaps across your synapses just at the mere thought of what he did to you, by far the best climax you’ve ever had.

You slowly slide out from under his warm, plush covers that smell just like him, only leaving with severe reluctance that melts away as soon as you shrug on the pale blue button down that he wore for the concert. Only a few hours ago you’d met at a concert for old people, already having a common interest that few your age have, yet he’s so eager about classical piano which is so special to you. You fiddle with the buttons, leaving the top few open in hopes of another round - he is making you an almost-midnight feast after all.

You walk out of his room and pad barefoot across his living room floor, only to have a little grey cat come and rub at your feet. You lean down to tickle behind its ears, hearing it meow, and you continue your way too where Timothée has left the kitchen door open for you. He’s standing over the stove with some ingredients laid out on the spotlessly clean countertops. You smile in spite of yourself, running a hand through your messy hair before wrapping your arms around his torso from behind. You place a couple of kisses to his shoulder blades until he turns around and picks you up in one swift movement, sitting you on the counter so that you meet his height.

“It looks better on you.” He whispers, pulling you closer by your bare thighs to plant a kiss on your lips. He’s making you feel things you’ve never experienced before, you can’t wipe the smile off your face for the first time in a while, and he's making you food in the middle of the night after cuddling you.

Dreamboat.

After watching him cook for a while, you slip out of his kitchen and take a seat at his piano. You run your fingers over the smooth wood, it’s well loved but well kept. Then you take a seat on the stool. You can feel where Timothée sits to play, your smile turning a little sad. There’s so much to him that people won’t see because he’s getting famous, but he’s still a person and that’s something that you’re able to experience first-hand.

Eyes closed, you feel for F and Ab with both of your hands. You press the keys down gently, creating the soft blend of notes that is Clair De Lune. You fall lost in the music in a new way, a new feeling washing you with all of tonight's new sensations and sitting at a piano that is neither your own nor at school, it feels somewhat ethereal.

Your fingers glide all across the keys, black to white, flats to sharps, switching between octaves like its second nature. Your mind dances along with the rhythm, your whole mind, soul and being becoming lost in the symphony that you’re creating, one that you haven’t been able to create for a while, and it’s only thanks to Timothée.

You become so absorbed in playing that you don’t notice him leaving the kitchen to listen. He just stands in the doorway, leaning against it with his head lolled a little to the side, completely mesmerised by your movements, your music, and just everything you are. Only when you play the final notes are you alerted of his presence from the creaking of the floorboards beneath his feet. He walks over to you with purpose, a slight grimace on his perfect lips, but he just hugs you. Timothée just holds you close to his chest, allowing you to entwine your arms around his neck and nuzzle your face in his bare chest.

“Stay the night?” He asks, such a simple request but he truly does seem anxious. You want to be genuine, kind, but it’ll be best to relieve the tension.

“You’re making me a late night post-sex feast and giving me your shirt, of course I’m staying the night.” After a moment of silence, he exhales a laugh and node, brushing a curl or two into his face. “Anyway, your cat likes me too, so it’d be a shame to disappoint the little cutie.”

After only a few minutes, you find yourself back in bed with Timothée. He’s carrying a tray full of food that looks and smells gorgeous, followed by his cat who decides to dance between his legs. He serves you a strangely shaped piece of an odd looking pizza, though it still looks excellent, and it has some perfectly cooked and seasoned vegetables next to it on a white plate.

“What is this?” You ask him as kindly as possible.

“Flammekueche with some vegetables. It’s a French pizza with crème fraiche and bacon. My dad makes it all the time and always gives me some that I just freeze and reheat. I can only make microwave meals and vegetables, so this isn’t bad for me.” The way he explains it makes him so endearing, and even makes the food seem more than enticing. “You’re not allergic to anything are you? Or vegetarian?” You shake your head with a smile, kissing him and thanking him for the meal even though he won’t let you touch it before you sanitise your hands.

You talk the whole while that you eat, learning little things about his favourite books and his family. His favourite book just happens to be Tender is the Night by F. Scott Fitzgerald, a book you both know and love, and Timothee has a Jewish mother, a French father, an older sister, and he grew up in the city. You however are from out of the city with an exceptionally normal family, and your favourite book is Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte. He seems to be growing fond of you, wiping the pizza sauce from your lip, followed by a kiss each time.

He places your plates on the floor as soon as you finish, snatching at the speed of light for some hand sanitiser, lube and another condom. You more than happily oblige with all of his steps and strip off his shirt, kissing the living daylights out of him before he’s even slotted the condom on. He kisses you back with equal fervour nonetheless, exploring your whole mouth with the tip of his tongue. He cautiously adds some lube to the sides of the condom and slips into you while you’re still atop him. You moan at the penetration, arching your body forwards and hereby giving Timothée a full view of your breasts and the way they bounce with his every thrust inside you.

You moan pornographically at his slow and passionate movements upwards and deep inside you, finding your special spot within moments. He settles his hands upon your hips, squeezing them and guiding your every movement. You ride him just the way he wants you to, you can see it in his eyes. He looks at you like a teenage boy would at a naked supermodel, of which you are only naked and most definitely not a supermodel, despite him treating you like one, and Timothée is thankfully older than a teenage boy yearning for sex.

“You look so fucking brilliant.” He tells you, admiring the way that your face contorts with pleasure while taking every inch of him.

You rhythmically grind your hips against him, swirling them occasionally just to hear him cry out. Nothing is a hinderance from you going faster, but this sex isn’t needing to be urgent to be satisfying. He squeezes your hips harder and you decides to move up a little further, bouncing back down on him as he becomes buried to the hilt in your desperate core. You do it again, engulfing him anew and moaning his name continually from the mix of friction and pleasure that’s sending you into another euphoria, but not enough to release again just yet.

Timothée still hasn’t taken his eyes off you, namely your breasts where he’s currently focussed, eyes trained on your hardened nipples - partly from not wearing a shirt and partly from Timothée’s ministrations. He leans up and captures your left nipple in his mouth, sucking and kissing and swirling his tongue around you in the most divine way possible. He moves his hands away from your hips too, allowing you to grind your hips on his in any way that you like. His one hand moves to your other breast, tweaking and pulling at your right peak and sending sensations through your body that you’d never realised could be real before; while his other slips to the rounds of your ass, squeezing delectably.

“Mr Chalamet, p-please,” you find yourself begging, leaning down while still riding him, his torture on your breasts never ceasing, not even when he thrusts his hips up one final time, allowing your core to devour him whole and sending you into your third otherworldly climax of the night.

“Timothée!” You scream, your climax pouring out of you. You feel him come too, and you hear him cry out your name like a blessing.

He doesn’t pressure you, he just waits until you’re able to clamber off him with as minimal pain and exhaustion as possible, though you do whine at the loss of contact as you lie beside him, his arms securely around you and holding you as close to him as possible. It doesn’t matter that you’re both sweaty or spent, it just feels special.

“Look at that, done before 1am.” He chides, cuddling into you. You laugh a little at him, especially his humour, but it is rather remarkable.

“Two rounds, a meal, and a concert. Can’t speak for you, but I’m knackered.” He smiles at you sleepily, passing you the shirt that you wore earlier. You shrug it on and do it up while Timothée puts his joggers back on and draws the curtains, leaving the two of you in dark for the most part. You lie further down, still close to his thin chest, you hear his breathing rattle a little, but it's soothing.

“Night beautiful.” Is the last thing you hear before falling asleep in his arms.

⊱ ────── {⋅. ♪ .⋅} ────── ⊰

The only issue about sleeping with Timothée is that you forget it's a Saturday morning, and on Saturdays, you have to work. Your phone alarm starts to go off at 7.15 precisely, which when you’re home, gives you enough chance to get ready for teaching in a calm manner so that you aren’t already angry before teaching little children how to play Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. Today however, that is not the case.

Timothée sleeps through it somehow, but your eyes are shocked wide awake, causing you to leap from the comfort and warmth of his bed and cuddles just to crawl on the floor in search of your phone and where it fell last night. You find it next to his door somehow, and switch the alarm off immediately, propping yourself up against the door to release a long held breath and to watch the sun rise through his windows. He looks so beautiful asleep, his lips parted slightly, soft snores escaping every so often, dark eyebrows furrowed and his mop of curls haphazardly lying around him like a halo. The morning glow makes his cheekbones appear even more defined.

You want to gather your belongings without waking him, get dressed and catch a cab back to your flat, but just as you go to open his door, he stirs.

“Where do you think you’re going beautiful? Come back to bed, I’m keeping you here with me forever.” You know he’s joking, and his words melt your heart and inhibitions a little, but you can’t justify staying

“I have to work, my first student is at 9.30.” You say, walking across to stand beside his bed and brush some hair off his forehead, kissing him and your lips lingering on his sweaty skin a little longer than they probably should have.

“And? I’ll drive you home in time, if you live near Juilliard then I know a shortcut. Just come back.” He's virtually pleading, puppy eyes and quivering lip just to add to the effect, and you simply can’t say no when he looks so perfect. You place your things on the floor by the bed and slip beside him, allowing your eyes to flutter shut just a moment longer.

His finger traces your naked body beneath the shirt, focussing on the bruises he left on your hips and the marks on your neck. Just his touch is enough to take control of your body, to give you goosebumps, to electrify every feeling of love and lust held within.

“Can I use your shower please?” You ask him, and he nods, placing his chin atop your head.

“I’ll take you to my bathroom and then I’ll make you breakfast. Grab whatever clothing you want from my room, but you can’t leave this bed until you agree to dinner with me tonight.”

Your heart rate increases tenfold at his gesture, and you want to take a leap of faith and say yes straight away, but that would be playing your cards too quickly. “We’ll see.” You respond sultrily, making your way to leave, but his strong grip pulls you flush against him with no space to move. You can hear him laughing in your ear.

“Say yes to dinner and then you can leave.” He slips his hands further down your front without losing his grip and decides to toy with your clit as though it’ll get you to talk.

“Y-yes! God, Timothée, of course I’ll go to dinner with you, just don’t stop!” You find it impossible to understand the shockwaves of pleasure pulsating and electrifying your every sense from an action as simple as the pads of his fore and middle fingers twisting and pressing your sensitive clit. It’s so incredible that after the previous night, it feels like overstimulation, and you can’t get enough.

“I’ll never stop.” He murmurs gruffly into your ear, you can hear the hoarseness that smoking causes but god it sounds and tastes so good.

He pulls your body closer and rolls you over. “Hey baby.” You say as calmly as you can, but within seconds you find yourself sitting on his face, half of his stunning bone structure lost beneath you. He delves his tongue into your already dripping heat, licking as far as he can get and only pulling away to kiss and suckle at your clit.

“Let me come Mr Chalamet!” You cry out, and with one final swipe of his tongue around your core and a squeeze of your ass, you let go. Timothée licks you clean while you still chant his name, and he proceeds to pick you up in order to carry you to the bathroom. You settle your heels at the base of his spine, digging in a little, and his arms tense beneath your ass from the manner he carries you. You like being above him, able to trace every line and bit of stubble on his face with your focussed eyes that he stares so deeply into at any given chance.

“Don’t be too long or I’ll be tempted to join you.”

You slowly cross the threshold of the bathroom, winking at him as you close the door. He inaudibly groans, but you can tell from his facial expression and the tension in his joggers that make him look utterly sexy. You slowly unbutton his shirt, reluctant to take it off, but when you step under the warm jet of his shower, that reluctance washes away along with any inhibitions you may have had about Timothée. He’s an angel: clean, respectful, enjoys classical music, has a cat, isn’t a cocky dickhead, and he’s literally the most gorgeous human being that you’ve ever laid eyes on.

You run your fingers through your hair, standing directly beneath his showerhead. The steam clouds your vision, but you can hear Timothée singing while he cooks, Mystery of Love. What a dork, you think, chuckling to yourself while you rinse Tim’s shower gel from your body, and you just know that after this you’ll smell like him, but he smells delectable. As the water hits the most sensitive parts of your body, you remember the previous night. Just the thought of what he did to you makes you crave his touch again.

Through the bathroom window, you can make out the New York traffic that builds every morning, accompanied by the screeching of tires and sirens and car horns. Despite it being a ruckus, it's soothing as you step out the shower and wrap yourself in one of Timothée’s fluffy towels.

“How do you look so sexy when you’re getting out of the shower? God, I can't stress it enough, you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve seen in my life, even without any makeup and with your hair un-styled, just wrapped in my Goddamn towel. You’re gonna be mine, mark my words.” You feel tears come to your eyes at his kind words, watching him purposefully walk from the kitchen and all the way across his apartment just to place his hands on your waist and tell you how beautiful you are. Those words are better than a concerto to you.

Once you’ve finished getting dry in his bedroom, you ferret through his drawers until you pull out a white top with various tie dye patterns across it. It’s cute, very Timothée. You pull it on and it reaches your mid thighs, making it clock in your head just how much of a lanky lad he is. You bundle together your stuff and head out of his room, closing the door behind you and greeting him with a kiss. He sits you at the breakfast bar and serves you a proper cooked breakfast: bacon, scrambled eggs, and pancakes.

“There's ketchup and syrup in the cupboard if you’d like.” He offers, sidling up on the seat beside you, nudging the tip of your nose with his thumb. The smile hasn’t left your face since you met him.

“This is good, you’re an excellent cook.” You tell him, resting your hand on his. His cheeks glow an even brighter red in the cascading morning sunlight, dappled by his blinds, but he looks magnificent despite his embarrassment.

You take out your phone, just to take a picture of the breakfast while it’s still untouched, and of your hand held by Timothée’s, already wearing rings. You notice that he’s already wearing a silver chain too, and a couple of bracelets on the wrist away from your own, which you find unusually attractive.

“I wish you could stay all day.” he whispers, placing his forehead on yours.

“Me too.” you say softly, smiling sadly and caressing his cheek.

You finish your breakfast and make your way to the living room in a strange kind of waltz orchestrated by Timothée. He insists on holding your waist and turning around a little, moving your feet in sync until you yank him down onto the sofa, catching his lips mid sigh which leads to a much more passionate make out session than you anticipated. Once that’s over, he plaits your hair beautifully, explaining how it used to calm his sister down before an audition. By the time he’s finished a very good pair of plaits, you check the time and it’s already 9, time for you to leave with NYC traffic, but Tim won’t let you go.

“Not without a photo.” He insists, but you question his reasons. Who would want a photo of you with wet hair in plaits, an oversized tee-shirt and a bare face? But his answer is too sweet to refuse. “I like taking pictures of beautiful things, and of which, you are the most beautiful.” Your cheeks flush a raging scarlet, and Timothée takes your few moments of silence as the perfect opportunity to take a picture of you, sunlight hitting your face in all the right places, and he takes another for good measure, his hand on your cheek and his lips on yours, a kiss that shuts you up for good.

He takes you down the stairs right to the garage where he keeps his car, and surprisingly, it’s an understated car, not crazily extortionate nor flashy, something which you respect highly. He sits you in the passenger side, making sure to kiss you before closing the door, and he gets in the driver's side. After starting the engine and leaving the parking lot, he lays his palm flat against your thigh and keeps it there the whole drive while you change gears for him. You tell him all about your childhood, your high school, your time in uni while he tells you his life at a performing arts high school and then his life as an actor, he truly fascinates you.

Once he pulls up outside your building, he tries to convince you to let him come in, or at least walk you to your door, but on the grounds of not scaring the life out of your neighbours and students, you say no with a promise to see him later.

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard tonight that you won’t be able to walk.” He says, pulling you in for a final passionate kiss before you step out of the car. He made you wet just before you have to work, you’ll get him back later, but the revenge melts as soon as he leans out the window to blow you a kiss and tell you how stunning you are.

You’re so lost in your trance of Timothée that you don’t notice your first student tapping you on the shoulder and excitedly saying “Was that the Timothée Chalamet?”

You chuckle to yourself, watching him drive off into traffic, all for you. “Yes it was love, yes it was.”

#timothee chalamet #concerto #timmy t #chalamet #tim chalamet #timothee chalamet smut #timothee chalamet imagine #timothee chalamet fluff #timothee chalamet x reader #timothee smut #timothee fluff #timothee imagine

[thatrandomwriter]

Taken Prisoner

Merle Dixon x female reader, set in Woodbury

Warnings : cursing, sexual language, violence

After checking several nearby stores and having one too many close calls with walkers, Glenn and I had finally found what we were looking for - baby formula for Judith. Maggie had offered to come too, but she was far better with the baby so it was just Glenn and I.

“We should get back, don’t wanna keep Judith waiting,” I said, eager to get out of the open and back to safety. You never could be too cautious.

Glenn nodded. I reached down, packing my bag and checking to ensure my gun was secure in my waistband, along with the couple of knives I had concealed about my person. It had become an unconscious habit of mine to check for them all every few minutes or so, just in case. Distracted, I didn’t hear anyone approaching until a confusingly familiar voice made me snap around, “Now where is it y’all good people calling home?” A man was approaching from behind a van parked a few abandoned cars away. A man I would recognise anywhere, and as his eyes caught mine, I could see recognition slide over Merle’s face as he realised who I was.

“Merle? You’re alive?” Glenn was as shocked as me, but seemed to find words far quicker. He was also quicker to hostility, hand twitching to his gun, but guns were the last thing on my mind.

I stepped towards Merle, a walk that transformed quickly into a jog and then a run as I flung myself into his arms, relief and happiness entirely overwhelming the rational side of my mind. He hugged me back immediately, muscular arms enveloping me, holding me tight and secure to his chest. We had been close when we had camped outside the city; he was the one who had brought me to the group. Probably only because he thought I was fuckable. But after a couple of weeks, what was once shameless flirting turned into a real friendship. And of course, I had always been too proud to admit that I might be interested in Merle as more than a friend. In the end though, none of that had mattered when he was handcuffed to the roof and seemingly gone for good. I had thought I would never see him again, and I had never been more overjoyed to be wrong.

We finally broke apart, but only by a few centimetres.

“Missed me?” He grinned the infuriating grin that I suddenly realised I didn’t find infuriating anymore, a reminder of how much I had missed everything about him.

His smiling eyes suddenly glazed over, expression dropping to a neutral mask as he stared over my shoulder. I turned and his arms dropped from my body. Six or so men, all armed with guns, all pointed at Glenn, whose gun had been confiscated, and at me. For a moment I thought they were strangers, but one glance back at Merle told me all I needed to know. He had drawn his gun too, but it wasn’t pointed at any of the strangers.

It was pointed directly at me.

For a moment, I froze in shock. Only for a moment. As soon as I had come fully to me senses, I raised my hands in surrender, backing away from Merle and in the direction of the strangers. Slow enough for it to look like scared confusion. As soon as I was within a metre of them, I nodded at Glenn, a warning before I darted towards the armed men, flicking a knife out of my sleeve and into my hand and in one smooth motion slitting the throat of the man closest to me. He fell to the ground, choking and spluttering. Glenn hit one of the men hard in the nose and then in the gut. I moved to the next, holding a knife to his throat, about to slice into his jugular.

“Hold on there honey, don’t make any stupid decisions,” Merle had a gun pressed into the back of Glenn’s head. Some part of me had thought that somehow, if we had managed to take on the strangers, Merle would have taken our side. Clearly I had been sorely mistaken. There was no way out of this. It was two to four, plus the man Glenn had attacked who was slowly standing back up.

I dropped the knife, and then the gun in my waistband. They didn’t need to know about the other knives I had hidden.

“Check she doesn’t have anything else hidden on her. Wouldn’t want a repeat of Bentley.” One of the strangers commanded. I assumed Bentley was the man whose throat I had slit. I felt a strange sense of pride that even though I had been overpowered, I hadn’t given in without a fight.

“Sure thing, Martinez,” Another man answered and stepped forward and roughly patted me down, fishing out my two remaining knives from my clothing. So much for keeping them hidden.

Glenn and I were shoved roughly into the back of a truck with three guns pointed at us as we were driven away, Merle and Martinez in the front. The drive gave me time to realise how stupid I had been, trusting Merle despite having no idea where he had been for all the time we had been apart. Of course he had found another group - how would he have survived cutting off his own hand otherwise? Glenn hadn’t been as stupid as me. He had known straight away that Merle wasn’t to be trusted. If only I had followed his instincts instead of mine, then this never would have happened. I managed to catch his eye, and mouthed ‘I’m so sorry,’ in his direction. He shrugged. Not an angry shrug, more of a ‘what did you expect?’ sort of motion. Somehow his acceptance of the situation made it worse.

When the truck finally stopped, we were roughly guided forward again, this time down some stairs and a few grimy corridors to two rooms. They pushed Glenn into one, me into another, and I heard him struggle and groan as the thuds of fists and feet hitting flesh filled the air.

“Stop! Stop hurting him, hurt me instead, please, please just leave him alone,” I yelled out, hoping that by some miracle I would be listened to, but no response. Just more of the horrible sounds coming from Glenn’s cell.

*

It had been at least a day- there was no daylight down here, but that was my best estimate. Martinez had come into my cell a few times, but I had not suffered half as much as Glenn had. Even so, I was painfully sore and covered in blood and bruises. I was sure more of me was bruised than not. But they seemed to have realised pretty quickly that neither of us would give up where we were staying, and at this point Martinez seemed more concerned with hurting us than with finding out where Glenn and I had come from. I hadn’t seen Merle since the drive to wherever we were. Part of me was glad,but some foolish part of me thought that maybe if he saw what was happening to me, he would help me. I knew that this was stupid, but I could help but hold on to that tiny, ridiculous hope.

A few hours passed and it had been a while since anyone had come into mine or Glenn’s cells when an unfamiliar man entered my cell, followed by Merle who was uncharacteristically quiet.

“Now here’s what’s about to happen. You’re going to tell me exactly where you and your friend have been staying and how many people you have. Understand?” While he looked unfamiliar, I recognised his voice from hearing him give orders to Martinez and the other men who had imprisoned Glenn and I. He was the Governor.

I scoffed, glaring up at him and Merle who was deliberately avoiding eye contact.

“You wanna play it like that? Be my guest.” The governor, still calm collected, turned to Merle.

“You know what to do,” he said, and Merle nodded, leaving towards Glenn’s cell. Obedient and quiet - two words I never would’ve dreamed could describe Merle.

I began to hear muffled groans of pain from Glenn, making me wince with every sound. I deserved this, not him. The governor smiled at me, watching my obvious distress.

“Leave him alone.” I demanded, only succeeding in making his smile wider.

“You know what you need to do, then I promise, we’ll leave him alone,” he moved forward, uncomfortably close, “Or maybe you need a little more persuasion? You know, it’s surprising how long a person can survive without their eyes. Or their feet. Or even their hands - isn’t that right Merle?” he called out the last part to the opposite cell.

“Sure is boss,” The first time I’d heard Merle speak since getting here.

“Now I’m sure you know what I’m getting at, but just in case, I’ll be clear. Merle is pretty handy with a hacksaw as I’m sure you know, and while we need you and your friend to be able to talk, we really don’t need you for anything else. So if him losing a hand, or both, or even worse, would get you talking then I’m sure we can all agree it would be worth that sacrifice.”

He wasn’t bluffing. He opened his mouth to yell the order to Merle, but I interrupted, “The prison. We’re at the prison. Please, please just leave him alone, you don’t need to do this. Please.” My resilience had broken. We could defend the prison. We could. But I couldn’t listen to Glenn getting tortured for any longer. I just couldn’t.

The governor chuckled. “Thank you, wasn’t so hard now was it.” He got close again, and in a sudden move he struck me across the face. Hard. For a moment, the world blurred with dark spots, before I lost my vision completely and fell into darkness.

*

I could feel myself being jostled in the arms of someone carrying me. They felt familiar, and I spent a few seconds trying to place who it was, still not fully conscious. After a few seconds, I opened my eyes and saw Merle’s determined expression. He glanced down at me, but before I could ask him what the fuck was going on, I fell into darkness again.

*

The next time I began to be aware of my surroundings I felt the thin, scratchy softness of a prison mattress. Slowly, I opened my eyes, this time managing to hold onto consciousness. When I sat up, I saw Merle sat at the end of my bed. Hunched over - sleeping, I assumed. Looking around, I recognised my old cell. Finally something I could use to my favour. I reached under my pillow and grasped the familiar handle of my final knife, which thankfully hadn’t been moved.

I pushed the knife to Merle’s throat. His eyes snapped open, and he raised the blade attached where his hand once was, before relaxing when he recognised me.

“What the fuck, Merle. What the fuck!”

“Calm down honey - saved your life, didn’t I?”

“Oh that’s what you call it? You took me prisoner and watched the shit get beaten outta me and somehow you’re the hero?” I pushed the knife harder against his neck and I could tell how much he was struggling against himself not to fight back. That made me even more angry. What made him think I couldn’t kill him right then and there if I wanted to?

“I didn’t have a choice. But I got ya outta there, that count for nothing?”

I continued to glare at him. He smirked at me, infuriating and insanely attractive all at the same time, before gripping my wrist and pushing me back against the wall, forcing me to drop my knife.

“I saved yer ass, didn’t have to, but I did. The governor, he saved my life, but I chose you for fuck’s sake. I missed ya, didn’t you miss me?”

Of course I did.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” This was probably the first time I’d heard him apologise for anything.

Of course I’d missed him. A lot. And some part of me knew that he was being sincere, that he had missed me and mourned me as much as I had him. I had missed him more than anyone else we had lost, and I had no idea what I’d do if I lost him again. But I’d always been terrible at putting those feelings into words. So when I finally kissed him, I hoped I got the sentiment across. It took him a moment to register what was happening, but when he did his good hand cupped my face, sliding to my back to pull me closer into him, while his other arm braced against the wall behind me. He had released my arms, so I let my hands wander his torso, something I had longed to do for far longer than I was willing to admit. His mouth was rough and hard against mine, his teeth scraping my lower lip, stubble scratching my face. It was a sensation I had imagined so many times, it was hard to believe it was real. That Merle, obnoxious, stubborn, perfect Merle was kissing me, and I was kissing him back with all I had.

#merle dixon #merle dixon x reader #x reader #imagine #oneshot #twd #walking dead #the governor #woodbury #glenn rhee #steven yeun #michael rooker

[downinthedevildom]

Okay so I’m a big hecking dumb! I accidentally answered privately but didn’t put anything it. THANKFULLY! I screenshot everything so not all is lost! 😤😤 so here @delori-a this is for you! X3

First of all! I am no queen, friend! I am but a humble potato 🥔 I’m glad you enjoyed your match up though! 💜💜

I’m sorry this took me a while to finish, I have no excuse... I’m just a procrastinating fiend! X3 HOPE YOU ENJOY SWEETPEA!

Rating : FLUFF!!? Comfort?!

Warnings : none

Word count : 3k+

💚~*~*~*~*~*~*💜💚*~*~*~*~*~*~💜

What time was it? It was always hard to tell here.

Looking up from your desk that is currently cluttered with the battlefield of textbooks and papers you were working through, you cast your dry eyes to the window, the gorgeous starry skies doing little to answer the question in your mind. It's always night here. There was no setting sun in the Devildom to lay hints on how long you had been slaving away since returning from R.A.D for the day.

A heavy sigh passed your lips as you turned your head back to the paper you had half-written, full of dark scratches with your frustration laden mistakes. You pluck your D.D.D up from its hiding space, at some point being disregarded and covered with an open book, to look at the clock. However, it didn't illuminate like it usually would once being lifted meaning the battery had died and you hadn't even noticed the music you had quietly playing from the device stopped somewhere along the way.

It didn't really matter what time it was anyway, you had already resigned yourself to your impending all-night cramming session. Two papers were due and the impending midterm test that counted as half your grade on Monday had sealed your fate to have a very sleepless weekend.

Another sigh left you as your rub your palms over tired eyes in a will to make them stop fighting you with this pesky irritating dryness. You needed coffee; always the silent saviour. You pushed yourself out of the chair, your joints popping loudly in the quiet room with the movement. Using your hip to push your chair in you tossed your D.D.D onto your bed, making your way out of your room and quickly to the kitchen. Never before had you been so thankful that your room was only a few steps away from the elixir of life. At least this way you were sure not to wake the other residents in the house of Lamentation through the weekend. You already knew this would be a trip you would be making a lot over the next few days.

A single push of a button had the coffee machine humming to life, echoing through the room in the unusually quiet house - another thing you were thankful for in this moment. The lively atmosphere would normally fill you with warmth, the seven rulers of hell lives were something to witness in the comfort of their dwelling. Sure they fought often, but these walls were filled with so much family love and a millennia of memories you had only begun to scratch the surface of. Tonight you were thankful for the quiet, no disturbances as you fought against the dread of failure with tooth and nail. You really didn't need the bothers yelling to give your brain more reasons than it already had to pulse painfully in your skull.

It was a Friday night and as far as you knew only you and Leviathan were home right now. That being said, it was more like you had the house to yourself due to the otaku being less likely to come out of his room while he was gaming for the night than it was that you would spontaneously combust from the pressure you were putting on yourself. Everyone else had their weekend plans already in full swing.

Of course, none of the brothers would be home studying like you, struggling to understand the topics of demon-ology. They already knew all this stuff... They lived this stuff! Sighing was quickly becoming your only form of vocalization of the night as another passed though your lips to accompany the dull thunk of your spoon hitting ceramic as you stirred your coffee. The thought of another all-nighter weighed heavy on your chest and that has another sigh following.

“Oi, what's got you all huffy, huh?!” the unexpected voice startled you from your mind, causing you to jolt and fix the white-haired demon with a wide-eyed gaze.

“Mammon, you gave me a damn heart attack!” you managed to squeak out the words as a hand clasped over your chest willing your heart to get back down and out of your throat. The all too familiar grin on his handsome features while he leant against the door frame, did little to convince you he was anything akin to remorseful for causing your soul to temporarily up and leave your body.

“I thought you had a shoot tonight, you skip it?” you questioned him before he had the chance to start teasing you as he normally would. It was always in jest, but you didn't have the energy to throw your own back at him right now.

“Skip?! Its good money doing them shoots ya know! As if I would skip it!” The fake offence in his voice was dripping in the pride he had by earning his own money, honestly. “I finished over an hour ago.” he filled you in while shrugging himself off the door as you approach, continuing to do so as he followed you down the hall. “Just got back, you weren't in ya room so figured I’d hunt ya down.” The playful lilt in his tone made his intentions clear to you, he was still hyped up and if you let him he would talk your ear off until morning.

Normally you would accept it willingly, even asking him questions about his shoots to continue seeing the proud smile on his face and his laugh ringing through the air of your bedroom. You just didn't have the time right now, so instead, you shoved away the voice in your head telling you that procrastination with your favourite demon would be the best way to spend the night.

“And why, pray tell, did you feel the need to find me?” you almost flinched at the harshness of your own voice, quickly placing your coffee down on your table you added in a gentler tone. “Is there something you need? Something wrong?” your hand had already fallen to the back of your chair, ready to pull it out and take your temporary throne, while turning to face him.

You hoped he would read the room and realise you were too busy and leave you be. Dreading the thought of his reaction should you have to ask him to leave. You really did love his company and his self-esteem already got knocked enough by his brothers. Right now, with the prospects of flunking three separate classes hanging in the not too distant future, your nerves were dancing on the edge of a blade. One wrong step and you would be more of a disappointment to the exchange program than you already felt you were.

A flicker of what you read as recognition flashed over Mammons face as his gaze turned from the messy table and his impossibly blue eyes landed on your own. “Yeah, there's somethin’ wrong. You are doin’ homework when we planned a movie night, remember?” he flashed you with another blinding grin and all you could do is blink in bewilderment. No, you didn't remember that. In fact, you are pretty sure he just made that up on the spot so he had more of an excuse to claim your time.

“I’m sorry, Mammon.” you started, the dejectedness in you tone was thick in your tone. You chose not to mention his blatant lie, instead just telling him the truth in return. “I don't have time to watch a movie with you tonight, I really have to get this work done.” You give him a soft smile, hoping he doesn't get upset with you as you attempt to pull out your chair only to find Mammon’s own hand near yours holding it in place.

The questioning look you threw him was only answered by a grin that never faulted from his face. “Hey, you should be happy the GREAT MAMMON is so willing to spend time with ya! You really gonna throw that away for a night of homework, human? You can be a nerd again tomorrow.” his deep chuckle rumbled from his chest, normally it would force out your own but right now all it did was light a fire of irritation under your skin. You rub your free hand on your face, forcing another sigh back down before it could escape.

“Mammon, Please. I really have-”

“Aw, Come on! You got all weekend to be doin all this-” he cut you off and you watched in silent horror as he plucked up one of the textbooks, dislodging papers you had carefully paced as markers for the material you needed to study, your gaze following them as they fluttered to the ground near your feet.

“-This ain't even that hard! Why ar-”

“Yes it is!” the words snapped out of you, cutting him off this time. Your eyes locking onto his stunned ones. The grip on the chair grew tighter with your irritation, causing your knuckles to turn as white as the demon's hair. Not even his surprise at your uncharacteristic outburst could hold back the stinging string of words that rushed forth now the barrier you had built around your stress broke.

“You said it yourself right? Many times in fact! I'm just a stupid human!” you took a breath, releasing your grasp on your chair as your arms started to shake with your misplaced anger. Taking to folding them defiantly instead as you stared down the demon in front of you. The rational side of your mind knew those comments were made in nothing but light-hearted jest. But that rational side wasn't present right now. Abandoning you in a moment of frustration leaving those words to sink deep into your chest as your own self worth sunk lower than your struggling grades.

“And yet I am meant to understand and memorise the in’s and out’s of multiple different demons anatomy types and over fifty thousand years of devildom history, When up until six months ago I was minding my own damn business before being dropped into a world I always believed to be derived from fiction!” your breath shook as the telling pinpricks behind your eyes burned a warning of the impending flood coming forth.

“You know all this stuff! This is your world, your home!...” your chest tightened threatening to close your throat as the days of frustratingly trying to absorb so much in such little time yet still coming up short each time despite how hard you try, floored you “I'm just living in it...“So yes mammon.” your voice cracked and the well in your eyes burst free, sending salty trails cascading down your cheeks. “It is that hard.”

His eyes never left yours for a second during your usual outburst of emotions, though through your rapidly blurring vision it was impossible to read the expression he held, leaving you to assume it was one of realisation leading to his own anger. You turn your head away, slamming your eyes closed in a futile silent plea for your tears to stop, simultaneously waiting for Mammon’s own anger to lash at you. It was deserved after all.

So you waited, for the rush of energy that sends static through the air when one of the brothers’ emotions get irate, the raised booming voice of anger to return back to you. The moments passed in suffocating silence, only the sound of your shaky breaths reverberated in the room, with each passing second without the whiplash you were waiting for not coming, the ache in your chest grew with your guilt.

Lowering your arms in defeat, you knew you had to apologise, you needed to and yet if Mammon hadn't said anything yet it would probably be the catalyst to your demise. you held your breath, willing yourself to once again open your eyes and look at him. But when you did, what you witnessed wasn't a face twisted with anger or even annoyance. His brows were drawn low, casting dark shadows over his eyes that were filled with nothing but shocked sympathy. You open your mouth to utter… anything to break the silence between you both of you.

Before you could force out a single word your world grew dark in the blink of an eye. Strong arms engulfed you, pulling you close to him as slender fingers of one hand threading through your hair holding your head against his broad chest that radiates comforting warmth.

“I'm sorry..” the words you tried to speak were whispered gently, though it wasn't your voice that spoke them. The arm around you back, caging to him grew tighter as a choked sob forced its way from your chests. That was all it took for whatever hold you had left on your emotions to snap and your own arms circled around his waist, gripping the fabric of his shirt as if he was your lifeline.

“I’m sorry for not realizing you were struggling m/c… why didn't you tell me?” his voice, far gentler than you felt you deserved was laced with his own hurt. The warm breath tickling the shell of your ear did little to quell the river spilling from your eyes, soaking his shirt as you attempt to muffle your sobs into his chest.

You had no idea how long you both stood there, you clinging to the Avatar of Greed while he muttered gentle words to help calm your fried emotions. Eventually, you fell quiet, a tiredness flooding through you with his warmth making you realise just how much your body ached for this release of everything you had been keeping locked in a metaphorical cage.

You let your hands slacken on his shirt and as you did Mammons grip loosened too, allowing you enough room to take a step back and look up at him. His own eyes were scanning your features and the gentle smile he was giving you was enough to melt away any of your worries. It made your heart flutter, he really did care about you. In this moment nothing was truer.

“Ya feelin’ better now M/c?” his tone was just as gentle and you could only nod in response, as soon as you did the grin he gave you as his features relaxed in relief had the tips of your ears burning. Thankful to your breakdown your face was no doubt already flushed so would go unnoticed.

“I'm… I'm sorry for shouting at you Mammon. You didn't deserve that.” You dropped your gaze to his chest, a small scoff of a laugh bubbling forth. “I got your shirt all wet…” His bright laugh made you jump slightly, so sudden after the quiet moment. You felt his hands shift from you only to land on your shoulders, causing you to look up again.

“Don’t worry about it!” he spoke as he began taking steps towards you, the hold he had on you gently coaxing you to step backwards with him until your legs bumped the edge of your bed. “It’s my job ain't it? I gotta look after ya, or Lucifer would have my head!” He finished with a light downwards push on your shoulders, gently forcing you to sit on the plush mattress behind you. You gave him a questioning look that he answered with a grin and a shrug while letting go of your shoulders “Just the way it is.” That smile proved to be just as contagious as you always thought it was, now paired with the rising rosy hue on his own tanned cheeks drew out your own smile in return.

You let out a quiet laugh of your own, “of course, how could I forget?” throwing him a bigger smile he took a proud stance with his hands on his hips, but before he could respond the dread flooded your mind again and you let out a groan. “It doesn't change the fact that I'm going to fail… then Lucifer will have MY head.”

It didn't help that you already saw yourself as the weak link to the exchange program, the angels were excellent at everything. The only other human, Solomon, was more than accustomed to the ways of the demon world so he was doing just as well as everyone expected him to do. With his magical prowess and unfathomable knowledge, it was no wonder why everyone expected greatness… then there's you, struggling to even keep your head above the water that is a passing grade in most of your classes.

Shifting yourself to stand once more, you had to work. Mammon halts your movements by placing his hands back on your shoulders. “Oi! Stop being so stubborn.” you open your mouth to retort but he just lifts a finger in front of your face silencing you. “We are watchin’ a movie and you are gonna deal with it!” he huffs with finality leaving you to groan.

As if reading your mind Mammon sat himself down next to you, his voice taking the gentler tone again. “I… I'll help ya study tomorrow, a-alright?” not meeting your eyes you saw the hue rising on his face once more as he shuffles himself back on the bed to lean his back on the wall while plucking up the remote that laid on your pillow to turn on the T.V. “I’ll even get Satan to help if it will stop you stressin’ so much.”

The sound of the TSL theme song filled the room as you stared at the blushing demon sat on your bed. It was obvious he cared about you even if he didn't want to admit it out loud. That thought alone had a soft warmth spreading through your body. Letting out your final sigh of the night you admitted defeat, scooting yourself back to claim the space next to him.

“Thank you, Mammon. You're the best,” you spoke quietly while leaning your head down onto his shoulder. You felt him physically stiffen next to you. Just because he had hugged you didn't mean you could get all cosy with him now. Not wanting to make him uncomfortable you moved to sit back up properly, however, the arm you were just resting on flew out to circle around your back and gripping your upper arm pulling you back towards him, forcing a sharp breath of surprise out of you as your face landed on his chest.

You were about to question him, tell him he didn't need to hold you anymore but he spoke first. “Damn right I'm the best! Don't you go forgetting it again, human!” despite his bold declaration you could hear the underlying shyness in his voice. You bite your lip to stop your giggle; you simply grin snuggling further into his side. It didn't take long for your eyes to grow heavy.

The sound of Mammon's rhythmic heartbeat was drawing you in like the most perfect lullaby, melting away the stress that had been building for weeks. In this moment, everything was perfectly calm, you felt safe and knew you weren't alone in this hectic adventure in the land of demons. Unable and unwilling to fight the sleep washing over you, your eyes fluttered closed as you lay in the arms of the demon you were undeniably in love with.

As the tendrils of slumber overtook your senses you heard his soothing voice reaching you before your world fell into a restful dreamless sleep.

“You are perfect...Good night, my human.”

#written by Angel💜 #obey me! #obey me! mammon #obey me mammon x reader #obey me x reader #obey me reader insert #mammon x reader #obey me oneshots #obey me fanfic #obey me fic #( MAMMON . ) #long post

[ninzied]

i saw there would be no peace in here tonight

euneirophrenia (n); the peace of mind that comes from having pleasant dreams

for @frank-kastle.

rated a gentle m. word count: 2.6k.

…

The nightmares are a part of him now.

He’ll never get used to them – to the spine-wrenching shock of waking from them like his very soul has just been gutted beyond all recognition. But Frank has come to accept that they’re never going away, and he will live with them, and he will one day die with them, too.

All of that changes, the first time he takes Karen to bed.

…

She is – everything.

She is fierce, and good, and unforgiving, and when he shows up at her door for what he thinks is going to be the last time, all it takes is one look from her for Frank to realize just how wrong he was.

Everything he owns, he’s thrown into a well-worn duffel, and there’s a car in a lot that Curt had left him with the key wedged into the groove of a tire. It’s going to be days before Frank remembers to let Curt know he won’t be needing that car anymore.

His duffel bag will have long since been unpacked by then.

His books, the photo of Maria and the kids, will be propped up on one of the shelves, and half his clothes tossed because that rusted smell of old blood doesn’t belong anywhere near Karen’s apartment. His gun will find a spot in the nightstand, and he’ll snort out a laugh when she stores his Ka-Bar with all her utensils. The duffel itself is going to get shoved into some corner of her closet, forgotten.

There’s one thing that wouldn’t have fit in there, and that’s a life – that’s a future – with Karen.

A part of him knows that if he had any real intention of leaving, he wouldn’t have come here. He wouldn’t have risked having to hurt her again just so he can do the selfish thing and see her one last time. He knows what she was offering him, that day in the hospital. And he knows what it cost him to turn her away.

So when Karen opens the door, and it’s clear from the look on her face that she knows he’s there to say goodbye—

Frank opens his mouth, and asks her if she’ll still have him.

…

She invites him to stay for dinner.

He offers to cook, but there’s next to nothing in her fridge when he checks, so they end up ordering take-out instead. The conversation flows easily over Thai food and wine, but there’s a tentativeness between them that’s never been there before. Every once in a while, he catches her looking away just to smile, and the inside of his chest feels like it might expand to the point of breaking.

It’s as close to a date as anything they’ll ever get to, this shy kind of softness, in a way that makes him wish he could just reach over and touch her. But he doesn’t want this to end either – the ache of this moment, where the want of it alone is almost too exquisite to bear.

It’s late into the evening by the time they think to clear the dishes away. Frank is working his way up to asking her when he can see her again – which also begs the question of where he’s going to stay until then. He’s essentially homeless, and he doesn’t want to assume anything – he could always crash over at Curt’s, at least until he—

Her face is closer than he’d realized, as she moves around him to put a dish on the rack to dry. There’s a soap bubble stuck to her hair, and he thumbs it away without thinking. His hand lingers there, as she looks up at him.

He doesn’t know who is the first to lean in.

…

It will probably embarrass him later, how desperate he is to just – kiss her, and then keep on kissing her, at first. They make out by that kitchen sink for what could have been hours, and it feels a bit like being a teenager again, like stealing a kiss from his crush by the bleachers while trying to be careful about where he’s putting his hands.

Karen, it turns out, is not so concerned as he is.

At her gentle insistence, they eventually stumble their way over to the couch, and here too Frank will look back later and cringe.

He means to take his time. He wants to savor every first that they have – the first time that he sees her bare, the first time she kisses the scars on his skin, the first time his breathing bottoms out as he sinks his dick into her – but it’s over too painfully soon, as he feels his orgasm shudder through him before she’s had a chance to finish.

’S’been a while, he grimaces by way of apology, and even though she tells him she doesn’t mind, he vows to make it up to her anyway. He splays her out on the couch, hooks those long legs of hers over his shoulders, and goes down on her in earnest.

He’s hard as nails again, after he’s had her come at least twice, and this time – this time, he’s more than ready to make it count.

They don’t make it to her bed until much later.

…

The middle of the night finds him reaching for her again.

He doesn’t mean to wake her, but she stirs when his knuckles brush over her side, and she turns into him, notching her forehead beneath his chin.

Can’t sleep? she murmurs. He feels her words against his throat, and the kiss that soon follows, soft and warm to the skin just under his jawline.

He doesn’t know how to tell her that this is the most restful he’s felt in a long, long time – with her in his arms, and the memory of their lovemaking still so very alive in every light touch of her skin, or the slightest graze of her body against his.

And he doesn’t know how to tell her that this – all of it – is going to be gone the moment he falls asleep. That his dreams take him to a place where his love for Karen cannot follow, and he’s terrified that when he wakes up, and looks for Maria with Karen lying beside him, it will be something that he won’t know how to forgive himself for.

But he wonders if Karen doesn’t understand all this anyway, even while he’s still figuring out how to say it.

She nudges closer, and he gathers her up against him, making a low sound in his throat as she trails her mouth up the side of his neck.

It’s okay, Frank, she says. He’s already half-gone with desire, and he will believe anything she tells him right now. It’s okay.

She rides him this time, her skin a pale glow in the moonlight. His hands are all over her – silk strands of her hair getting caught in his fingers, her breasts soft and full in his palms – and then he’s gripping her hips, pumping in and out of her as she leans over him. Her mouth finds his, tongues tangling, and he kisses her hard as they both gasp for release.

They hold each other, after. Karen has his head cradled close, the side of his face pressed into the crook of her shoulder. His arm’s slung over the front of her body, thumb stroking slow circles to the inside of her elbow. He burrows further into her with a soft groaning sound as her nails scrape lightly over the back of his scalp.

Her lips graze his forehead, and it’s the last thing he remembers before falling into a deep and dreamless sleep.

…

Frank blinks out the sun in his eyes.

It’s been a long while since he slept in this late, and he marvels at that for a moment, letting the rest of his body take its time catching up. He’s pleasantly sore all over, and there’s a crick in his spine that pops satisfyingly as he stretches. Last night – Christ, last night was…

He turns in the bed. “Hey,” he rasps, and reaches for Karen.

His hand finds the sheets, but they’re cool to the touch, and there’s something else about them that’s – off. That feels too familiar, somehow.

He freezes in place, staring at the empty space beside him. At the single, plain pillow wedged under his arm as he props himself up and puts his other hand out, grasping blindly at the thin comforter.

He doesn’t understand it, for a moment. And then a cold, horrible sensation is filling up his insides, until it’s enough for him to choke on.

He’s in his own bed.

He’s in his own bed, and last night with Karen had all just been a goddamn dream.

…

It’s a different kind of low that his subconscious has stooped to.

Frank spends the morning with his head full of a weird kind of static, like it’s seconds away from short-circuiting if just the wrong thought crosses into its path.

He tries not to think about it. Karen, right there, in his arms – and then not. But every stray thought finds it way back to her, and it’s pointless, now, to resist any longer.

He doesn’t need a psychologist to tell him what that dream was supposed to mean.

He knows.

He knows.

The only question he can’t bring himself to answer right now is what he’s going to do about it.

He drinks his coffee without tasting it, and drives to work as if on autopilot. It’s his day off, but the other guys aren’t unhappy to see him – he’s efficient, and doesn’t take many breaks. Still, they give him a wide berth as he picks up the sledgehammer, seeming to sense that he’s not just here to knock some bricks over.

It’s exactly the kind of anonymous, mind-numbing work that had drawn Frank to it in the first place. But waking up from that dream had left him in such a deep state of unrest that no matter how hard he swings, he can’t seem to shake himself out of it.

Maybe it’s time.

The thought comes unbidden, and Frank pauses mid-swing, reeling a little as he sets the sledgehammer down.

Maybe this was his body’s own way of telling him. That it’s not all going to be nightmares, waking up in a wild-eyed sweat and searching for someone he’s already lost. That there’s something else – something more – and maybe it’s okay to believe it.

You cannot keep loving people in your dreams.

And just as surely as he’d known, those years ago, when it was time to come home from deployment – come home to Maria, the kids – Frank knows now. He’s ready. He’s ready, for an after, with Karen.

The ache settles like something permanent into muscle and bone, and it hurts, Christ does it hurt, but he thinks – he thinks that maybe this is what hope is supposed to feel like.

If anything, at least he can know what it’s like to have that again.

…

He showers after work, and tries to make himself look halfway decent before heading out.

He keeps waiting to get hit by some urge to turn back, but then he’s standing in front of Karen’s place, and the only thing he feels is that there’s no other place he’d rather be.

He comes close to pinching himself once or twice, just to make sure he’s not dreaming again. But he’s here – he’s here, and he’s going to tell her he’s here to stay, if she’ll have him.

She answers on the second knock.

He registers the shock in her eyes at seeing him there. Shock, and confusion, and maybe a flash of anger before something else is winning out, her gaze going soft at the edges. The rest of her face is unreadable, but those blue eyes have never lied to him.

She’s always been more than he ever deserved.

He clears his throat and says, “Hey. Karen.”

She draws in a breath. It sounds as shaky as he feels. “Frank,” she says, then, “You…brought take-out?”

He raises the bag somewhat self-consciously. “I, uh – just had this feeling you might not keep a lot of food around.”

“Not sure what gave you that impression,” she says, but she’s smiling, a little.

Frank nods. He owes her more of an explanation than that, why he’s suddenly here and wanting some place in her life. “Listen, I—”

“Come in,” she says.

He knits his brow. Somehow, he’d been expecting more resistance from her. “Yeah?”

Karen takes the bag from him. He doesn’t relinquish his hold right away, letting her tug him across the threshold with it. “Who am I to turn down free food?” she asks, and there’s definitely a smile there now as he follows her the rest of the way inside.

“Like what you’ve done with the place.”

She looks over her shoulder at him, brow arched. “You mean compared to the last time you were here? When you stayed for about three and a half seconds?”

Frank grimaces at her. “Okay. I deserved that. For a lot of reasons.” He walks over to the kitchen with her. “Was kind of hoping to stick around a little longer this time.”

She hands him the food, eyes warm. “Good thing you won’t starve.”

He sets everything down as she grabs some drinks from the fridge. If she turns and finds him staring a little too hard at her kitchen counter, which had featured so prominently in last night’s dream, she doesn’t comment on it, apart from offering him one of the beers.

She glances sideways at him, expression soft. “Does this mean you’re going to drink more than two sips of that this time?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He bites his lip, crooks a smile at her.

They both reach for the bag at the same time. The backs of their hands brush together, and she doesn’t pull away when he gently touches a finger to hers, letting it linger there as he turns.

They’re standing closer together than either of them realized. As he moves into her, he feels the hitch in her breath, and the look that she gives him is all the invitation he needs before cupping a hand to her cheek and easing his mouth over hers.

…

The food never makes it to the table. And they still take their time before winding up in her bed for the night, kissing, and talking. Kissing some more, amongst other things.

They eat their pad Thai around two in the morning, but Frank keeps dropping small bites of noodle every time the bed sheets slide a little too revealingly down Karen’s body. It earns him a light scolding, and so he resolves to eat her out instead, to much more satisfying results.

He tells her, later, that he’d dreamt about this. About them.

She’s quiet for some time, processing.

Finally, she says to him wryly, “Guess a Ka-Bar would’ve been overkill, for Thai food.”

He noses a kiss to her forehead, then confesses in a low tone, “Got a bag packed and ready at my place, if you…you know.” The words stick a little on their way out, but it feels right, to say them.

Karen looks up at him. “I think we could make that work,” she says.

…

Frank doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he wakes to the sensation of hair tickling its way up his chest to his neck. He tightens his arms around Karen on instinct, making her laugh, and then he’s hauling her up against his body as he opens his eyes. He squints into a stream of sunlight that makes the air around her glow, and she smiles, and leans down to kiss him good morning.

#kastle #kastle ff #kastlenetwork #kastledaily #title taken from 'i had a dream' by aurora

[barnes-belle]

Beauty and the Barnes (10)

FANDOM - MARVEL MCU

PAIRING - Bucky X Reader

WARNINGS - Lots of Smut, Light Hints of Non/Dub-Con, Prostitution, Swearing, Dark Bucky. (I can’t stress enough that this is kinda dark, Buckys an asshole and the kind of behavior that goes on in this fic is in no way acceptable in the real world)

When your father falls deathly ill you fall into a lifestyle you would have never predicted for yourself. Selling your body as a high-class escort isn’t ideal but it’s the only way to find the money you need to help your father, until your first client offers you another way.

Bucky’s mean, coarse and gets a kick out of watching you squirm but he is willing to help your father. All you have to do is sign yourself over to The Winter Soldier, body and soul.

Trapped in The Avengers compound, serving as a PA to a man who’s an absolute beast you find yourself wondering if there’s such a thing as a happy ending?

Masterlist

Chapter Ten 

It was a mistake, you knew it was. Whatever was waiting on the other side of that door was not something you could handle, whatever was hurting the super soldier was not a threat you could eliminate. But deep down, you knew there wasn’t an enemy in there, he wasn’t being attacked. It was why you didn’t alert Friday, why you didn’t call for help. The door creaked open and you saw exactly what you’d been afraid of.

Bucky was sprawled on top of the sheets of his bed, thrashing. Hoarse screams ripped from his throat and the sheer pain and terror in them weren’t just breaking your heart, they were pulverizing it. You needed to help him, you needed to make him stop making that terrible sound. All you wanted in that moment was to help him.

 You didn’t think about it.

 You should have thought about it.

 “Bucky…” You whispered his name into the dark room, your whisper being consumed by his harrowing cry’s.

 You found yourself next to him, your view of him blurred by your tear filled vision.

 “Bucky, it’s ok.” You promised, cupping his cheek in your hand and pushing his damp hair from his sweat soaked brow.

 He stilled under your touch and the screams died down to a whimper. You breathed a sigh of relief that was quickly extinguished when his metal hand closed around your throat and squeezed. His eyes snapped open and he stood up, his grip on you never faltering. Your feet dangled off the ground as he lifted you by the throat and you thrashed as your body fought to breathe. You couldn’t even gasp or croak his name or a plea for mercy. He looked at you coldly, without a flicker of recognition then as suddenly as he had grabbed you, he released you.

 You dropped to the ground, your legs unable to support you as you choked in a lungful of oxygen, gasping and coughing as your damaged throat tried to allow the air in.

 “Oh my god.” He whispered and threw himself backwards, away from you.

 You looked up, holding your throat as you tried to breath properly.

 You had never seen such a broken look on somebody’s face before. He looked utterly destroyed by what had just transpired, wrecked by the fact that he had almost just killed you.

 You coughed violently, curled in on yourself and your cheeks were wet with tears. Your neck felt like it was on fire, the skin felt raw. Minutes passed, while you knelt on the ground and choked and he stood in frozen horror and watched you. When you could finally breath without coughing, though it still felt like you were inhaling gravel, you looked up at him again.

 His eyes were dark and haunted, his face twisted in shame and fear, his whole body trembling so much it almost looked like he was vibrating.

 “I didn’t know it was you.” He said pleadingly.

 “I know.” You croaked.

 “I didn’t mean to.”

 “I know.” You said again.

 “You shouldn’t have been here. You weren’t supposed to be in here.”

 “I’m sorry.” You whispered.

 That was the worst thing you could have said as far as he was concerned. He could see the worry in your eyes, worry for him and not yourself. It killed him, knowing that you would forgive him for this. Knowing that you had put yourself in harms way because you just couldn’t fucking listen.

 “YOU WEREN’T SUPPOSED TO BE IN HERE!”

 You flinched at the sudden volume and sob tore itself painfully from your throat.

 “Get out. Get the fuck out.” He snarled.

 You shakily stood up and looked at him.

 “I’ll go and…”

 “LEAVE!” He roared, losing any semblance of composure.

 His fragile grasp on his self control slipped away and he grabbed the edge of the bedframe with his metal hand, flinging at clear across the room, mattress and frame. It crashed into the wall and splintered. He advanced on you and you instinctively backed up, until your back hit the doorframe. You saw a flicker of panic and desperation in his eyes and when he reached for you it almost seemed like he was going to pull you towards him but his shoulders shook violently and he pushed you away, out of the door. For a man who’d just demolished a bedframe with a flick of his wrist, the shove was gentle. His voice was not.

 “Get the fuck out. GO!” He screamed and slammed the door in your face.

 You ran.

 You ran out of the room.

 You ran down the corridor.

 You ran down the stairs.

 You just ran.

 You didn’t know where you were going, you didn’t have a plan. You just ran. You didn’t see the concerned Peter Parker look up just in time to see you sprint past, didn’t hear him call after you with a frown. You didn’t see the curious gazes of staff as you rushed past them. You focused on running, it was the only thought you could concentrate on.

  Bucky sank to his knees as a broken sob burst from him and he landed on all fours, his body refusing to hold him up. His vision swam and he blearily focused his gaze on the white card lying on the ground in front of him. He knew what it was, he recognized it. You must have dropped it when he… when it happened. You had kept the card, but not the flowers.

 Slowly, his mind mulled that strange fact over, relishing in something other than the look on your face when he’d been choking the life out of you to focus on. Piece by piece, he figured it out.

 You’d been cornered in your office by that slimeball Ben, seconds before you’d swept the flowers into the bin. You hadn’t known they were from him, you hadn’t seen the fucking card. You hadn’t rejected him, you hadn’t even known there was anything to reject.

 Every interaction he’d had with you since then was looked back on in a different light. When he’d told you that he didn’t want your friendship, you hadn’t seen it as his embarrassed defence. You’d seen it as cruel. And you had still pushed kindness onto him. He had never deserved it and he had always known it but he hadn’t realized just how much he didn’t deserve it.

 And when you had found the card, you had taken it here, to him. And he had nearly killed you, pushed you away again and hurt you. You were the softest thing he had ever touched, the kindest soul he had ever known and he had ruined it. The solace he found in you turned to ash in his mouth as the ramifications of what had just happened sunk in.

 You hadn’t rejected him.

 He had rejected you.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 You somehow made your way to the garage, to your old beat up truck. You slammed into the door, not having the foresight to slow down as you approached.

 “Belle, wait!”

 “No.” You sobbed, pulling the door open and getting in the car.

 “Belle, stop. What’s wrong?” Someone’s hand shot out and stopped you from closing the door.

 You automatically looked up and found Steve rogers gazing at you with intense concern, Peter Parker hovering behind him.

 “Oh my god.” Peter gasped.

 When you had looked up, your neck became clearly visible. Something frighteningly dark passed over Steve’s face and he stepped back from you. You frowned, confused until you saw where his eyes were focused. There must be a mark on your neck, a sign of what had happened.

 “Who did this?” Steve, no, Captain America asked.

 “It wasn’t his fault.” You whispered.

 The Captain looked suspicious for a moment before shock graced his features and he realised whos handprint was splayed across your throat.

 “Steve, he was asleep. I went in, even though he told me to never, ever go in.” You wept.

 “It’s ok, it’s going to be ok.” Steve promised, placing a tentative hand on the car door.

 “Let me go, I have to go.” You begged.

 “I don’t think that’s wise. You’re hurt Belle, let us take you to the medbay.” He said gently.

 “No! I have to leave, I should have never come here, I just made it all worse. Why would I ever think I could help him? Who the hell am I to help anyone? I broke the rules, I broke the deal. It was never supposed to be like this, I was supposed to just fuck him and file his paperwork, I wasn’t supposed to care about him.” You babbled, your voice strained with pain and emotion.

 “What did you just say?”

 “I wasn’t supposed to care.” You repeated.

 “Uh, Mr Rogers?” Peter said nervously.

 “Belle?” Steve pushed.

 “Let me go.” You begged.

 “How did you meet Bucky?” Steve asked firmly and you looked up in surprise.

 “You don’t know? I thought…” You whispered.

 “Peter, get her to the medbay.” Steve instructed, walking away stiffly.

 “Belle, can I help you? Please?” Peter asked softly, reaching out and stopping just short of touching you.

 “I don’t want to go out there just yet. Please don’t make me.” You begged.

 “Ok, that’s ok. We can sit here for a minute.” He said.

 “My throat, I need water. Can you?”

 “Yeah, I’ll get some. Hang on.” Peter said quickly, running off.

 As soon as he was gone you slammed the car door closed and when he heard it he realized you’d tricked him. By the time he turned around you’d already fished the keys out of the glove compartment and with one last apologetic glance in his direction you sped away.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Steve’s anger melted away when he entered the room and saw Bucky knelt on the floor, silent tears shining in his eyes.

 “Buck.”

 “I hurt her.” Bucky said forlornly.

 “She said you didn’t mean to.” Steve assured him.

 “She’s gone isn’t she?”

 “Bucky… she should never have been here in the first place. I know you’re desperate to feel something, to connect. I know about the apartment in Brooklyn, what you do when you go there. I’m not naive. I’m not judging you, or her, but bringing her here was a mistake. You can’t pay someone to care about you.” Steve said, sighing heavily.

 “Don’t. Don’t talk about her like that.” Bucky snarled.

 “I’m not. I like Belle, she’s a wonderful person. She works hard and fits in well here and I think Tony would keep her on but Bucky, you need something real. You can’t force it or pay for it.” Steve reasoned.

 “It wasn’t like that, not really. I didn’t ask her to care, I asked her not too. I told her not to care but she did, she tried so hard to care. And I pushed her away.” Bucky said brokenly.

 “Bucky…”

 “She was doing it for her father. He’s sick, he’s dying. And she didn’t want to do it but she did anyway because she loves him. You don’t understand Steve, I need her. She’s so bright and kind, even in the middle of something dark and painful. She doesn’t make it better, nothing can make it better but she makes me want to try to make it better. She makes me want to be alive, not just to live.”

 “You care about her.” Steve said, understanding that Bucky’s feelings went far deeper than that.

 “I need her. And now she’s gone.”

 “She’s…”

 “Hey Cap, I tried to stop her but she drove away, I’m so sorry, she asked for water and when I went to get it she drove off.” Peter said hurriedly through the closed door.

 Steve saw the kids words physically break Bucky’s heart.

 “Go after her Buck, it’s not too late.” Steve told him, offering a hand to help him up.

 “I can’t.”

 “You can. You want to be better, be alive? Then go and get her, and do better. Things have to change, but we can make it work. This will never happen again, we won’t let it.” Steve said confidently.

 “She won’t come back.” Bucky whispered.

 “She will, she cares about you. She’s a wreck. So stand up and go after her. At least try.”

 Bucky took a deep breath and brushed his thumb across the card still clenched in his fist.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 When the car swerved out of control, you thought it was a patch of black ice. The snow had been falling all day, blanketing the world in white. It was still coming down now, adding a false sense of peacefulness to the situation. When you skidded to a stop, you looked back at the road and saw the row of spikes that you had driven across and knew it wasn’t ice that had derailed your car.

 “Get out of the car.” Someone yelled and a row of dark suited men melted out of the treeline, guns raised in your direction.

 Unfortunately, your car wasn’t bulletproof and neither were you so you had no choice but to do as they said. Heart hammering in your chest, you opened the door and got out.

 “Grab her.” One of them instructed.

 You put your hands up meekly and bowed your head in submission, your breath fanning in front of you as your panicked pants crystallized in the frigid air. When one of them stepped forwards to ‘grab you’, you made your move. Faster than you had ever moved in your life you threw yourself towards the opposite side of the road and sprinted for the trees. A bullet hit the ground by your feet and it spurred you on, making you push your body harder than you ever had in your life and you burst into the woods, into the cover of the trees.

 You didn’t know who they were, or why they wanted you (though you could guess), it didn’t matter. People with guns pointed at you were unlikely to have good intentions and if they wanted to take you, they’d have to work for it. You weren’t going to just hand yourself over, even if it meant getting hurt in the process. You heard them chasing you, could hear the crunch of their boots in the snow  but you didn’t look back, didn’t slow down.

 A bullet whizzed by your head, dangerously close and a hazy, half forgotten piece of advice you’d read online once or heard in a movie echoed in your brain.

 Zig Zag.

 You changed course, periodically moving from side to side and not running in a straight line. It almost worked, it was almost enough.

 Until you ran out of forest. You skidded to a halt at the edge of the moonlit lake you hadn’t know you’d been running towards.

 You jerked in fear at the loud bang of the gunshot right behind you and turned around the see three of the men advancing on you.

 “What do you want?” You demanded, sounding braver than you felt.

 “The Avengers took something that belongs to us and you’re going to help us get it back.” One of the told you smugly.

 “Hydra.” You sighed.

 You knew who they were now, knew what they wanted.

 “He won’t come for me.” You told them resolutely.

 “Yes he will.” Someone snarled an and there were three simultaneous gunshots, the three agents dropping in rapid succession.

 “Bucky?” You gasped as he stepped into sight, his gun held steadily in his hand.

 The moonlight reflected off his metal arm and you didn’t know whether to laugh or cry as he strode towards you.

 “We have to move. There are more.” He barked, just as the rest of the agents arrived on the scene.

 Without hesitating he stood in front of you, shielding you and firing his gun with deadly accuracy at the same time. But there were more of them and you heard his grunt of pain as a bullet hit him. He stumbled back slightly as one of the agents came barrelling towards him, a knife poised and ready.

 You had seen footage of The Winter Soldier in action before but nothing could have prepared you for the real thing. Bucky moved with a fluid, well-practiced grace that would have been beautiful if it weren’t for the danger he was in. You were so concerned with him, you didn’t notice the danger you were in until someone yanked you backwards by the hair and raised a knife towards your throat.

 You pained gasp drew Bucky’s attention and he immediately fired a bullet into the temple of the agent holding you, probably saving your life. But it gave his enemy a split second advantage and Bucky only narrowly avoided being stabbed in the chest.

 Your attackers grip on your hair had dragged you to the ground when his lifeless body fell and you pushed yourself away from the corpse quickly, spotting something on his belt and you didn’t hesitate to grab it. You had never held a gun before, it was heavier than you thought it would be but that didn’t slow you down and you turned around and aimed it. Bucky dodged and weaved, throwing well placed hits as he fended off the enemy and he could probably do this without your help. You didn’t need to pull the trigger. You didn’t need to shoot someone.

 But you weren’t going to take the risk.

 A gunshot was louder when you when you were the one holding the gun. The bullet you fired hit the final agent, tearing through his skull and sending his body crashing to the ground. Bucky looked at you, shock written all over his face.

 “Good shot.” He breathed out, wonderment and concern in his tone.

 “I was aiming for his leg.” You whispered.

 Maybe it was the adrenaline, maybe it was shock, maybe it really was just that funny but Bucky let out a surprised huff of laughter at your confession. You tried to stand up and he made a stride towards you before he stumbled and groaned, clutching his side.

 “Bucky?”

 “I’m ok.” He assured you but it was clearly a lie because he fell on the next step, falling onto the snow.

 You rushed towards him, half crawling and threw yourself onto the ground next to him, your hands frantically searching out the bullet wound he’d gotten protecting you. You found it on his shoulder, inched away from the metal. You desperately tried to stem the bleeding, pushing down on it.

 “I don’t, I don’t have my phone. Where’s your phone?” You demanded.

 “Compound.” He said softly.

 “Ok, ok. Car, did you drive? Maybe we can find their car. They must have had a vehicle. It wouldn’t have been on the road, so must be in the woods. Can you walk if I help you?” You asked him, forcing yourself to remain calm.

 “Belle.” He whispered, reaching up to stroke the bruised flesh of your throat with regret and shame in his eyes.

 “Bucky, can you walk?” You pushed.

 “I can walk.”

 You nodded and stood up, exerting your strength to pull him up and hoisting his flesh arm over your shoulder.

 “I have a car. It’s with yours. I saw yours on the road.” He said quietly and you exhaled in relief.

 He put a surprisingly small amount of his weight on you as you helped him through the trees. You hadn’t realized how far you had ran, it must have been a good mile and with every step you felt worse and worse. This was all your fault, if you had just listened to him and not gone in that room then none of this would have happened. Bucky had done a lot of horrible things, but the bruising on your neck wasn’t his fault. You had woken up a PTSD ridden soldier from a nightmare, and the chain of events it had set in motion had gotten him shot.

 You didn’t even realize you were crying until he leaned to the side and wiped a tear from your cheek, despite the hiss of pain when he moved his shoulder. You didn’t look at him, you couldn’t. You kept your eyes ahead and nearly sobbed in relief when you saw the road through the trees. You managed to get him there, to the passenger side of the black SUV he’d left parked in the middle of the road. You helped him into the car but when you tried to move away and close the door he pulled you back with a surprising amount of strength.

 “Don’t leave me.” He begged.

 “I’m not, I’m going to the other side of the car.”

 He shook his head and pulled you closer, nearly pulling you onto his lap as he rested his head on your shoulder.

 “Don’t leave me.” He asked again softly.

 You felt something wet trickle onto your skin and knew he was crying.

 He had nearly died for you, had unflinchingly placed himself between you and the danger, even though it was your fault the two of you were in that position. However harsh he could be with his words sometimes, however cruel, there was a good man underneath it all.

 “I’ll stay.” You promised.

Bucky: *Choking Belle* Belle: *Gasping* Harder... Daddy... Bucky: What? Belle: What? Steve: *Kicking down the door* WHAT?!?!

I need to make it clear, I am NOT romantasizing mental health issues. Suspend reality and accept that 90% of what goes on in this fic is NOT OK IN REAL LIFE! (Except shooting nazi's, that's totes ok.)

@spnqueen02 @nogardsoahk @chipilerendi   @youwerespared @jessieray98@nochampagnesocialist@scarlettswxtch@dropthepizza346@jsmith509@musingpredilection@shirukitsune@dragonrosegardens @sexyvixen7@spicymagz @teh-nerdette@nerdy-bookworm-1998@australianhorrorstory  @thejourneyneverendsx @mysweetcookie99

#Bucky x Reader #Bucky fic #Bucky Barnes #The Winter Soldier #Winter Soldier x reader #Bucky x You #Bucky x Y/N #Bucky x OC #Bucky Smut #Bucky series #Bucky fic. Bucky Barnes #Smutty Bucky #Dom Bucky #Slow Burn #Beauty and the beast elements #Avengers x Reader #Captain America X Reader #Captain America #Falcon #Falcon x reader #Iron man #Peter Parker x Reader #Peter parker #Platonic Avengers #Sam Wilson #Sam Wilson x Reader #Spiderman #Steve Rogers x Reader #Steve x Reader #The Avengers

[musical-in-theory]

Magnificently Malcontent Pt. 13

(It’s finally here!!! Thanks everyone for being so patient. I love you all so so so much. Welp, buckle up everybody. This is the longest chapter yet. It’s also the last one!)

Jameson shot up in his bed. His breath hitched and quickly became hyperventilation. The sheets beneath him twisted and crumpled within his clenched fists as JJ curled in on himself. The image of Marvin turning his back on the gentleman replayed over and over again in his mind. It was the only thing he could really see and process with his wide, all too bright eyes. His faded teal hair was a mess and fell into his face, but JJ couldn’t bring himself to fix it.

    All of a sudden, a pair of arms found their way around his torso. JJ’s trembling immediately stopped and all thought ceased except for one particularly instinctive reflex. Anti found him. Marvin told the glitch what he tried to do and now he’s come to kill JJ. That must be it. What else could-

    “Shhhhh. JJ, stop please. It’s just us. We’re right here,” a familiar voice cooed. JJ slowly turned his head to the side. Recognition sluggishly made its way to the forefront of Jameson’s mind. Chase, not Anti, was embracing him with a fierce kind of concern. JJ relaxed only slightly and let himself be held for a little while longer. It was a comfort that had been missing in his life for some time, and he couldn’t help but indulge in the temporary bliss it contained.

    The two brothers stayed in that position until reality came crashing back down on them. JJ wrangled himself out of Chase’s grasp and looked him in the eye. “I saw him. I found Marvin, but then- then I…” JJ drew into himself and signed in small, timid motions, “I lost him. He looked like he was finally himself again, but I couldn’t get him to come with me. I really thought that this would work. Why? Why didn’t it work?” JJ’s signing crescendoed. 

Chase sighed resignedly and looked back to where the other two egos stood. They had all been watching over JJ while he undertook his risky mission. Jackie stared daggers at his shoes. Chase could practically hear him berating himself for getting his hopes up. Henrik was at the opposite end of the spectrum. The grief lining every inch of his face was almost palpable. Neither of them seemed to be in a state to say what needed to be said.

Chase stood up and stepped away from JJ. His eyes wandered everywhere but where his little brother sat, tear tracks still painfully visible. “I’m sorry J, but it was a longshot anyway.” Chase paused and listened to everyone in the room gasp at his bluntness. “Marv… Mav’s not coming back. We have to just accept that and move on. Wasting time on hopes that he’ll come sauntering back through the front door is getting us nowhere, all while a real threat keeps growing stronger.”  

Chase finally found the courage to look Jameson in the eyes and immediately regretted that decision. The pure look of grief and anguish laced in his expression nearly made him want to take back everything he just said, to give him hope back and tell him that everything would be alright. Nearly. “It’s time we face the facts. Marvin is working for Anti and we have to take them both down. And I’m not gonna lose another little brother while you all figure that out.” With that, Chase turned on his heel and walked out of the room leaving three brothers paralyzed with shock. 

He truly didn’t want to give up on their lost brother, but after years of hoping for the best only to be met with disappointment and more loss Chase realized that sometimes the best course of action is to prepare for the worst-case scenario. 

    Jackie was the first to break the suffocating silence left in the young father’s wake. “Damnit, Chase,” he huffed under his breath, “I… he’s right. Fuck, he’s right. We need to stop Anti, but I can’t… I have to save him!” Jackie looked over to Henrik, and the doctor could immediately decode his real meaning. ‘I have to save my little brother. I failed Anti. I can’t fail Marvin.’ 

    Henrik nodded to Jackie and walked over to JJ. “I’m sorry, mein Liebling. You did your best, but we can’t keep risking you. You have something Anti wants. If you keep going after Marvin like this, we might lose you to him.” Henrik left a lingering hand on his shoulder and then led Jackie out of the room to go prepare for their inevitable upcoming battle.

    JJ can only stare out the door into the hallway for a couple of minutes. How could they just turn their backs on Marvin? Didn’t they understand how close he was to getting their magician back? JJ shook with anger, his hands balled into fists. He refused to just sit back and let them try to take down his big brother.

    Jameson dashed over to his desk and wrote a quick note. It simply stated where he was going and that if he didn’t come back, that he was sorry. JJ left the note taped to his door and walked out of the house with a fierce determination in his eyes. If he remembered it correctly, the spell he used to go into Marvin’s dreams created a temporary connection which he could still use to locate his magician. 

    The two wayward souls were camped out in another abandoned warehouse not too far from their original base. The dapper man made his way through the building, following the pull tugging on his chest. It led him to the signature purple glow of Marvin’s dark magic that sent enough pain to shatter JJ’s heart as he laid his eyes upon it. He sneaked a glance into the room to find Marvin in the middle of the same spell JJ had seen him perform the last time. His magic swirled from him with a ferocity JJ hadn’t ever seen from him before. 

    He took a deep breath and launched himself into the room, headed straight for his Marvin. He couldn’t see the knowing smirk plastered on Marvin’s face, one that was mirrored by the glitch waiting in the shadows. Seconds before JJ could lay a finger on him, Marvin spun around and lifted one of his palms toward the gentleman, all while keeping his other hand maintaining the previous ritual. JJ found himself frozen in place, petrified almost. 

    A slow clap echoed from the darkened corner of the room. Its owner emerged soon after and sauntered towards his puppet’s prey. “]W̷ell, w͝ell҉, w͟ell̸. ̵If͢ ͘it ̷isn’t͠ ̧th̶e ̶m͡an o͝f ́the ͠h̷ou̴r.͡ J͢a͏mes̶o҉n͞ ̕Jack̷son.̸ ͟Wé’ve͠ be͏en ̴waitin̴g͠ a l͟ong t̶i͠m̴e fòr̶ y͠o̴u t̡o g̶et here, ̧pét. Weren’t͝ ̷we̛ Marv͟in͝?” Marvin nodded his head subtly. “Alt̕houg͡h I ͡mus̛t ͝s͞ay,͢ ͜I’m͠ impre̵ssed͏.̡ I ̴didn’t͘ e͝ven͞ ͜need̨ t͟o̴ ͝h͘av̀e͝ o̵ur b̧o͜y̨ her̷e ģi̵ve ̕y͝o̡u ̸a ͘hint͜.” JJ could feel his stomach drop. He had been so sure that the hint to find the two of them was a sign that Marvin was still himself, that he could come back. 

    “Oh ye͢s,͘ and it ̴w̶a͜s ͠al͡l̵ t́oo͘ e͟as͡y to͏ get ͠hi͝m to ̧do it́.͢ ̨He̶ wa͟s ̀s̴ò eage͏r t͏o ҉pl̕e҉as҉e.̷ ͜He s͢ang like a l͏i͞tt͡le bir̵d.͞ To̴ld ̕m̡e ҉ev͟erytḩing̨ ͞abo͢u͜t̢ y̴o͡u̕ an͜d͜ ͠all th͝e reśt̸ of your f͜a̡mi̡ly.” He carded a hand through Marvin’s hair, which the magician accepted lovingly. “He w͟as j̛us͡t such̀ ͠a ̀gǫo͢d ̧li͡ttle̶ ́p͝u͞ppet.̷ No ̛m͘ore f̧èár̡,́ ̶no ̶mo͜re u̶nce̛r͜t̵ainty, no̶ ҉more h̛ard̷ ̵choi̢ces. T҉h̸at̛’s th͜e̛ th̴inǵ ab͡ou͘t̷ ͜my̶ p̶uppét҉s; They’re̸ f̶r҉e͝e͡ ͞f͠r̷om ͠all͘ of ͜thàt.” Anti glitched and suddenly appeared right next to JJ as he whispered, “Y͜͝ou̧ c̨oưld̢̧͢ be ̨͞t̛͡oo̷.”

    JJ blanched at the very thought of becoming Anti’s just as he so nearly did a measly 5 minutes into his video. “Oh ͜͝c҉͟o̴͘͏m͘͢è͢ ̢͟no̵w͠,” Anti purred, “J̢u͟s͞t͠ ͢t̴hin҉k͘ ̷òf̢ ͡i̧t̨, l̀i͘t͠tle oǹe. Y͝ou cou̷l̀d be ͝by Ma͡r͏vin͠’s̸ ͘si͢d҉e o͜nce͞ m͜or҉e.̷ ҉Yo͝u c̸oul̷d̶ ͠h͢e҉lp̛ h̡im ͞a̛n͘d b̵e̛ ҉a̷ fam̷ily ag̛ain. ͜Your b̕rothers ͢have̡ g҉i̡ve̵n͜ up̕ o͜n ̷h҉įm ͢a̛lrèady,͜ but y̛où ̢d͟on’t͘ ͝h͠ave t̢o.̧ ͞All ͝you̵ ͠h͟ave ͢to ́do͠ is śưbm̶it̛.” 

    JJ knew he shouldn’t listen to even a syllable of what the glitch demon said, but when he looked at Marvin opposing him, he wanted to give in. He wanted to do whatever it took to just be alongside his older brother again. But only for a minute. He waited for Anti to come face to face with him and then spat in his face. It was an ungentleman-like gesture, but he unfortunately was unable to use his middle fingers to get his point across. 

    “Y͠͠͠o̶̸̢u li͏́t̴̷͜tl̢e͜ ṕ̸͠é́s͢t,” Anti hissed. Just as the glitch was about to attack JJ, a syringe flew into the demon’s neck. Anti turned and growled at the people just beyond JJ’s peripheral vision, but he could see the glitch’s eyes droop just a fraction of an inch. A sedative, and that means…

    Marvin broke concentration on his spell keeping JJ frozen and flew over to the other side of the sigil painted on the ground. Now mobile once again, JJ hurriedly turned to look at his rescuers and saw his three elder brothers. A wave of relief washed over him mixed in with a pang of guilt for leaving them. 

    For a brief moment all he could do was watch as the people he looked up to the most fought with everything they had. Chase expertly handled his gun, dodging and weaving while still getting a few shots off. Henrik sliced with his scalpel and threw more syringes filled with a powerful tranquilizer. Jackie used every type of fighting style known to man to keep Anti off balance and focused on him. They all moved in perfect synchronicity, always in step so that when one went in for an attack, another was there to give him cover. JJ knew that the three of them had fought together before, but this was a sight to behold.

    JJ was about to go in to help as a distraction when he was stopped by an earsplitting scream. For a terrifying moment he thought maybe Anti had been able to stab one of his brothers with his knife, but then he realized that it didn’t come from that direction. It came from his left. Marvin. 

    JJ whirled around to see Marvin hanging limp but still upright, as if he were being held up solely by unseen strings. He looked like a puppet in every sense of the word. Purple smoke trailed skywards from the center of the sigil. JJ could hear the fighting on the other side of the room come to a standstill. He tore his eyes away from his magician and looked over at the others just as Anti glitched away. His sudden disappearance brought everyone out of their stupor.

JJ ran over to his older brothers. Henrik accepted him with open arms while the other two stayed on guard, searching for Anti. The glitch reappeared next to Marvin with a victorious smirk. He started to laugh but was cut off by a single gunshot that rang through the space. Smoke rose from the barrel of Chase’s gun and blood leaked from Anti’s shoulder. 

Any excitement that might’ve come from that small victory was stifled abruptly when they saw the same wound materialize on Marvin. He cried out in pain, but the glitch did not. “Game ̸̧͢over ̡̢̛b̷̷oy̨s.” Anti and Marvin’s voices both called. Before any of the others could make a move, Chase took another shot. This time the bullet pierced through the leg, and JJ could have sworn he heard a bone cracking from the impact. Yet again the same wound found its way onto Marvin. The man convulsed and writhed in excruciating pain. 

“Damnit! Die you son of a-” Chase trained his gun on Anti again, but JJ latched onto Chase’s arm.

JJ looked up at him pleadingly and began signing with his free hand, “No! Don’t you see? You’re killing Marvin! You’re killing your baby brother!” JJ tried to grapple the gun from the young father’s hands, but Chase shook him off.

“My brother is gone! That thing over there is just a shell that decided to lie to us for weeks, work with our torturer, and then use our best memories against us! So don’t give me that bullshit!” JJ expected there to be tears, any sign of remorse, in Chase’s eyes, but all there was to be found was a stony expression of determination and a spark of vengeance.

Chase aimed his weapon at the duo, and blood roared in JJ’s ears. Anti’s laugh only grew louder. Henrik and Jackie shouted at Chase to find another way. The world spun around the man out of time. 

And then it stopped. No one moved. No one breathed. No one, that is, except for Jameson Jackson. 

JJ looked around at the scene frozen in front of him. It seemed almost like someone had replaced everyone and everything with a wax replica, but he knew better. JJ felt a small device materialize within his pocket. When he reached in and pulled it out, he found a small pocket watch ticking away in his palm. Its silver gleam shimmered with a magic JJ had never seen before and yet it felt so familiar. He studied it closer and saw that its hands were ticking backwards. No they were counting down. He hadn’t the foggiest idea as to how he knew, but he knew that it was counting down the time he had left in this void he had inadvertently created. 

He worked swiftly. First he took the gun out of Chase’s hands and tucked it into the back of his waistband. His older brother had far too much experience with the weapon for today. Then he dashed over to where Anti stood and pushed him off balance just enough that he’d fall and give the others enough time to get out of there. His time was almost up. He could feel it, but there was one last thing to do.

JJ stepped over, in front of Marvin. His brother. His best friend. His partner in crime. Tears welled up in the gentleman’s eyes as he looked upon the sheer amount of pain held in Marvin’s face. “I love you. I will never stop fighting for you,” he signed against Marvin’s chest. He stepped back and let the scene resume. 

Anti’s eyes widened as he fell over from an unseen force. He hit the ground at the same time that JJ signed behind his back for his brothers to run. The little gentleman couldn’t see them all gape at how their little brother seemingly teleported across the room. He couldn’t see how Chase searched desperately for his gun which he no longer held in his possession. He couldn’t see how Anti squinted at him knowingly, how happy the glitch was that his long-awaited prize finally showed off his previously-hibernating power. All he could see was the fight returning behind the purple eyes staring back at him, a hint of blue intermingling in the dark.

Marvin could feel a ghost of where JJ had held his hands on his chest. The words swirled in the fog of his mind. But they weren’t soft like the phrases Anti used to keep him smothered. They were sharp, sharp enough to cut strings. 

“O̡h l͠i͞ttl̢e ̸oǹe.̢ ̡If onl͘y ̢y̡o͢u ͞ha̡d ju͟s͏t̸ wait҉e̡d ̡unt͞i͡l yo҉u͜ ̢we͏r̀e ͢i͏n my care͞ ̴to discov̷e̢r͡ tha̸t littl͞ę ̴quir̢k͜ ̡òf̴ ҉your͘s.͜ ́A ̸m͢an ou̴t of͘ time̢ i͞n̶ ̕e̵ver̛y w̧ay.” Anti cackled to himself, “You co̢ul͢d’ve̷ b͡een ͢s͞u̵c̸h͞ ̛an a̷s̕set, b̸ut ͡now yo͠u̷’̵re just͜ á ̴n҉u͡i͜sa̧n͟ce.͜ ͞Kit̡ty̵, ̨tak͘e ̛ca̛re of t̛h̡is li̷ttle p̶est, w͟on’͘t you?” Anti looked over to the numb magician, but he didn’t move an inch. He simply hung there looking back at his would-be prey with unseeing eyes.

JJ took his hand in his own and gave it a squeeze laced with an underlying message of, “I’m right here. It’s okay.” Shouts sounded from behind him, pleading him to get away from the danger, but JJ paid them no mind. He was close. He was so close.

“I’m sorry. I should have done more. I shouldn’t have let you stay isolated. I’m sorry.” JJ signed into his chest again. Blue began to overtake the dark violet in the magician’s eyes. His hands twitched. The fog lifted. The bond shattered.

Mavin collapsed to the floor as whatever force held him up dissipated. JJ barely caught him and lowered him to the floor. Next to the two of them, Anti screamed bloody murder. The spell backfired and let the glitch feel every inch of Marvin’s pain all at once. He glitched around the room violently to the point that the egos could see pixels of him in almost every corner. Then he was gone. A cold breeze blew through the building like a breath that the world didn’t know it was holding.

The others rushed over to JJ and Marvin. Henrik was the first to get to them and immediately started checking over the magician. “His pulse is weak, but still there. We need to get him back quickly.” Henrik tried to get JJ to give him to Jackie, but Chase pulled the good doctor back.

“We can’t bring him back to the house! How do we know he won’t try to attack the minute he wakes up?” Chase looked close to hysterics. The father was spiraling. He had no clue as to what just happened. He looked desperately for Henrik to give him reassurance, but there was none to be found. Henrik shrugged him off and went back to try to get Marvin to safety. Chase could only watch as they all carried off the same man who was their enemy only two minutes ago, but if they were determined to make this mistake then Chase was going to do everything in his power to make sure they wouldn’t reap the consequences.

Marvin woke up days later on the cot in Henrik’s room. Next to him sat JJ, fast asleep in a chair with his head resting on the side of the cot. Henrik was busy preparing materials and medicines that would be needed for the next several weeks of recovery, and a hint of red peeking out from the entryway told him that Jackie was nearby guarding the others. None of them had noticed the magician had awoken yet.

He tried to slowly push himself up into a sitting position, but a searing pain in his shoulder kept him down. He let out a sharp hiss of pain that garnered the attention of all three brothers keeping watch. JJ of course started making a fuss about him, checking on his well being, only to be pushed out of the way so that the actual doctor could take stock of his situation. Jackie also found his way into the room. He especially looked like he hadn’t slept at all since Marvin had been brought back.

“How are you feeling? Any dizziness, nausea?” Henrik pulled out a penlight and shined it into his eyes. His eyes flickered back and forth between the monitors and his little brother.

Marvin groaned in response, “Everything hurts. I haven’t been in this much pain since Jackie convinced me to test my flight by jumping off the roof.” A surprised snort came from across the room. The hero had almost forgotten about that day. 

“But you’re back? You’re… you?” JJ signed hesitantly. Marvin stared down at his blanket for a long while before nodding.

“Yeah… yeah. I’m me. And I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry. I-” Marvin devolved into sobs. Jackie and JJ pulled the magician into a hug despite the doctor’s half-hearted warnings to be careful. 

“No, hey none of that, man. You’re safe. You’re back. That’s all that matters. Honestly we should be the ones apologizing. We almost gave up on you. So, heh, why don’t we call it even.” Jackie gripped his non-injured shoulder.

“I’d like that. I just want to move on.”

A voice cut through their respite, “We can’t all just forgive and forget, you know.” Chase stood in the doorway, his anger thinly veiled, and as quickly as he arrived, he vanished back to his room. A small part of him was relieved to see Marvin alive and recovering, but that part was drowned out by paranoia and the sting of betrayal.

“Don’t worry about him. He’ll come around. I swear.” JJ squeezed Marvin’s hand.

“Yeah, I’m sure. I’m just glad to be home.”

(Holy shit! I can’t believe I finished this! Thanks so much for sticking with me through my first very big project. I have loved every minute of it, and I hope you did too. There may or may not be a shorter, sweeter sequel in the works as a way of saying thanks for being patient with me. I really hope y’all like how this ended. I sure do.)

Taglist:

@beerecordings @rachelclutch @egopocalypse @hexatrash @nikkilbook @egos-n-others @antibeaneverybody @whydoilovesomanyvillians @aether-mae @the-rampaige

#writing in theory #magnificently malcontent #marvin the magnificent #jameson jackson #antisepticeye #chase brody #jackieboy man #henrik von schneeplestein #jacksepticeye #jse egos #jse fanfiction

[jack-andthestalk]

Our Son, Arc II, Acceptance, Chapter 6.

My thanks as usual to @balfeheughlywed who really had her work cut out with me on this chapter. I in my own words was a nightmare. She didn’t give up on me and guided me towards the light! I sound like such a drama queen!   Thank you to @missclairebelle    who brought the much needed pizazz  to a plot point I am struggling with. Thanks to@ladyviolethummingbird​ who always checks and has an amazing relaxing presence that is the Australian in her! It is tough to write when one of the things that inspired you to, is lacking and season 4 was definitely lacking for me. But I love the books and the fanfic on here, so I decided not to stop just yet. 

Reverently Jamie put us back together. His hands lingering on my hips and stomach a moment longer than necessary. Picking up his coat from the floor, he wrapped me in, arms reaching around me back he held me to him for a time, burrowing his head into my hair.  He pulled back slowly to meet my eye. Reticence had replaced the madness which caused are frantic joining. Reaching down between us he grasped my hands and brought them up to rest above his heart, an anxious moment where we both went to speak, and I nodded my head to indicate he should go first.

  “I’m sorry Claire” he started haltingly “I have never taken ye like that before” he bowed his head, focusing on the ground, “– in anger” he finished quietly.

    “Hey” I tilted his head up to look at me, “I was angry too, remember?” Jamie’s concerned eyes searched mine, and I squeezed his hands once before letting go.

  “Jamie –“, my voice was deceptively low and calm.

  “There are some things I need to say to you” I continued slowly.

  Jamie nodded grimly and backed up against a workbench letting it take the weight of his legs, his head poised ready to listen. A beautiful auburn curl dangled on his forehead, freed by our earlier excursions. I took in his dishevelled thoroughly fucked state, and my stomach tightened, and a weird sense of pride ran through me, as I remembered his groans in my ear, that I pulled from his mouth. Pull yourself together Beauchamp!

   “Do you remember when I came for Jenny’s wedding, the first night I arrived?” his eyes narrowed in concentration and he nodded. “You got annoyed with your father and told me that you didn’t want people to know that Willie was the result of a one night stand?”

  “Aye”, his brows furrowed curiously.

  “You wanted Willie to grow up to think he came from love?” I continued.

  The Adam's apple below Jamie’s strong chin moved up and down with effort, and he cleared his throat before omitting a raspy “only because I knew he did” Jamie replied earnestly.

  “Yes but I can understand now why it hurt you for people to think he didn’t.”

  A sudden surge of loneliness ran through me remembering that night. I had gone to bed thinking Jamie was ashamed of what had happened between us.

  “Up there – at that party I have never felt more like the weight of a dalliance that went too far, the outcome burdening you with a child.” The words came with difficulty and had an instantaneous effect on Jamie, who rose, unfolding and outstretching his arms to me. “Claire –“. My hand waved him away. “Let me finish,” I said firmly.

  “And not only did I feel that way, but I was also left alone by you to work my way through it.”

  “I can explain" he held his hands up in surrender, "I dinna mean to leave ye or to be gone for so long, there was something I had to see about.” He blurted the sentence in one breath.

  I crooked one eye at him, “Have you any idea how hard it was for me to go tonight –knowing that this whole engagement is not even a certainty given what you told me this morning?”

A mocking smile curled my lips. Something like recognition passed over Jamie’s face, taking a moment I glared at him, challenging him to disagree.

  “Christ Claire I can see now…I shouldha thought”, I could hear him trying to keep the air of desperation out of his voice, but he was moving nervously, trying to meet my eye. “Its to do with the Dunsany’s I dinna want to tell ye in case…”

    “Stop,” I said firmly, pointing a finger straight at him, “I have heard enough about the fucking Dunsany’s, you just listen now.” My tone brokered no argument and Jamie rucked a hand through his hair and exhaled dejectedly

.

“It has been so hard since I arrived, giving up my life, career, friends – I never really had a home until I had Willie, always moving about with Uncle  Lamb, but when Willie came along, I built it with him in Boston.” A pause “on my own” I said each word clearly and pointedly.

  “Claire –“Jamie interrupted again, which caused me to hiss “will you just fucking listen first, then you can talk.”

  Another breath to still myself, “but it was ok because no matter how hard it was, I came for you and that was enough”.   Jamie rucked a hand over his jaw. I could see the quiver that ran through his body in anticipation of what I was leading to, how I felt he had failed me. 

  “A man joked about you getting ‘caught’” at that party I curled my fingers into air quotes at the word “-you walked away and left me, by your actions alone you confirmed what people already think.” I spat angrily.

He closed his eyes, breathing heavily. “An obligation,” I said clearly, but once the word had left my lips, the lump in my throat melted into hot angry tears and I wiped them away furiously.

  Jamie’s eyes snapped open, “Jesus Claire-ye are no an - “seeing the tears streaming down my cheeks he reached for me, his own face broken, “god Claire” he said in one even exhale of breath “ye are the furthest thing from an obligation.”

  I put one hand up to stop him, “just listen”, I said sighing “I listened to every single word you spoke last night.”

  The rain was pelting against the flat room of the stables, and I vaguely wondered if people would notice us gone but decided I didn’t care.

  “You came to Boston and proposed, and I got wrapped up in the dream, moving here, expecting you to fit your life around me, and not considering what our lives would look like here in Scotland.”

  I threw my hands up to heaven and laughed “God saying it out loud, I should have known.” My tone was bitter now and I consciously altered it when I spoke again. I tilted my head confidently, my mind decided in what I had to say.

  “Jamie, you signed a contract as a single man even though I wore your ring on my finger?” He put his head in his hands, capturing the need to blurt something his reasons by biting down on his lip.

  My heart hurt at the sight of him, he was expecting me to chastise him on not getting legal advice but it wasn’t even that, he still would have made the decision independently of me.

  “It’s completely unfair what they are doing, that goes without saying, and I am angry on your behalf that they are taking advantage of your honesty.” He looked slightly taken aback at my reasonability.

  “Willie wouldha had more sense”, he hissed under his breath. Something tore beneath my rib cage hearing him slate himself, while I was already doing a good enough job.

  “I know at the core of it, your reasons were to protect your home and your parents, you made a rash decision, and you’re paying for it now.

Jamie stepped forward suddenly, eyes pleading.

  “I did it for us too, Claire”, it was for our future”.

  “For our future?” I shook my head incredulously “without discussing it with the person whose future is entwined with yours?” He faltered now, stopping in his tracks before he reached for me.

   “Jamie -”, I sighed resignedly, placing the palm of my hand to my forehead, exhaustion and wretchedness seeping through my bones. I needed to make him see this was not about the contract, it was us, supposed partners.

  “I am terrified of what ye are about to say to me, Claire?” His voice was husky with emotion, I fidgeted nervously with my fingers, and pledged myself to continue.  “Neither of us expected what happened when I came the last time, it was sudden and passionate and I wouldn’t change a minute of it.”

  Claire…” he whispered while closing his eyes, he knew where I was headed. 

  “When I asked ye to marry me, I meant every word.” His words were choked, halting.

  Reaching his arms out in front of me, he beckoned me to him. I went, loving Jamie was not going to change but living my life with him was. My heart beat painfully beneath my ribcage.

  I struggled for a minute to form words, and Jamie took the opportunity.

  “Claire I will not let this go without a fight, I will not give up what we have, I don’t know how yet, but I will find a way, I am asking a lot, but I am begging ye not to give up on me just yet.”

  His eyes beseeched mine, the last thing I wanted was to give him up, he was mine, but I wouldn’t spend my life waiting for him to sort out this deal, nor could I pretend that none of this would have happened if we were truly ready to marry.

  “I didn’t act like a wife or partner, when I moved Willie and I over here without even telling you,” I said honestly. “We could spend the rest of our lives trying to change each other.”

  “We will learn – Claire..please -I may be able to get out of the contract.” His voice was full of desperate hope.

  “Jamie no matter how angry I am, you know I wouldn’t want you or your parents to lose their business, I couldn’t have that on my conscience.”

  His long eyelashes swept down his cheeks as he took a moment to think.

   “I am afraid to promise ye things I might not be able to fix, but I would lie or do far worse to keep ye. I have thought a lot today about just giving it all up, as selfish as that may sound” His voice broke on the last word, and I found myself making a shushing noise to soothe him. “I would do that Claire if it meant I dinna lose you or Willie” he swallowed hard. “I dinna ken what kind of a man that makes me, that I would risk my parents future either, but I would.”

    “I wouldn’t be able to cope knowing I had done that to Ellen and Brian, nor would you if it came to it.” I ran a hand over his face, “you are a good man, its why I love you.” my voice breaking with each word.

  Jamie’s head shook over and back in disagreement but I kept talking, for his sake, I had to make him see that there were too many things stacked against us, not only Hellwater.

  “I walked and walked this morning trying to work out what was hurting me most, and in the end, I knew”, I failed to control my shaky breath, and I bit my bottom lip to stop it trembling.

  “You aren’t ready to be a husband Jamie, tonight alone showed me that…there is too much of a bridge between us.”

  His eyes were frantic now searching, “Claire I am…I”

  I stood firm now, a determined face, stop drawing it out, Claire.

  “Jamie, please tell me if the roles reversed here, you wouldn’t be in the slightest bit doubtful at my commitment to you?” steel in my tone, shoulders straight I glowered up at him.

  Something resonated behind his eyes, suddenly he took me firmly by both arms, and he returned my look of determination. “Claire I can see how all this might look”, he waved his arms around him vaguely, releasing me for a moment before grasping me again.

  “There is nothing I want more than to be your husband? Surely you ken that?”

I looked away rather than answer him, and his eyes widened in panic.

“I am not sure you understand what it means to be one though”, the words sprang out of my mouth and part of me wanted to take them back when I saw the wounded expression hit Jamie’s face.

  “Not understand?” the pitch of his voice had risen incredulously.

  “I want a partner Jamie; I want a team, a family”, look at your parents! Brian would never have signed that contract without Ellen beside him.”

  Jamie looked at me now shamefully, “Claire I am so sorry, I can see how I have failed ye, but ye must believe me you and Willie are my world.”

  I lowered my head and shook it slightly, Jamie slipped a finger under my chin gently, forcing me to look up at him. His eyes softened, and his voice was filled with such honesty that I wouldn’t have been capable of looking away when he spoke.

  “Do ye remember” he began softly “when ye came for the wedding, and we slept outdoors with Willie. I nodded, not able to answer him coherently.

  “Ye put yer small hand in mine” he smiled wistfully, and ran his hand down my arm, placing our two palms face to face, a small hand mirroring a larger one.

  “I thought my heart would burst with happiness that night because I kent then ye dinna hate me.”

  “Jamie –I” my voice cracked.

  He put a finger to my lips, “and when ye let me kiss you, in Inverness?” I couldn’t help my lips curl up at the memory, but a tear escaped down my cheek remembering the burst of complete happiness I had felt that night.

  “It took all my strength to get my shaking legs down to the bar,  Ian thought I’d taken drugs or something, I couldn’t stop smiling.”

  Jamie’s lips turned up into a wide grin, and his own eyes glistened with tears. He brushed a lone curl behind my ear, “and then mo ghraidh” Jamie’s head tilted to the side slowly, drinking me in. “Ye let me take ye to bed, and I am fairly certain my heart stopped there with you.” He whispered “because I have never gone to bed with a woman and been made to feel the things you made me feel that night”, a blush ran from my neck colouring my cheeks.

“I love you so much Claire, and I want to be your husband, I have wanted you to be my wife for a vera long time, even at a time when I couldn’t say ye were mine.”

Jamie’s fingers trailed a path from my eyes down along my cheeks to cup my chin and turn my face to him. “ye are right, I dinna act like a husband, but don’t ever believe that it was because I dinna want ye” he said finally.

  I bowed my head, and he caught the tears that fell from my cheeks with the side of his fingers.

  “Jamie, I love you, but I have to go back to Boston, my home isn’t here without you.”

“yer home is with me and mine is with you, I can’t lose ye Claire” Tilting his head to the side so he could look up at me.

  “Jamie, stop,” I said quietly, “you don’t know what the future holds with all this, and we need to think of Willie too, he will be broken when you go to Hellwater, at least back in Boston he has his old school, friends, things he is used to.

  He nodded slowly, “I don’t want them near our son,” he said haltingly, an embarrassed flush ran up his cheeks, and he licked his lips nervously. “But I thought that maybe ye could stay here until I could manage to see what can be done about this?”

   A sudden flash of anger strengthened my resolve, I drew away from him. “So you expect me to wait here patiently while you try and dig yourself out of this whole?” I asked incredulously.

  “No…well…I mean…it may not take much” he stammered out.

  “Jesus Jamie you are unbelievable, I have left my job, my home and now you want me to live here while you move to Hellwater, in the vague hope that you might” I staggered my voice exaggeratedly “you just might get out of it?”

  “I ken that might seem unreasonable, but if you are here, it gives me hope…I canna lose ye.

  I breathed heavily through my nose, “I will stay with Willie, to give you time with him before you go but I am going back to Boston.” I said with finality.

  “Ye are saying you dinna want to marry me then?” he asked hotly, his eyes narrowed.

  “Jamie,” I said through gritted teeth. My patience was waning considerably “Of course I want to marry you! I fucking love you!

   I breathed in and out controlling my temper

“ But can you tell me what kind of a future we would have? You in Hellwater, me here – not even sure of how often you will be able to come home?” Maybe if we had years together, we might be strong enough, we haven't been able to live under the same roof for longer than a month, and you’re leaving again!!

  He bowed his head shamefully I thought he wasn’t going to reply until I heard a hair-splitting roar come from him and an overlying bucket went flying through the ground as he growled the word “FUCK.”

  He knew.

#ourson #outlander fanfic

[jimlingss]

The Deli Diaries [1]

Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4 || Chapter 5 || Chapter 6 || Chapter 7 || Chapter 8 || Chapter 9 || Chapter 10 || Chapter 11 [Finale]

➜ Words: 1.5k

➜ Genres: Fluff & Cuteness, That good ol’ slow burn, Slice of Life

➜ Summary: Working at a grocery store deli is absolutely unbearable (and you’re also perfectly aware of how dramatic you are). But it seems like something, or rather, someone might make the job a bit more manageable.

➜ Warnings: Mundane-ness that might make you bored to death

➜ Notes: Apparently, I don’t hate my job enough....now I’m writing about it. Whelp, might as well put all this information to use.

You hate your job.

It’s absolutely excruciating and you are so not being dramatic. They pay you minimum wage to work like a literal cow, running around with your pants on fire, trying to get everything done. Aside from making salads, pizzas, chickens, having to deal with customers, cutting meat and slicing cheese, and washing endless pots and pans, by the end of the day you always feel icky and disgusting. The red apron tied around your body is always splashed with soap and grease. If you even try to rub your eyes and relieve them of any itch, they always end up stinging painfully because your face is dirty, your hands are dirty, and you wouldn’t be surprised if your eyeballs were dirty as well.

And they have the audacity to call you slow and lazy around here…..so what if you are?!

“Hi, how can I help you?”

You have a slight skip in your step, securing your gloved hands behind your back, smile cracking at the forced enthusiasm. But the customer, like always, can never tell, and they tiredly point, pressing their index finger right on the window and printing a distinct fingerprint mark on the otherwise clear glass.

Your left eye twitches, considering how you’ll have to clean the windows….again.

From your angle, you can’t even tell what they’re pointing at!

“Hi, can I get four hundred grams of the honey ham shaved and falling apart?” The woman watches as you slide open the door of the meat case, squatting down to spot and lift the heavy ham. “That one, right there.”

“Okay.” You hold it in your hands, preparing to turn around and place it on the slicer. “Would you like any samples while you wait?”

“No thanks.”

Not only do you hate your job but it’s humiliating. You don’t mean having to wear a dirty apron that looks like a toddler puked all over you or a lunch lady’s hair net (which you combat by wearing a work hat — no one needs to see how atrocious your forehead looks with your hair completely pulled back). It’s demeaning how you’re selling your soul for capitalism….you need money, goddammit. And you need a lot of it. At least if you want to get a new phone, backpack, laptop, and textbooks for the upcoming school year. But it’s the most humiliating when they call you up and ask if you want to take a shift on your day off. The day of rest you’re supposed to have. A day to finally breathe and have freedom…….and just like that, it slips from your grasps.

You have no choice but to throw away your sanity and accept for the sake of money. It’s then and there that you’re reminded no one’s forcing you and you’re willingly doing this.

“Hi, do you need help?”

“Yes.” The man looks up. “I’d like a size four of the chicken cheddar salad please. Also, a size three of the potato salad.”

Your coworkers are nice and pleasant most of the time. The company is a pretty great company, union and benefits and all. You’re known for being good at customer service too. (No one can really tell you’re dying inside when you raise your voice a pitch and force a bright smile). But so what?

You still don’t like this job.

9:40pm.

Twenty minutes before it’s ten o’clock. Twenty minutes before you can clock out, leave this hell hole and crawl back to the hole you came from. Twenty minutes and you still have to clean the slicer, throw away three garbages, put plastic overtop the meat case and olive cart, and pull the rotisserie chickens that are left out there.

Twenty minut—

Why the fuck is there a guy standing there?

You blink. Once. Twice. Just to make sure your exhaustion isn’t playing tricks on you.

But nope. Yup. There’s really some dude standing there, facing the wall blankly like some kind of ghost and if he really is alive, you might just kill him. The fuck is he thinking when you’re about to close in twenty minutes and you have a shit ton of stuff left to do?! How rude.

“Hi.” You approach and for once, without a smile. You’re even slightly glaring, tone completely cold. Time is ticking and all you want is him gone. “Do you need help?”

“Uhhh…..” The stranger stares at you like a deer in headlights, as if he didn’t know you’d actually come up and talk to him. You’re not sure what he was expecting standing there. Maybe he’s an idiot. “Y—yes?”

THEN WHY DON’T YOU ASK ME FOR HELP INSTEAD OF JUST STANDING THERE?!

It booms inside your skull, threatening to spill off your tongue. But you hold back, not wanting to get reported and fired by your manager. It just boggles your mind how many people need help, but they don’t speak up at all. You’re not a mind reader. How are you supposed to know that they need help?! Is this what they think being polite is?! All they need is a nice ‘excuse me’ but nooooo, they choose to stand there motionlessly until you notice them. It’s so annoying—

Wait a minute. He’s that dude from produce. He works here.

The recognition finally hits you and you glance down at his name tag. In bold black text, it reads: ‘Jimin’.

You clear your throat, forcing the fading irritation not to show. “What would you like?”

“Ummmmmmm…..” He draws out the syllables, eyes darting around the meat case. “Uhhhh….”

He hasn’t decided?! God, maybe you should just slam your head against the concrete wall and try to get some kind of worker’s compensation. Though, instead, you choose to lean back and if you had any energy, you’d roll your eyes too, but you’ve been working for more than eight hours now and you’re so done. He doesn’t deserve your sass.

“I’ll take….”

But on a second look, dude’s kind of cute. You know you’ve made eye contact with him a few times when he was stacking up bananas and cucumbers in the produce section. To be fair, you’re supposed to look up every once in a while for customers like him (who stand there without making a peep, thinking that they’re being polite) and your eyes accidentally stray off to his own, right when he was looking up as well.

If you weren’t so pissy, you’ll admit he’s a pretty attractive guy, the kind that makes your palms sweaty if you think about it too much. He’s got a relatively adorable face, messy dark hair, puffy cheeks and cute eyes...not bad...not bad at all.

“Hello?” The male in front of you dips down, brows lifting, trying to catch your attention and you snap back into reality.

“Sorry, my bad. What did you want?”

“I’ll take some...uh...pepperoni.” He points, thankfully at a distance away and not pressing his dirty finger all over the clean glass windows. You like him already. “The pepperoni sausage.”

“Okay.” You slide the window open, taking the sausage before you look up at him. “How much?”

He frowns and quirks his head to the side, repeating you, “how much?”

“Yeah….like how many grams do you want?” It’s as if the guy hasn’t ever ordered from a deli before. “How many slices do you want?” 

“I….I’ll take a hundred grams.”

“Alright then.” You try do it as quickly as possible, throwing the meat on the slicer, rowing your arm back and forth vigorously, spinning on your heel to chuck the slices on the scale, making sure it’s a hundred before you punch the code in, printing a receipt, shoving everything in the clear baggie before slapping the sticker on top. “Here you go. Anything else?”

Jimin’s mouth was wide-open, brown eyes still big and staring at you, like he was about to say something important. But as he takes the plastic bag from your hands, his lips seal. “No...thank you.” 

“Have a nice night.” You shut off the slicer, turning around, rushing to clean and get all your closing duties done before you have to stay late. Oh yeah...did you ever mention that because you’re at the bottom of the totem pole behind here, they don’t pay you overtime ever?!

God. You hate your job.

As you sigh, moaning and groaning inside your head, body on autopilot and waiting for ten o’clock, you never realize that Park Jimin has stared at you for longer than necessary; and not in the same creepy way as that service clerk guy (who gives you stalker-ish vibes and you’re not just imagining it cause the other girls have agreed too) but rather, Jimin’s gaze is softened and timid. It’s only after a five-second delay that the boy finally turns around, and he, too, sighs, lugging his legs away, shoulders slumping, cursing himself for missing yet another opportunity.

#bts fanfic #jimin fluff #jimin fanfic #bts fluff #bts scenario #one of the reasons I'm writing this mini series #is cause I want to prove to myself I can do something under 10k #my word count has been ridiculous lately #so...yeah....anyways this is the first story of mine that actually draws from my irl experiences LOL

[thegrimllama]

Dress

Do you guys remember me telling you about the Dress fic?  Well you can thank @cannon-fannon @shesamarshmallow @dabvers for encouraging this nonsense.  

Read it HERE or below

It wasn’t supposed to be this hard.  There were rules in place, guidelines that she and Kara had hashed out over two bottles of wine (alien, for Kara) allowing them to keep this casual, simple, secret.  It was easy at the start, fuelled by alcohol and lust, taking over their intimate moments before the sun rose and settled them back into their platonic roles.  Months of late nights and sneaking home.

Lena glanced around the room, smiling when she made eye contact, eyes locking momentarily onto each person filling the room.  Instinctively her eyes sought out Kara, her body encased in a sinfully sweet cocktail dress that mirrored the colour of the cape that she wore on a daily basis.  She sipped her wine, dropping her gaze as Kara looked away from James, catching her appraising gaze.  Lena cursed her accelerated heart rate, she cursed Kara’s super hearing, because of course Kara knew Lena’s train of thought.  She always did.

Lena’s wine glass was still half full, meaning a quick escape into the kitchen was off the cards, so instead, swilled her syrah.  

“Congrats on the award, Luthor.”

Lena smiled, accepting a side hug from Alex.  She hissed lightly, Alex’s hand landing on a particularly tender spot on her ribs.  She flushed with want, pushing the vivid memory of Kara’s mouth latching onto that spot, to the very back of her mind.  

“Thank you, Agent Danvers…”

“Alex, please…”

Lena nodded, “Thank you, Alex.”  Lena glanced over her shoulder to the spot by the curtain where she last saw Kara.  Her best friend was still leaning against the back wall, clearly still trying to politely entertain James while discreetly watching Lena from the corner of her eyes.  

She smirked and brushed her hair across her shoulder as she turned back to Alex.  She could almost feel the heat of Kara’s gaze on her exposed back, she knew this dress was a good idea.  

The party wound down in the early hours of the morning.  Lena’s colleagues and investors were the first to vacate the ballroom, her friends, minus Kara, filed out shortly after, when the music was turned down to a minimum.  The high ceiling echoed the sound of high heels against the hardwood, perfectly in sync with the heady beat of the song whispering through the speakers.

“Lena?”

She sighed, leaning into the hand that slid onto her shoulder.  Kara’s voice was deep, soothing, bringing back memories of early mornings and hot nights, tangled in sheets. It wasn’t unwelcomed, but rules were rules.  They were in public.  Anyone could see them here.

“I booked a room upstairs.”  The words slipped from Lena’s lips before she had a chance to turn around.  She felt the pressure of Kara’s hands turning her on the spot, “You’re more than welcome to stay, if you’re too tired to catch a cab?”

Kara tilted her face to the side, scoping the room discreetly, “It is very late.  And that dress… Looks a little complicated.  Are you going to be okay getting into your pyjamas?”

Lena fought the shiver that was building from Kara’s fingers trailing down her spine, “I think I’ll manage, but I think I would appreciate having a friend there, just in case…”

Kara hummed and picked up Lena’s clutch, “Shall we?”

Lena led Kara to the elevator, smiling politely at the few staff still milling around the lobby.  She was almost self conscious of the heaviness hanging between her and Kara as they waited for the elevator, terrified that if anyone got closer, they’d break the bubble that was slowly building.  

The minutes dragged on, Kara’s hands fiddling with the two clutch purses, while Lena crossed her arms, willing herself not to give in to the urge to touch Kara.  She heard Kara sigh with relief as the elevator dinged, doors sliding open, slowly enough to make Lena wish it would just hurry up.  She smirked, Kara hit the close door button, three times in quick succession, stepping back with a whine as a family of four rushed into the elevator, thanking Kara for holding it.  Kara sood against one wall, clutching the two purses in one hand, the other had a firm grip on the support railing of the elevator.  Lena smiled from the other side of the elevator, knowing that there were definitely going to be indentations on the bar when Kara finally released her grip.  The family exited on the the third floor.  The doors slid shut and the cabin wobbled with the speed of Kara moving to pin Lena to the wall, “Do you know how much I wanted you tonight?”

Lena sighed, exposing her neck to Kara’s roaming mouth, “Judging by your inability to wait until we’re in the confines of our room…”

“It’s this dress… You know how I feel about you in a backless dress…”

Lena chuckled, slipping her arms around Kara’s neck, “Why do you think I bought it?”

“Because you’re a tease?”

She slipped out of Kara’s grasp and moved towards the opening doors,  “So you could take it off, Kara.”  She barely made it three steps down the hallway before Kara caught up with her, their subdued giggles echoing through the hallway.  

Lena stumbled into the door, one of Kara’s hands attentively tracing the curve of Lena’s hip, the other holding the clutch steady so Lena could remove their room key from the depths.  Her hand shook, encouraged by the whisper of Kara’s breath against her neck.

“Having trouble with the key?”

Lena pressed back into Kara, ignoring the groan from behind her, “You’re certainly not helping.”  

She swiped again, the light on the lock flashing red for a second time, Kara took her hand and steadied it as she assisted with unlocking the room.  The green light flashed, prompting Lena to swing the door open.  

She laughed, feeling her back hit the now closed door of the hotel room.  Her hands tangled in blonde hair, Kara’s lips finding the pulsepoint on her neck, sending Lena into a daze.  “Kara…”

The sensations on her neck ceased, Kara’s eyes locking onto her own, the silence of the room deafening as Lena felt herself slipping further into… whatever this was.  It was moments like these, in the dim lamplight that made Lena wonder, maybe… just maybe she wasn’t the only one falling.  

***

Kara brushed a trickle of blood from her lip, chest heaving as the dust and rubble settled around her.  She glanced over at Alex who was watching three aliens being loaded into the back of a DEO van.  She brushed the debris from her shoulders, standing painfully in the middle of the small crater she’d created during the fall.  “Danvers, a little help?”

Alex turned back, noticing Kara’s grazed legs and bruised face, she sighed and jogged to the nearest van to retrieve a rescue rope.  She planted her feet, tossing the other end down to the not-so super hero.  Kara climbed quickly, knowing that she was still quite heavy, even when solar flared. Collapsing next to her sister, she fought off the DEO medics, who were attempting to clean some of the blood away, “I’m fine.”

“You’ve solar flared, Supes… That’s the exact opposite of fine.  You were reckless,” Alex huffed.  

“Maybe that’ll deter any jerks trying to go after Miss Luthor again,” Kara winced as she sat.  “I don’t wanna sit in the sunlamps.  I had dinner plans…”

Alex laughed, “Well Supergirl, unless your date has some solar lamps at his apartment you’re not going anywhere…”

Kara grumbled and followed Alex back to the second van, “It’s not a date, and she definitely does.”

Kara watched the recognition dawn on Alex’s face, “At least come back and change.  I’ll drive you there myself.  First, we’d better call because she’s probably losing her mind right now.”

Kara rolled her eyes and reached into her boot as the van began the short drive back to the DEO.  Sure enough, there were four messages from Lena.  

LL:  Okay, that looked painful, I’ll charge the lamps.

LL:  Why the hell are you not getting up?  

LL:  I stg if you’re dead I’ll fucking kill you

LL:  Are you bleeding?? HAVE ALEX CALL ME

“She wants you to call her,” Kara said, tossing the phone to Alex.  She accepted the chilled water from Vasquez, who nudged another at Alex.

“Girlfriend worried, Supes?”

Kara choked on the water she was sipping, spraying a small amount onto an indignant Alex, who was dialling Lena’s number.  “Just a friend.”

“Lena, hey!  Yeah, she’s fine…”  Kara found herself wishing back her super hearing when Alex laughed, “I know, I know… You can…  I’ll have her there in an hour.”

Alex tossed the phone at Kara, who fumbled with it a few times before it hit the floor of the van by Susan’s foot.  “You owe me.”

***

Kara was still aching by the time they arrived at Lena’s apartment building.  Alex offered to walk her up, but she shrugged off her sister’s concerns and made her way to the elevator gingerly.  She fished her key from the back pocket of her jeans and swiped for the penthouse.  The elevator was jarring on her aching bones, but she knows for a fact that she’d never have made it up the stairs.  The elevator opened directly into Lena’s foyer, where Kara found her best friend standing with two glasses of wine and a soft smile.  Kara stepped forward, accepting the glass, thankful that her weakened state would leave her susceptible to the effects of the wine.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, just… a bit sore.”  Kara followed Lena into the apartment, eyes firmly fixed on the way her silk dressing gown clung to her curves.

Lena glanced back over her shoulder, holding a hand out, “Come into the bathroom.”

Kara reached out and linked their fingers together, squeezing Lena’s hand, revelling in the fact that she didn’t need to hold back.  

The large claw foot tub that was the centrepiece of Lena’s bathroom, was filled with bubbles releasing a soft aromatic fragrance into the room.  Kara knew that every single one of her muscles was going to relax the second she sunk into it.  She pulled Lena in close, her hand brushing back a strand of hair that had fallen out of the pins holding Lena’s hair back.

 “You are… the best friend an alien could ask for,” Kara said.  There was something about the wording that was sitting heavy in Kara’s chest.  Maybe she was overreacting.  It could have just been a side effect of the solar flare.  But looking at Lena’s downcast gaze, she realised that she was very wrong.

“I know, now get in there.  I don’t want the water getting cold.”

Kara nudged the silk off Lena’s shoulder, “You’re coming too, right?”

“I’m just getting the wine.”

Twenty minutes and a bottle of wine later, Kara had pulled Lena up onto her chest, trying to feel as much as she could while she still could.  As much as she hated feeling so powerless, there was an upside to a solar flare.  Every nerve on Kara’s body was on edge, tingling at the touch of Lena’s fingers, burning at feel of Lena’s lips on her face.  

The bubbles had long dispersed and the water was beginning to cool, but Lena was still here, still pressing kisses along Kara’s jaw, still proving to Kara that she definitely wasn’t the only one who’s heart was already in danger.

***

Is Lena Luthor Off The Market? Turn to page 12 for more

Kara scoffed as she glanced at the cover of the new CatCo magazine, of course they were going to jump on that.  James frowned at her following her line of sight, “Look, Kara…”

“No, I get it.  She’s a public figure, and I know you have free reign with CatCo at the moment, but don’t you think printing this without her go ahead is risky?”

“Either we jump on it, or someone else does.  This way, Lena has more of a chance of keeping this boyfriend a secret…”

Kara laughed loudly, startling Eve into dropping her stapler, “Secret boyfriend?”

“Well we’ve had no confirmation from her about whoever he is, so secret works.”

Kara shook her head, handing Jakes the cover, “Can I at least see the story?  Who wrote it?”

“Annika from social.”

James shuffled a few pages around before handing one to Kara, sure enough one corner of the page was filled with a candid picture of Lena, exiting her town car, a large pink circle highlighting two small bruises visible on the side of her neck.

“Seriously?  You’re running this picture?  Of our boss?  Our friend, James…”

James shrugged, “I tried to reason with Snapper, but he had a point.  The public want to know, and if we don’t run the story, we lose readers to other publications.  Why are you so defensive about this?”

 “Because it’s Lena!” Kara quickly skimmed the article, which dropped several names of male celebrities and CEO’s, trying to work out a timeline.  The smug part of Kara knew exactly where those hickeys came from, she knew who was responsible for the magnificent smile on Lena’s face.  She also knew that that twinge of jealousy bubbling away in her gut, was not normal best friend behaviour, and she was either going to have to get it under control, or she was going to have to have a much needed conversation with her best friend.  

***

Lena fell back onto the bed, gasping for breath made worse by laughter.  Kara joined her not long after, complaining about the absence of their pillows, which had somehow ended up on the floor.  Her blonde hair was tied up in a messy knot, cheeks flushed pink.

“You’re the one that tossed the pillows in the first place,” Lena chuckled, nudging Karas shoulder.  Kara whined and rolled back on top of Lena, attempting to reach the nearest pillow.  

“Get off, you’re sticky and sweaty and disgusting!”

Kara laughed and rubbed her face into Lena’s neck, “You weren’t saying that five minutes ago…”

Lena rolled her eyes, “Five minutes ago you had a hand between my legs, big difference.”

“Oh, so I should…”

Lena squirmed as Kara slipped her hand down her side, “I’m sensitive!”

Kara laughed harder, rolling off to the side, pulling Lena on top of her, “I’m teasing.”

Lena stared at Kara for a few seconds, “Should we talk…?”  She watched the acknowledgement flicker across Kara’s face, the straightening of her mouth looking more like Supergirl than Kara.  

“If you think we need to talk…”

Lena rolled onto her side, body still flush with Kara’s, legs still tangled awkwardly, “I think…. No, I know… I need to talk.”

She propped herself up on her elbow, knowing that this conversation was only going to end in one of two ways.  She didn’t want to get her hopes up, but the way Kara was looking at her?  The way Kara touched her?  Surely there was something to it.

“We’ve been doing this for nine months, Kara…”

“Nine months, this Friday…”

Lena snorted, “I’m being serious…”

“So am I,” Kara replied.

“Anyway… What are we doing?  This was only meant to be temporary…”

Kara shifted onto her side, “You want to stop?”

There was a moment of silence, thick and deafening, leaving Lena biting her lip, searching for words.  “I don’t.”  The relief was apparent on Kara’s face, but quickly replaced with her blank Supergirl mask.

“I’m sensing a but…”

“Very good, Obi Wan,” Lena quipped, attempting to lighten the mood slightly.

“Serious Lena.”  Clearly, it hadn’t worked.

“I don’t want to just be a booty call.”  She huffed out a breath and continued quickly, before Kara could get a word in, “I want you tonight, I want you tomorrow… I want to kiss you in the street… Hold your hand in public, with our friends… If it’s too much… If you just need me as your best friend, then tell me now, because I can’t keep this up if my heart is just going to end up broken.”

She looked up, Supergirl was gone, Kara’s soft smile back in its rightful place, “That’s good to hear.”

“It is?”

“I don’t want you to just be my best friend.  We’re not temporary, Lena.  We never were.  You were never just a notch on my bedpost,” Kara answered.  She pulled Lena down for a kiss, pouring every bit of contentment she’d felt over this discussion into it.

“Good.”

“Does this mean we get to celebrate our nine month anniversary?”

Lena laughed, “I’ll even got dress shopping.”

#this is traaaash #Delicate is up next #give me a few days #supercorp fanfiction #grims minis #supercorp

[heroesarelife]

So here’s a piece I have been working on for the beautiful @fandom-trash95 as a secret santa gift <3 it was not a request, but I hope you guys enjoy it just the same ^^ i was experimenting with a different writing style and exploring ways to play with structure a bit.

This is an All Might piece with their OC, Aiko, in a platonic capacity. Aka: dadmight goodness.

Aiko has a telekinectic sort of quirk, and is the daughter of a known and loved local hero (made up). That hero is in fact abusive and nobody would believe her about it, so her actual hero/example is her mother due to her strength of character. She’s 15 and wanting to go into heroics through gen ed. Does not ken how to fight.

Takes place after All Might’s true form is revealed and after his injuries are healed.

Word count: 2397

Warning: May contain mentions of abuse. Hinted depression/anxiety. Body dysmorphia. So so much angst.

It was either too early or too late, depending on how one looked at it. Toshinori liked to think it early, blissfully choosing to ban his ever so frequent restless nights from his memory. It was a brand-new day and, he decided, so should be his attitude towards it; novel and unwearied. With that fresh thought playing in his hopeful mind like a scratched disc, the once number one hero found himself jogging in the UA yard.

Many years had passed since he last felt the need to care for his body in this way. His whole self had been, for as far as his remembrance could reach, defined by healthy strength and sheer power, especially once he acquired his quirk – or rather, a quirk he had made his own through no small struggle. But before that, he would run. As fast as his legs could bear him. Going against time, fighting all odds that seemed strategically designed to disturb his desired path and crash his dreams. Only to find there was no end to his pursuit, no matter if he was called a hero, let alone number one. Even as the indefatigable media and dry-cut history books branded him as the pillar of peace, a bringer of hope in a world so deeply rooted in chaos. And he had foolishly believed the tales, if not in themselves at the very least moved by the feeling behind them. Allowing himself to be what was needed of him without sparing a passing thought to the limits that time imposed. To the chilling reality of his own mortality.

A merciless thing now forced upon Toshinori’s existence. Declaring its presence in every pained step of his flimsy excuse of an exercise. Felt throughout the junctions of his shaking joints, of the miserable wetness of his ragged breath. Making him so very painfully aware of how he was now reduced to nothing but a sorry shadow of his old splendour; a fragile creature, stripped of anything he once understood as intrinsic parts of himself. An antique in his own right. His body so unrecognizable to him as it was a stranger, a thing more dead than alive, glued together entirely by angled bones, stale blood and deep regret. The sudden notion filled him with unbearable anxiety, scratching him raw from the insides of his already too bleary structure.

He stopped then, battling to breathe, to stand. To be alive. Unsure on whether his struggle arose from the physical effort or the oblique fear he so wanted to deny. It was truth too: long had passed since he felt afraid, so much so he had barely lost grasp of its meaning. He couldn’t say he missed the emotion.

Dry leaves crackled a soft sound under his body as he sat gingerly on the grass. Resting. Regretting. Every contained movement an apology, as if abashed for the space his existence occupied in the world. Dawn approached timidly enough, traces of light prying holes through the dense clouds. In his current state of mind, the golden hero felt it was a fitting mirroring of his own soul; it laid helpless while dark thoughts hammered it with unforgiving fervour.

It was decidedly a bad space of mind to be, and he would have likely been stuck on that miserable vicious cycle for a long – well, longer – time, weren’t for the curious sounds. Subtle and distant, masked by the gentle ruffle of leaves and careful bird’s twitting. Out of place and yet familiar. Immediately recognizable despite its faintness, like a road travelled often and again as to be found even if blindfolded.

He got up, painstakingly and insecure on these foreign limbs, and followed the invisible trail, finding his way through air rather than soil. Sure enough, there it was. The source of the sounds stood tall amidst the hidden training ground, the unmistakable energy of a striving hero surrounding the young girl’s body; much more telling than the evident exercise could ever be. And Toshinori had some pride in his ability to recognize a hero’s soul at first glance. Something that proved useful on his particular line of work. Or what used to be, he corrected himself hurriedly, with no shortage of shame.

She hadn’t noticed his presence, and he was thankful for the small blessing. The slender girl was deeply engrossed on her own exercise, which seemingly consisted of eradicating a piteous wooden dummy existence to no more than shreds and broken pieces. An objective, he was quick to realize, she was failing at. She staggered on her feet, all movements uncertain in nature, uncoordinated jabs and kicks throwing the promising strong body off balance, uneasy, coy. Lacking the motivational energy he could so clearly see she possessed. As if her soul and body were in disarray, somehow disconnected from each other.

When the growing frustration apparently reached a marked limit, the youngster let out a fiery scream, her quirk lashing out in chaos. An invisible force throwing all the training equipment far and high, the shocking crashing sound putting to flee all the poor unsuspecting animals on the immediate vicinity. The so-called symbol of peace had approached – or so he must, at a given point, since he found himself close to the border of the training ground, staring at the wreckage it had become. In plain sight for the student to see him, which promptly happened, her body turning with impressive smoothness despite the anger, and haunting suddenly, shakenly.

He could have understood – was in fact half expecting – if the girl had blown up on him, seeing his presence as prying and as added pain to injury. Or maybe she would shy away, embarrassed to have had a witness in that singular moment. Or, more irrationally, somehow starstruck by being face to face with no one other than All Might. Instead, he was humbled. In an impressive demonstration of self-awareness, she stood still, silent. Chin up and clenched trembling fists the only indications of possible nervousness.

He bowed his head slightly and forced a smile, raising his hands in peace. Attempting to ease the situation. “That was a nice quirk, indeed, young student! I’m impressed I haven’t noticed you in training before with the rest of the class.”

Immediately, he realised he had said the exact wrong thing. Instead of relaxing into casual conversation, she kept her position, something like hurt moving behind her eyes and then hidden masterfully. He would have been impressed, had he not been busy feeling terrible.

“Of course you wouldn’t.” She answered dryly, resenting. “You all only look at heroics. I’m with general ed.”

Giving himself a metaphorical slap, he grimaced. The girl wasn’t wrong. However, typical of its dry nature, plain truth tended to be a hard pill to swallow. He opened his mouth. Changed his mind. Closed it again. Was no matter; she wasn’t paying attention.

“I don’t care about how difficult it is. I have my mother’s quirk, and I will become a hero just like her.” The bold statement carried within an odd note, almost as in a rehearsed conviction. If you repeat it enough times, it becomes true.

Conveniently saved from giving a proper answer about the failed school system, he lashed onto the opportunity. “Is your mother a pro, then? What’s her hero name? I might know her.”

A head shake. Firm, emphatic. “No. I said she’s a hero, not a pro. My father is a pro, but he’s not a hero.” Her voice raised slightly at that, hard with challenge. “Do you know the difference?”

The sudden serious topic caught Toshinori unawares. A kind being, he took no offense from the remark, allowing it to simply exist instead, harmlessly floating in the air between them. Of more importance was the feeling behind it, he decided. Because he could see the apprehension, the sad belief driving the words. The adult in him very much conscious of the surprisingly complicated anguish he could see on the youngster’s expression. It clenched at his heart, a feeling of protection rising there, as vivid as it was strange.

“He doesn’t deserve to be called a hero.” She went on. Maybe to fill the silence. Or maybe to assure herself. And then raising her head, sudden and abrupt, looking at him with something like sorrowful acceptance. “But you don’t believe me. No, you wouldn’t. Nobody does.” Her voice faltered, its shakiness being covered by a flimsy laugh.

He smiled softly, somewhat saddened. Dropping altogether the attempts of redirecting the conversation towards safer topics. She was having none of it, and he too had to admit he lacked the will to keep the pretence. Toshinori struggled. Lost in the situation and yet the need to help overcame him, despite not quite knowing how. The way he knew wouldn’t work anymore. Those days were over.

He reached a hand, placing it awkwardly on her shoulder, hoping it would bring comfort.

“I believe in you, young lady.” He said then, finally. The honesty of his words matching hers. “I still have enough integrity within me to recognize the truth when it stares me in the eye. Or so I like to think.” And that was, perhaps, the only honest thing that passed through his lips in a rather long while. Such recognition shook his structure to the core. What a hero he was.

Her eyes widened, unbelieving. And then, simply and acutely, filled up with raw emotion. She looked as surprised as him by the sudden outburst, but the intensity of it overcame her with such power he could clearly see it was beyond of her control.

He squeezed her shoulder gently, in assurance. “It’s okay. You can let go.” And she did, burying her face in both hands and allowing the feeling to cleanse away, escaping through her fingers and dripping onto the earth, like pure offerings of liquefied frustration.

This he could handle. This he knew, maybe a bit too much, he thought with no small amount of endearment, remembering the kind boy he had chosen as his successor. So Toshinori stood close, solid and understanding, hoping that would be enough as he, too, was depleted of much more to give.

Slow and sure the shaking under his hand subsided to smaller intervals, until all that was left was the relieved weakness that usually followed breaks of such strong nature. She took a step back, sniffing through the emotional hangover and wiping clumsily at the wet cheeks. It did not escape his eyes on how she now looked lighter, as if the irons trapping her limbs had been removed at once. He sighed, relieved.

“Do you think I can make it?” The girl asked then, somewhat shyly, eyes cast down.

“Make it?”

“Into heroics. With my quirk, I mean.” She clarified, looking up and facing him directly. “You are All Might, right? So you should know. If it’s possible, for me.” She finished, lamely.

Toshinori looked into the youngster’s dark eyes, sparking with the threat of controlled tears, recognizing in its depth the longing so akin to his own; bridging past, present and future. The hardship and fear. And the buried hope, hidden in such a way as to not show itself overmuch. Dreading what would become of it if her dream got pulverized to dust by the cruel mortar of reality. Because so he could understand, some things didn’t change.

“Well, I’m not very mighty right now.” He said for lack of something better, scratching the back of his head, at a loss. Feeling thoroughly inadequate for what this one child needed; all too aware of how little he was reduced to. How less of anything he currently was.

“You are still All Might.” Came the answer. Not surprise, nor judgemental. Rather she sounded puzzled, almost delicately curious. As if pointing out an obvious answer. “Nothing is ever created or lost, only transformed, right?”

That took him aback. A deep part of him – a fearful one, always ready to hold onto self-depreciation – reacted strongly, prompting him to reject the wild notion at once. Holding his stand, he looked at his hands instead, pensively. They were big and callused, angled and rough around the edges, used and abused for many years to count, winning against a multitude of enemies. Keeping the piece through sheer strength and peril. While still the same size, they were now frail things, almost disconnected from the rest of him, a reminder of what he could never do again.

But as the girl stared at him expectantly, he thought that maybe it was less a matter of fact and more of interpretation. Free transformation. Perhaps there were people he would never be able to reach as his old self that he could in his current form. With these very same hands. And perhaps a little too late in his life, he came through the rather rattling realization that some things could only be effectively handled through a more complex touch than a shallow-minded punch could ever allow. He closed his fist slowly, considering the perspective that there was something else his fists could hold onto. And protect.

Well, wasn’t truth found in the oddest of places? But Toshinori has never been a picky one.

“The problem” He began, decisively. She raised her head in interest, her ears metaphorically peeking up to absorb whatever he was about to say, while carefulness and fear still lingered in her eyes. “Is not your quirk. But your fighting ability. If you train that and master how to use your quirk alone, you can become a powerful hero.” He said, meaning every word. “I could teach you some of the basics.”

She smiled then. Finally. It was a bright thing that he would like to see more of. Yes, this was the right decision. Maybe there was more to him, and to everything he had gone through, than the ability to defeat new villains with mindless power. He could still do things that would bring meaning to the world, even if not in the straightforward and simplistic way he had grown used to.

Hope had not been born with him, and wouldn’t die with his last breath either. If he could make sure that it would live through and be translated with the next generation of heroes then maybe, he thought, a single Symbol of Peace would no longer be necessary.

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#yagi toshinori #toshinori yagi #all might #bnha imagine #bnha imagines #bnha oc #bnha #mha #scenario #scenarios #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #platonic #original content #angst #amethyst #amethyst scenarios

[whatdoyouexpectthistime]

Astoria: In Chaos - Part 2

PART ONE < Read here.

DAY 8

Another day, another bloody great hole in the ground – this time slap-bang in the middle of an elementary school playground. Miho knew this, because she’d managed to snap a few photographs of the scene, and then of the suit- wearing sweepers who blew in like the wind and cordoned everything off.

Triumphant, she returned to her office, set on stirring the pot with enough vigour to force the ‘cover-up squad’ to reveal something.

But, it wasn’t an especially clever tactic.

“Fujiwara,” came a shape bark across the top of the cubicles in the news room, and Miho paused the furious tapping of her fingers against the keyboard.

A ripple of whispers rushed to meet her when she stood to find several uniformed police officers, followed by the woman she knew only as Agent Mann and a somewhat nervous looking man in similar attire, stalking in her direction.

“This is an order for the seizure of all your work materials,” Agent Mann told Miho in a business-like manner, “along with your cell phone, laptop and any storage devices.”

“What?” Miho blinked in utter shock. “You can’t do that!”

Agent Mann’s eyebrow raised, but rather than argue, she simply handed the piece of paper to Miho who frantically began to study it.

“This,” Agent Mann continued, producing another piece of paper, “is an intervention order preventing you from approaching any clearly signposted crime scenes. Failure to adhere fully to both will be considered contempt of court, and will attract the full weight of penalties that apply.”

“You’re banning me from doing my job?” Miho snarled, snatching the second piece of paper but not even looking at it – the first was legitimate. “Where’s Hades?” she snapped, even as the police began to empty Miho’s cubicle into boxes. “Did he not have the courage to carry out this gag order himself? What is he so afraid of hm?”

Her teeth gnashed at Agent Mann before her eyes flashed at the man standing beside her.

“Not you,” Agent Mann responded dryly. “You’re also required to delete any data you have stored in the cloud, and surrender any notes and materials in storage at your place of residence.”

No matter what Miho said, Agent Mann would not relent, and in the end she was told to wait in the editor’s office while the police did their thing.

Working her jaw painfully, her knuckles popping in tight fists, she glowered out the window. Outrage grated against her skin, itching and burning.

“Think this will stop me getting to the truth?” she hissed, and it just so happened her editor walked in as she said it.

“Yes it will,” her editor declared curtly. “What use do you think I have for a reporter who will land herself in jail if she so much as looks at a crime scene?”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Miho exclaimed. “Editor, I’m the best you’ve got.”

“Not anymore. Go home, Fujiwara.”

“What?” Miho blurted.

The editor sighed.

“I’ll get legal onto this intervention thing, but when the feds are involved…”

“Did you see a badge? FBI? NSA? Homeland Security?” Miho balked, face getting more and more red. “Of course not, because they’re none of those things!”

“Whatever they are, those orders against you are legitimate, so until this is resolved, you’re suspended.”

Slack jawed with disbelief, Miho stared at him until he shooed her from his office. On her desk she found her mobile phone, and when she checked she discovered not just those pertaining to her investigation of the mysterious damage had been deleted, but all images and videos. It wasn’t until he cleared his throat, that Miho realised the suited man was still standing by her cubicle.

“I’m here to oversee the removal of data from your cloud accounts,” he explained, and Miho narrowed wrathful eyes at him.

This caused him to squirm a little uncomfortably.

“Um, really, you have to, so, don’t say you don’t have any or…”

Miho interjected.

“Or what?”

Her teeth chewed through both words, and she looked like she was about to chew through him.

“Or, or Agent Mann said Hades will handle it,” he replied, seeming like he wanted to take a very big step away from her.

“That arrogant toss,” she snorted bitterly.

The man’s eyes widened – a little bit shocked, a little more fearful.

“I wouldn’t speak about him like that,” he warned, the word tumbling from his mouth.

“Or… what?” Miho repeated, leaning toward him. “He’ll drag him into the Underworld and torment me for all eternity?”

It was difficult for Miho to imagine the man’s eyes getting any wider without his eyeballs dropping from their sockets, and she couldn’t tell if it was just because he felt affronted on his boss’ behalf, or was thrown off by her gall.

Either way, Miho didn’t back down.

“In fact, why don’t you scurry on back to whatever rock you lot crawled out from under, and tell him exactly that,” she hissed, snatching her phone and her handbag before stalking from the office.

The agent didn’t stop her.

It was as Miho stomped across the foyer that it occurred to her.

That rock they crawled out from under… if she wanted to know who they were, she should just follow Agent Uncertain back to it.

 Twenty minutes later she stood before the building Agent Unsure had disappeared into: the Grand Olympian. Miho debated the merits of making a frontal assault, of walking right in like she belonged there on the chance she could bluff her way to the information she sought, but that was fraught with pitfalls.

“Seriously,” she muttered to herself. “Who do these people think they are? Hades and the Grand Olympian? Hmph.”

Several people walked in and out, allowing her a glimpse of the foyer, and the several black-clad, stoic suits standing guard.

“After what they pulled,” Miho growled to herself, losing the battle with her anger and storming across the street.

Into the foyer she stalked, eyes filled with determined balefire, posture set with get the fuck out of my way, and in the middle she stopped to glare from blank face to blank face.

“I want to speak to Hades,” she declared flatly, locking eyes with the nearest man.

The only movement he made was the slight twitch of his eyebrow and his lips as he spoke in the expected monotone.

“Ma’am,” he began, and that only enraged Miho more. “This…”

“This is about to be a really unpleasant scene,” she snapped, her hands flailing about in an animated fashion. “Because I don’t care what excuse you give me, this front doesn’t fool me. So get yourself on the phone, intercom, radio, whatever, and get that underworld princess down here to face me.”

That got more of a reaction. She may not have known what she said, her comments based purely upon his name, but just as Agent Stutterpants, the suits in the foyer looked startled.

“I’m sorry, Ma’am, but you’re going to have to leave,” a second suit told her when he emerged from his bewilderment, and he reached for her arm.

“I will drop you,” she warned ferociously. “Keep your hands to yourself.”

“If you won’t leave willingly, Ma’am, we have no choice.”

A moment later Miho was manhandled from the building and propelled toward the pavement, but what might have actually caused her to fall most inelegantly actually resulted in a most serendipitous collision.

“Sir!” Suit #1 exclaimed, when Miho was practically thrown into his arms.

Equally as surprised, Hades looked down at the woman he’d reflexively caught in his arms as she was flung in his direction.

A little panicked perhaps, Suit #2 and Suit #3 moved up to them, #2 grasping Miho’s shoulder. Though Hades’ grip was light enough that she was drawn away from his chest, a moment later the offending suit hit the pavement with a heavy thud, his arm pulled behind him by the wrist, before Miho leaned her knee in between his shoulder blades.

“I warned you what would happened if you laid a hand on me again,” she hissed. “I was an assassin in a past life!”

“Miss Fujiwara,” Hades’ stern voice rumbled, and her blazing eyes snapped to him. “Please unhand Agent Trevaughn.”

“When I have his word he won’t touch me,” she grated.

“Agent?” Hades prompted, deciding it was best to quickly resolve the situation there on the footpath – even if it meant giving Miho some of what she wanted.

“You have my word,” Agent Trevaughn croaked, cheek pressed against the rough concrete.

Instantly Miho rocked back and released her hold, putting a few paces between she and the man before looking to Hades again.

“Fancy running into you here,” she exhaled, her smile the vicious injury he’d perpetrated against her. “Just the god I’m after.”

Like the suits before him, Hades raised an eyebrow.

“You want me to roast you out here, or inside?” she asked.

“Hm, I have a better idea,” Hades responded. “Why don’t you calm down and join me for a cup of coffee?”

“Are you really sure you want me in possession of hot liquids?” Miho challenged stubbornly.

“I seldom get what I want,” Hades told her calmly. “But, if you are in any part the reporter you are reputed to be, you would not turn down the opportunity to converse with the subject of your…”

“Ire,” Miho filled in frostily, and Hades merely accepted it and inclined his head.

The suits looked at each other.

“So, is it coffee?” Hades prompted.

“Tea,” Miho sniffed defiantly, but she turned her body to indicate she was ready to move out.

“As you were,” Hades nodded to the suits, and with curt recognition they headed back into the building.

 A short time later, Hades placed a cup of Lady Grey tea before Miho, before sitting down opposite with his freshly squeezed juice.

She considered his choice of beverage, still clinging to her scowl, determined not to be pacified and yet the grass-shot juice Hades lifted to his lips seemed somehow incongruous with his presence.

“Something wrong?” he enquired, putting the glass down.

“I’d write you a list, but you’d only have your lackies swoop in here and confiscate it,” she charged, but Hades remained unaffected.

“You were warned,” he pointed out, aware the remark would win no favour with her.

“Oh well then, a warning makes it all just peachy,” she snapped, leaning forward. “What are you hiding you’d ruin my career like it was nothing?”

“Actually, Miss Fujiwara, only you are responsible for your actions and their consequences,” he told her, an Miho’s grip tightened around her tea cup.

He watched as she struggled to hold in another unseemly public outburst, that could flip the table and spatter the green rage of vitamised fruit all over the café. But trembling she slowly rose from her seat.

“Thanks for the tea,” she dropped icily and turned to move, but the command – or perhaps something else in Hades’ voice – caused her to freeze.

“Sit down, Miss Fujiwara.”

Before she could comply or tell him to fuck off, Miho made eye contact with a familiar person.

“Oh, hey Miho,” Mieke grinned at her best friend, then slid her gaze to the man behind her. “And… Hades… uh, I mean, Sir.”

“Hades… Sir?” Miho repeated, processing Mieke’s greeting carefully. “You work in an office?”

“Uh… yeah, I do,” Mieke cringed.

“His, office?” Miho pressed on, and she didn’t miss Mieke’s pleading glance at Hades.

“Miss Fujiwara,” he prompted, but this time her resistance was decisive.

“Rabbit holes,” she chuckled mirthlessly as she stepped in beside Mieke. “You really never know what you’ll find.”

She then stalked on out of the café.

“You and Miss Fujiwara are acquainted,” Hades stated, and with shoulders slumped, Mieke sighed out her answer.

“Best friends, Sir,” she breathed, “though probably not anymore.”

“Perhaps you could soften the blow of her recent employment crisis,” he suggested, but Mieke was already shaking her head.

“I’m sorry, Sir, but if there is one thing Miho really can’t tolerate, it’s lies, and I’ve been playing dumb as she poured out her frustration over not being able to get anything on HERA – ugh – if she ever speaks to me again it’ll be a miracle.”

 Avoiding the confines of her apartment, Miho strapped on her sneakers and began a steady lap around Astoria park. If she couldn’t work, she’d lose her apartment, but that was the furthest thing from her mind – there was no one she could trust now: not her boss, not city law enforcement, not even her best friend.

She was on her own.

And where there were lies, there was something to hide.

“I – will – find – out,” she vowed, words panted out to the rhythm of her footfalls, but her cheeks were wet with distress.

Mieke’s betrayal hurt so deeply, Miho lost sight of what she’d been pursuing and just ran, so much so it was dark by the time she finally stopped.

“Now what?” she exhaled, looking down at her hands where she sat on a park bench.

Feeble fists clenched.

“Ugh!” she shouted, jumping to her feet. “This is bullshit.”

Scratching at her aggravation rather than allowing herself to sink into misery, she picked up her feet again and headed to her local gym to take a shower and change her clothing. But she didn’t go home after that she didn’t go home.

Swathed in brash indignation, she caught a cab a little way before getting out a block from the first crime scene she’d investigated where Hades and his band of merry suits had shown up – she would check them all again, slip through the black fencing and look for clues, anything that could give her a story worth her boss putting his ass on the line.

Sticking to the shadows she slunk with practiced silence and dexterity, but suddenly she stopped her advance.

It must have been her day for familiar people showing up at inopportune times.  

“What the fuck is Agent Moron up to?” she murmured to herself, watching him acting very suspicious as he approached his own barrier.

With tailing skills even Kaga would be proud of, Miho drew closer, slipping with almost ridiculous ease past the couple of guards posted, and into the obstructed area. Hiding, she crept closer to see what Agent Hopeless was up to.

She found him examining the deep hole in the sidewalk, much like the others she’d seen, waving over it with a little device with flashing lights.

“What are you doing, Agent Dipshit?” she whispered under her breath.

The answer that came wasn’t really an answer at all… two bodies suddenly flew overhead, limbs flailing and faces pinched in painful grimaces. Their impact with a nearby building was so solid some of the render cracked and flaked away, and when the pair of suits hit the ground – they didn’t move.

“What the?” Agent Stupid blinked, turning sharply from his fallen compatriots to look in the direction from which they’d come.

Scrambling to stay hidden, Miho narrowed missed being hit by… a car… that soared several metres into the air before barreling in Agent Idiot’s direction. He dove to one side, drawing a handgun as he did and taking aim at…

“You HERA guys,” a low, slow voice rumbled, as a real lump of a man came into view on one side of the crater, “so squishy.”

“Minotaur?” Agent Dumbass grunted. “You’re back in the States?”

It was a stupid question, because clearly the guy was right there.

“You gonna shoot me?” Minotaur sneered, and Miho inhaled a sharp breath while fumbling to get out her phone and start recording.

“That depends if you’re willing to cooperate or not,” Agent Sideways replied, but his gun hand was trembling and he seemed to be in considerable pain.

“Unlikely,” Minotaur chuckled, slamming his balled fist into his palm, and for a second there was an orange flash.

Miho swore there was an orange flash in the shape of an angry bull.

“If… if you’re responsible for this,” Agent Retreat stammered, scuttling back, digging for his phone with his free hand.

“And imagine what I’m about ta do ta ya head,” Minotaur leered.

Raging to life, the orange bull, surrounded by irritated sparks, rushed from behind Minotaur and snatched Agent Hapless off the ground. Much to Miho’s amazement and in no small part horror, Agent Ragdoll was shaken violently in the luminescent bull’s grasp, so hard his keys and loose change were flung from his pockets and his phone was thrown across the crater and landed close to where Miho was hiding.

“Agent Schmit?” a voice called from the asphalt, more urgently the second time when Agent Schmit, let out a cry coinciding with his own solid path to the ground.

“Fuck,” Miho gasped, twitching in indecision before finally darting out and snatching up the phone. “Agent Schmit is down!” she hissed. “27th Avenue near St. Margaret Mary – there’s a… mino…”

Despite the questions flung at her Miho stalled as the rampant, glowing bull stomped up to Agent Schmit and look set to crush him underfoot, all while the man himself grinned sadistically.

“Fuck,” Miho exclaimed once more, dropping the agent’s phone and turning her own around. “Hey asshole!” she shouted, setting her phone’s flash on strobe.

In the darkness she might have been little more than a silhouette, a faint shape flashing brightly that divided the creature’s attention long enough for Agent Schmit to crawl to where his colleagues were beginning to rouse.

“Who the hell are you?” Minotaur huffed, and as he turned his body to fully face her, the towering bulls did the same, pulsing with furious energy.

“I… am…” she stammered, eyes stretching even wider as the apparitious bull’s approaching footfalls somehow made the ground shake. “I’m not with them,” she exhaled. “I’ve been tracking your trail of… of awesome destruction looking for an interview! This lot keep cock blocking.”

The bull stopped, and Minotaur narrowed his eyes on Miho as she lowered her phone to her side. He appeared to be processing what she’d said… slowly.

“You ain’t HERA?”

“These suits? Are you kidding me? They ruined my career!” she told him, and well it was the truth.

So she kept talking, talking while Agent Schmit and the other two struggled out of injurious grogginess.

“These… three-piece twits stormed my office and confiscated everything I’ve worked so hard on,” she rushed on, hoping to keep his attention for as long as possible. “But here you are, the very one I’ve been… I’ve been searching for, ha ha, right in front of me.”

“Miss Fujiwara get back!” Agent Schmit shouted, and as if he’d waved a red rag, Minotaur’s attention snapped back to him as bullets were fired.

The next few seconds seemed to move in slow motion.

Thunder seemed to explode from the ground that heaved so hard with the impact of the luminous bull’s hoof, that Miho pitched backward at speed. She soared, glimpsing the night sky above just briefly before even the brightest stars were consumed by an all-encompassing black.

To Part 3

@destinywanted @kiniloves < Since I know you love some Hades ;)

#voltage inc #voltage otome #voltage games #voltage amemix #astoria: fate's kiss #afk #astoria: fate's kiss fanfiction #Hades #Hydra #minotaur #voltage drama

[angeltriestoblog]

I watched a couple of movies! (April roundup)

I’m glad to announce that I finally found a way to rave about the movies I’ve watched without boring you all to death, driving myself to the brink of insanity, and damaging my eyesight even more. Instead of giving a comprehensive review on each one, I decided to give you my top picks for every month in an attempt to convince you to watch these life-changing pieces of cinema! Maybe someday I could include some of the worst I’ve seen as well because it's easier (and more fun) to point out the flaws I spot.

So without further ado, here are the creme of the crop for the month of April!

Philadelphia (1993, dir. Jonathan Demme) ★★★★★

This superbly crafted film was one of the first in Hollywood to tackle the issue of HIV/AIDS—and with the right amount of sensitivity—during a time when discrimination against victims was at its most rampant. That fact alone makes it deserving of the praise, recognition, and accolades it has collected over the years. Add to that the remarkable performance of Tom Hanks as Andy Beckett, the lawyer fired from the prestigious firm he works for who enlists the help of Joe Miller (Denzel Washington) to take this matter to court. His dedication to the role is evident not only in his dramatic weight loss but the intensity of the emotions he brings to all of his scenes. Though I know a lot of audiences are concerned that the account is told mainly from Miller’s perspective, I found this aspect crucial to his growth as a character and the movie’s effectivity as a call to empathy and compassion.

Certified Copy (2010, dir. Abbas Kiarostami) ★★★★½

It's so difficult to review this without giving away what makes it different from anything that's ever been made, probably. But then again, even if I dive deep into the plot and provide my theories, I doubt it’ll make sense so I’ll say this. Certified Copy is a mind-bender of an arthouse film disguised as a love story of the Before Sunset variety. It’s a deceivingly linear tale of a French woman known only as “She” (Juliette Binoche) who goes to a book signing and offers to explore the city of Tuscany with the author (William Shimell). His work asserts that the reproduction of a certain thing possesses as much value as the original, so much so that it can even take its place. The extent to which this is true is shown in the many ways their relationship changes in the span of a single afternoon. It’s normal to be frustrated once you’ve finished it. I had a “What the hell?” moment myself and had to rewatch some parts a few more times. But once you realize that the plot is an artifice, like fiction and art itself, that’s when you come to terms with how real it actually is.  

The Farewell (2019, dir. Lulu Wang) ★★★★★

This is practically Wang's two-hour thesis on why grandmothers are the best people on the planet and we don’t deserve them. It's not like I needed an external source to prove it was true but I adored it anyway. This Oscar snub is “based on a true lie”: Nai Nai (Zhao Shuzhen), the matriarch of a Chinese clan, is diagnosed with cancer, and her loved ones go to extreme lengths to keep it a secret from her. I appreciated the accurate depiction of the mess that is the Asian extended family: immigrant parents, their first-generation kids, and the relatives they left behind at the homeland under one roof can only mean endless bickering and picking at old wounds. But in all seriousness, its grasp of human emotions—as seen in the brilliant acting performances and authentic dialogue—reels you in instantly and keeps you emotionally invested and painfully waiting for the heartbreaking (?) conclusion.

Interstellar (2014, dir. Christopher Nolan) ★★★★★

In what is arguably Nolan’s most complex and ambitious work yet, we find Cooper (Matthew McConaughey) in what appears to be a shadow of the Earth we live in right now. After a fateful turn of events, he is tapped by NASA to carry out a mission in search of a habitable world for the human population. Rarely do we see a creative project that aspires to be everything at once and succeeds with flying colors. Interstellar is that gem for me. It pushes the limits of our imagination and tests the very boundaries of science and space while serving as a reminder of what it means to be human. It may clock in at 167 minutes but I think that if the run time had been cut down, it would be impossible to do justice to this multi-faceted story. In fact, with the emotionally resonant performances by the cast as well as the phenomenal score (Hans Zimmer, you are a god) and cinematography, I am honestly willing to see another three hours of extra footage.

Mommy (2014, dir. Xavier Dolan) ★★★★½

This… was a lot. I remember watching this first thing in the morning a couple of weeks ago, and not being able to do anything of importance for the entire day since I was too busy wondering if I’ll ever be suitable for the lifelong commitment that is motherhood. This award-winning, affecting tale revolves around Die Despres (Anne Dorval), a struggling journalist and single mom to Steve (Antoine Olivier Pilon), her hyperactive, abusive son diagnosed with ADHD. Although a law had been passed in Canada which lets cash-strapped parents place their troubled kids in hospitals, she refuses to give him up and takes him under her wing: after all, they’re best at loving even when it’s hard. What unfolds after makes it hard to tell how the whole thing ends, but it’s a visually arresting and thought-provoking experience anyway. Dolan also possesses a strong command of the language of filmmakers: critics agree that its most notable aspect is the fact that it was shot in a 1:1 aspect ratio, which allowed me to assume the position of a next-door neighbor peering through their living room window.

Frances Ha (2012, dir. Noah Baumbach) ★★★★★

Before Greta Gerwig was the director extraordinaire we know her to be, she was Frances Halladay, an aspiring dancer who moves to New York City with her best friend and comes face to face with several, consecutive life crises. Her reality couldn’t be any further removed from mine (as a 19-year-old student on the complete opposite side of the world), but it remains highly relatable. At their core, her problems are rooted in a fear of loneliness and failure—just like the rest of us! Come to think of it, maybe that’s why it’s in black-and-white: to give the movie a sense of timelessness since it tackles themes and issues that remain universal and prevalent across generations. I loved Frances as a protagonist, though she far from perfect: she’s immature and petty and quite frankly, she had no clue what she was doing until the last 15 minutes—just like me! And yet she powered through in the end, which gives me hope that I’ll be able to do the same.

Fight Club (1999, dir. David Fincher) ★★★★½

Believe it or not, despite its straightforward title and predominantly male fanbase, I was completely taken aback when the unnamed narrator (Edward Norton) and Tyler Durden (Brad Pitt) started beating each other up in the middle of a parking lot—the very event that led to the establishment of their underground fight club. What initially appears to be a man’s search for a way out of the boring humdrum of his everyday existence evolves into a structural analysis of consumer capitalism and critique of toxic masculinity. There’s a lot of gore and violence but I pulled through thanks to the stunning visuals, unpredictable plot, and Brad Pitt’s beautiful face. Although the twist towards the end wasn’t exactly revolutionary for me because it kind of resembled Primal Fear (1996), it was still a mind-blowing and fitting conclusion to this cult classic.

Pretty Woman (1990, dir. Garry Marshall) ★★★★★

This modern-day Cinderella story about a hooker who falls in love with a wealthy businessman has become problematic for my generation. There are a ton of essays on Letterboxd attempting to start discourse on its ethics, calling it out for its misogynistic undertones, and criticizing it for being unrealistic. I actually saw a review that said it indirectly promotes prostitution as a means to get ahead in life, which could wrongly influence teenage girls. (How stupid do you think we are?) At the end of the day, this is a romantic comedy—and an outstanding one, at that! This probably has the most equal distribution of swoon-worthy scenes and laugh-out-loud moments out of all the romcoms I’ve watched, and we have the lead actors’ insane chemistry and the consistently witty script to thank. Needless to say, Julia Roberts is an absolute delight as Vivian Ward and it’s only fitting that it was this particular role that catapulted her to superstardom. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna rewatch this then proceed to play It Must Have Been Love for another 70 times.

The Fundamentals of Caring (2016, dir. Rob Burnett) ★★★★★

I genuinely think that everything Paul Rudd touches turns to gold. Here, he plays Ben, caretaker to Trevor (Craig Roberts), a sarcastic teen suffering from Duchenne Muscular Dystrophy. Together, they make a spur-of-the-moment decision to take a cross-country road trip to see several roadside attractions and of course, come to terms with their own issues. I admit that my love for this comes with the acute awareness that if I had found it on Netflix at a different time, I wouldn’t have appreciated it as much. It’s fairly predictable, it doesn’t strive towards anything complex or require much reflection on our part but it ties together neatly and satisfyingly in the end—truly a perfect comfort film! The equivalent of the warm, 10-second-long, oxytocin-inducing hug that we all need and can't have right now, given the state of our world!

Edit (05/09/20): I’m currently binge-watching Timothee Chalamet interviews and he just told Stephen Colbert that he had auditioned for this but wasn’t accepted for the job. Imagine him and Paul Rudd together... the visual power that duo would hold... I would miss the point of the movie entirely.

So, that’s it for this month! I’ve actually been spending more time writing lately but I hope I can continue to squeeze in something to watch into my schedule so I can actually be consistent with this series. Till next time! Exciting things up ahead! Wishing you love and light always, and don’t forget to wash your hands, check your privilege and pray for our frontliners!

#recs #quarantingz #angeltriestoblog #my eyesight just went up a grade #check out my new about page!!! #and portfolio!!! #<3

[mwolf0epsilon]

League of Legends - Suicidal Atonement

Summary: When he’d passed the fortified borders that divided Piltover and Zaun, Jayce knew he wouldn’t be coming back with his life. It seemed like the Void wasn’t the only realm with a prophet to its name.

Warning: Suicidal behavior, body-horror, violence, death and cannibalism

[I felt like writing something about that skin concept of Viktor I made a while back, not sure where I was really headed with this but I think it’ll do for what it is...]

---

     The day Kassadin fell to Malzahar’s blade, Runeterra was beyond doomed. There was no warning, no sounding of a trumpet or drums of war, it just happened in a blink of an eye. One moment you were going on with your life, the next you were fleeing from the monstrosities that spewed from the gates of hell that the prophet had opened. Nowhere had been safe.      Nations had fallen, species began to die off, the Institute of War was upturned and destroyed in the ongoing chaos. Rivalries had been forgotten in favour of survival. At least...Most of them had. Such had not been the case of Piltover and Zaun which, looking back on it now, had been entirely Jayce’s fault.      Icathia’s onslaught of horror had been relentless. The void beings had wanted more and more and Malzahar, as the good little pawn he was, had provided a solution for his masters. The parasites had come pouring out of the portals and they’d hit Zaun faster than any invasive species Runeterra had ever seen. At the time people were fleeing to Piltover for safety, towers high and away from danger, shiny golden hues a comfort. They couldn’t take away the little glimmer of hope that had been left in the form of their glorious city, so they’d immediately closed the borders and trapped Zaun with the infectious monsters. All a grand plan of the Defender of Tomorrow, a plan no one disagreed with, considering it was for the “greater good”. All but Viktor that is.      As Jayce climbed down the barricade, he wondered. Wondered if perhaps Malzahar had considered Viktor a threat and had planned to use Zaun to nullify any danger he might possess to the invasion? Maybe...Malzahar was a seer after all, gifted with the Vision. Perhaps he’d seen what would have happened if Jayce had worked alongside his longtime rival...After all, why attack Zaun when Piltover was crawling with terrified disorganized crowds of people?      Viktor had disagreed heavily with Jayce’s plan, called him a selfish madman for condemning a whole nation just because he thought Piltover deserved to strive. Obviously, they’d argued. Argued and screamed until the crowd cheered Jayce and booed Viktor...Just as it had before. The zaunite had not let it slide like he once would have. For him, it wasn’t a matter of pride. He left for the border and Jayce had never seen him again.      Passing the border, going deeper and deeper into the ruins of Zaun, Jayce knew very well why Viktor never returned. Everywhere he looked there was infection. Bizarre growths of viscous breathing flesh and eyeballs and other assorted bits and pieces that shouldn’t belong on pavement or walls. Zaun was alive with wrongness and abominable constructs. He could see from his carefully hidden position, the remnants of Zaun’s people. Hunched over corpses of the less fortunate, feasting on their flesh and bones, organs and blood. Covered head to toe in boils and eyes and whatnot, mutated beyond recognition into something unknown but familiar. Zaun was now Icathia’s plaything, a nesting ground of terror and despair.      The Defender of Tomorrow carried on his path, going through district after district. Searching. He ignored the pleas for help that came from a woman that ran past the shadows he hid in, ignored as she fell and was then pounced on by what could perhaps have been a pack of mutated children. They ripped into her, dug deep until one could hear the snapping of bone and the gurgles of lungs full of blood. One of the heinous creatures ran off with an eye in it’s grasp and a hand in it’s mouth. Disgusting beast. There was nothing he could have done, Jayce told himself. Nothing now.      When he’d passed the fortified borders that divided Piltover and Zaun, Jayce knew he wouldn’t be coming back with his life. He reached his destination and almost smiled. The building was still partially intact, although covered in the monstrous growth of the void. He knew that he’d been spotted the moment he walked closer, could feel the burning gaze on him. When he’d told Caitlyn and Vi he was going to see Viktor, they’d both reacted differently. Caitlyn had yelled at him, furious and sharp, digging deep into his conscious and crying out in such a way that he knew she wasn’t truly angry but sad. Despairing for a life that had long since slipped from all their grasps, mourning for friends she’d never seen. Preparing to accept that Jayce’s battered sanity and hollow body would never even get a proper burial. Vi had simply accepted it, given him a solemn smile with tired defeated eyes. She understood why he needed to do this, what he needed to do to atone. She would have done it as well, had she not willed herself to stay for the Sheriff. Piltover still needed Caitlyn and Vi. They no longer needed him.      Jayce knelt in front of the building, aware of the sluggish footsteps of his rival as he left his hiding spot, his old home. All things considered, the herald did not look as monstrous as he’d imagined at this point. The left side of him was alien and monstrous, but the right still seemed comfortingly human. Stubborn as always it seemed.   “Y-youuu...” It was an accusing hiss, distorted and wet sounding, like there were too many tongues involved. Teeth were also clicking, grating on his nerves in such a way that it made Jayce’s skin crawl.      The defender looked into three glowing eyes. Purple instead of yellow, his vision linked to the hivemind, broadcasting a spectacle to many. The large thick tentacles connected to Viktor’s back, reminiscent of his cloak, extended to reach out, grab and bind. The force they exerted on Jayce’s body was painful. They could easily crush him if Viktor so willed.   “H-hate....Y-you-u-uuu...uu.....” the monster gurgled venomously, bringing the burlier man closer with such an ease...Wicked left claw cupping Jayce’s face painfully, while the right reached out to stroke his hair. The third arm gazed at him with it’s own eye, green tears escaping the duct, hitting the ground with a sizzling noise. Acid.      There were so many things Jayce could say to his mutated rival. Apologize, tell him he’d been right about everything, anything really...But he chose to stay silent, staring into the monster’s face and trying not to vomit as he saw the mask-like ridges of flesh move, writhe like live snakes. Viktor’s face neared his for a second, the third intrusive eye closing so that he could bump their heads together in some form of sorrowful comfort. It was disturbing, considering how much they’d hated each other before...But it made sense really. If anyone had any reason to mourn, it certainly was Viktor. This was clearly not for Jayce’s sake, this last moment of calm.      As soon as Viktor reeled back, the defender knew it was time. He smiled one last time before he saw the monstrous flesh of his face opening up into a large wicked mouth full of teeth and tongues. He felt the searing pain of acid meeting skin before those knife like teeth came for him. And then? Then Jayce knew no more.  It seemed like the Void wasn’t the only realm with a prophet to its name.

#Eps Writes: #League of Legends #Fanfic #Viktor the Machine Herald #Jayce the Defender of Tomorrow #Void Infected Viktor #Void AU

[1soos]

Getting Over It: Part 2

Genre: angst

Length: 2,472

A/N: so here’s part 2. 

Fuck, it’s so unfair. You don’t want to miss him. He obviously isn’t missing you. The few times you’d slipped and Googled recent pictures of him, he’d looked good. Better than you’d seen him in a long time. He was hanging out with friends he’d never took the time to introduce you to. He was having fun with his group that you didn’t know as well as you should for being Kyungsoo’s girlfriend for as long as you had been. And now you never would. Because you and Kyungsoo are done. You are exes.

Ex-girlfriend. Ex-boyfriend.

You were still getting used to that. You’d roll the words around in your head for hours at a time just trying to get a handle on it. You have to figure out how you are without him now, but you’re so not ready for that.

He’s such an asshole! And you hate that you love him. Life would be so much more bearable if you could just turn it off. Why can’t shit ever be that easy?

So here you are, spending every spare moment you have wallowing in the fact that you two really are over; that he doesn’t love you; that he’s already moved on and is in fact happier without you. Trying to come to terms with the fact that he hasn’t called or texted. Not once.

At least he’s consistent. It’s not like you mattered to him before, why would he start caring now?

Thank Christ you have a good job and better friends that help you from slipping into the shame spiral that is lost days in pajamas and adopting cats until you have enough to eat you when you eventually starve to death. But the moment you shut yourself in your empty apartment, your distractions disappear and the loneliness creeps in.

Fuck, you can’t escape it. It didn’t matter if you were in a relationship with Kyungsoo or not. The loneliness was always there, waiting for you. You tell yourself that that’s how you know you made the right decision. Because this aching loneliness trying its hardest to consume you should not be as familiar to you as it is.

The three weeks is almost up. So far, you’d moved all of your stuff out of his apartment and his stuff out of yours, though there wasn’t a lot of his shit at your place. You’d laughed bitterly at the toothbrush and clean pair of boxers that constituted his ‘shit’. How appropriate that the thing’s he chose to leave were things he’d need for clean-up after sex. When you boiled it all down and the steam cleared, all you had with him was sex. Sex dressed up to look like a pretty little relationship. You’d thought about throwing them away, but the thought of him opening his apartment to find your things gone and replaced with his underwear and toothbrush was too good to pass up.

You almost wish you could see his face. Maybe if you could, you’d be able to move on.

…

You find yourself standing in front of his apartment before you can talk yourself out of it. You have the key he made for you resting in the palm of your hand.

You know that when you leave here, you won’t have it.

It’s the last thing tying you to him and you’re conflicted. You know you need to get rid of it, but the second you do is the second it’s really over and you don’t know if you can handle that.

You shake yourself. No. You’re done with this. You’re moving on or at least you’re trying to. You bend down to push the key under the door, suddenly not wanting to set foot back in the apartment that was full of so much pain. The thought of seeing his face, destroyed or not, not worth what it would do to you. Not worth the set back. Then you hear someone sharply inhale behind you.

Oh fuck. Oh no, no, no. Your entire body prickles with recognition.

Kyungsoo.

You’re frozen, but your mind is moving a mile a minute. He’s home early. He’s never home early. Do you drop the key and run? Do you turn and greet him like you would greet any stranger? Do you yell at him? What? What the fuck are you supposed to do?

He clears his throat and you spin around quickly still somewhat bent over, the key held between your pointer finger and thumb.

You look up and he’s looking down at you with his eyebrow raised in question.

“Um, hey,” you say lamely. “I was just trying to leave this.” You straighten and wave the key in between you.

“Oh, of course.” It’s the first time you’ve heard his voice in three weeks and you want to cry.

“Here,” you say instead and shove the key at his chest.

“You don’t want it anymore?”

You scoff, but your throat starts to constrict and it sounds choked. “We’re done Kyungsoo. I’m not going to keep a key to your apartment.”

He dips his head. “Can we talk inside?” he says and gestures to the door.

No. No, you cannot talk inside. All the talking was done and had been done by you, so Kyungsoo can go fuck himself with his ‘can we talk inside?’

“Yeah, sure.” What? This was not the plan. Don’t go into the apartment. Go home. Go literally anywhere but here.

But you let Kyungsoo pass you to open the door and then walk in as he holds the door for you.

You are fucking hopeless.

...

You sit in silence across from each other at his built-for-two breakfast table. The awkward tension between you too much for you to bear.

“Are you going to say anything or not?” you snap at him. Some of your vitriol rising back up inside of you in response to his perpetual silence and inaction.

He swallows and looks down at the table. “I guess I have some questions,” he finally says.

You’re not going to lie, you’re shocked. You didn’t actually expect him to have anything to contribute. You nod your head and he continues.

“When you broke…the last time we spoke, you said that I made you feel unloved”—he moves his eyes from the table and fixes them on a spot off to the side of your head—“Could you explain that to me?”

You raise your eyebrows at him. “What do you mean ‘explain’?”

He frowns. “I mean, tell me how I made you feel unloved. Tell me how I made you feel neglected. Tell me everything so that I can fix it.”

“You want me to tell you how you fucked up?” He nods and your entire body tenses up. “Why don’t you tell me what you think happened?” you say trying to keep your emotions in check.

He takes a deep breath and nods again. “I was afraid to hold onto you too tightly. I’ve done that before and I always get dropped. So, I was different with you.”

“Okay…” This was news to you. Why didn’t he ever tell you this before? You could have worked with this. But also, did he really think that you were the kind of person who enjoyed being treated like your feelings don’t matter? You can’t think of anybody who would seriously want that. You don’t think he knows you at all.

“And I think that maybe you didn’t try very hard to tell me that you felt this way.”

Oh my god. What the fuck? How many times had you started that conversation and he’d shut you down? You’d stayed with him way past what was probably acceptable with the hope of having that conversation. With the hope that you could save your relationship and here he was telling you that you that you didn’t try hard enough. Fuck this.

“Are you kidding me? You are so full of shit.”

“Why did you always wait until right before you knew I had to leave to bring it up?”

“Because, Kyungsoo! When else was there? And you know, maybe I wanted you to pick me just once. I know that you have a demanding job with demanding schedules, but you never picked me. I thought ‘oh, if he loves me like he says he does, he’ll start acting like it. I just have to wait.’ But you never did. Even in these past three weeks that I spent missing you, like an idiot, I heard nothing from you. Not that that was really a surprise, but even with everything between us on the line, you had nothing to say. I deserve to be treated like I matter. I’m done waiting, Kyungsoo.”

“You matter.” His voice is so soft that you lower your volume to match.

“Well, thanks, Kyungsoo, but could you tell me exactly when that started happening? At what points in our relationship did you show me that you cared about me?”

“I always cared. I still care.”

“Then why didn’t you call me while you were away? Why did I always have to try so hard to get your attention? I shouldn’t have to practically beg my boyfriend to give me the time of day.”

He grasps his hands together under the table. You can’t actually see it, but the muscles in his arms are flexing and relaxing. You’d seen him do it enough times. Like when he was really nervous about getting a part and a small piece of you opened to him because at least, in this moment, you were important enough to worry over.

“You wanted to end it. I thought it would be better to leave you alone. I figured if you wanted me you would contact me. You didn’t have as much of my attention as other things, I won’t deny that.”

You sigh and put your head in your hands. “Okay, thank you for admitting that, I guess.” You feel exhausted and your head is pounding. You don’t want to talk to him anymore. You want to finally be done. “Um, I’m going to go now. I’m glad we talked. I feel like I have some sort of closure now.”

His eyes snap to yours and for the first time in a long time he’s actually looking at you. “What? We’re not done yet. We only just started.”

“I meant what I said Kyungsoo: I’m not waiting anymore. I don’t know what else there is to say.”

“Say that you’ll take me back. Say that I’m worth taking back.”

Your heart beats painfully in your chest because you want to say yes. You want to be able to forgive him, to take him back and move forward. He’d really loved you in the beginning, or at least you think so. He hadn’t always treated you like he was indifferent until he needed to use your body. He’d been sweet and, while he hadn’t really ever been a talker, he’d tell you in low whispers exactly what you meant to him. Suddenly, you can’t remember the last time you were able to make Kyungsoo smile, like really smile, nothing contrived or strained. Your throat gets tight and a wave of sadness rolls over you.

“I’m letting you go, Kyungsoo. I’m setting us free.”

“What if I don’t want to be free? What if I want you?” His eyes are hard and piercing and you wish that he would go back to avoiding your gaze.

Your heart leaps at his words and you want to punch yourself in the face. You focus on his use of the word ‘if’ instead of the wanting you because honestly the if is more telling. He never committed to you and he’s not now you tell yourself. “Kyungsoo. Don’t.”

“Please, just stop this. Just sit and talk to me. We can’t be over. We’re not. So we’re going to sit here and fix this and everything will be okay.”

“I’ve wanted that for so long, but I can’t. It’s too late.”

“Why? How is it too late? I’m right here, owning up to my mistakes and willing to change. Why are you being like this?”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” You feel like all the strength has left your body along with whatever will you had left to keep this love alive.

“No. Why are you the one who gets to decide everything? You decide that we’re over. You decide to move out. You wanted to talk, but now you decide that’s done too?” His tone is bitter and, you hate to say it but, you’re a little pleased, but mostly you’re just pissed.

“You’re the one that fucked up! Not me, so yes, I get to decide whether or not you deserve to be in my life! I get to decide when I’m done. Now you have to decide whether or not you’re going to respect that.”

You can tell he’s fighting with himself. Does he ignore your wishes and pursue this conversation to an even more bitter end or does he let you go? Neither of those options seemed to be working for him, but you hoped that he’d choose the latter.

“Will I ever see you again?” he asks and you’re caught off guard. You hadn’t thought about that. You’d assumed that, no, you wouldn’t be seeing each other again. It’s not like you ran in the same circles, he’d seen to that, so any kind of meeting would have to be deliberate and you just can’t see yourself being okay with that any time in the near future.

“I don’t know, Kyungsoo”—

“Can I call you?”

“Please, don’t make this harder”—

Now he’s the one to drop his head in his awaiting hands. He groans and you think you hear him sniffle, but it was too muffled to be sure. You’d never seen him cry in person, he’d never been that emotional around you. You wanted to stay and watch just so you could have this memory to cling to when you wonder whether or not Kyungsoo really loved you. That maybe you meant something more to him than he’d shown you.

You get up from your chair. He doesn’t look up as you walk around to his side of the table. “Goodbye, Kyungsoo,” you say and kiss the top of his head for longer than you probably should. Then you walk away.

You chant, ‘don’t look back don’t look back,’ to yourself.

“Don’t—don’t go, please.” You hear him beg behind you.

Don’t look back. Don’t look. Don’t.

You clench your fists and close your eyes tight enough for the tears pooling in your eyes to leak out and down your face, but you keep moving.

“Please, Y/N!”

And that’s when you run.

Masterlist

#kyungsoo angst #do kyungsoo #kyungsoo #kyungsoo smut #kyungsoo fluff #exo angst #exo fluff #exo smut #kim minseok #kim jongdae #kim jongin #kim junmyeon #park chanyeol #zhang yixing #byun baekhyun #oh sehun

[anthonybialy]

Eternal Apprentice

There's bland comfort in a show returning, which is why you pay more for television than you ever did with cable. Rehashes of mildly entertaining programs are all streaming services seem to offer. What else would you watch other than an episode that created mild nostalgia: something new? The mindless comfort of putting on something we've rested our background vision on before is based on the elusive acting quality of recognition. I'd joke about Punky Brewster returning, except it really happened.

The security of hideous programming sums up life as easily as a trite sitcom's 22-minute plot. At some point, passive viewers must admit that even acknowledging it's trash doesn't make high viewership acceptable. Apps need a previous property to make customers pay 12 precious monthly dollars on a known quantity. We also sadly know the quantity.

Just please leave one show retired. Wary viewers fear an Apprentice revival even if it doesn't end up on NBC Fancy Bird. The notion that Donald goddamn Trump should return to save us ignores how wretched the original program was. Bring it back if an even greater lack of script ideas sounds appealing. Those catchphrases should really land this time with even less context.

Ignoring attention whores is the best way to deprive them of superficial life goals. Anyone who endured the most exhausting presidency imaginable should avoid giving the perpetrator attention until he finally gets the message. The rejected drama queen probably still won't grasp denial no matter how obvious, which is why it's crucial to change lock combinations. Make the new ones his wife's birthday so he never guesses it.

Uninviting someone seems like a social foul until we realize who's being kept out of the party. A deliberate cur who thinks rudeness is a virtue should appreciate being bounced. It's so unlike someone pretending to be an outsider by choice to stick around after he's been told to leave the premises. Trump thinks demanding to be let back in makes him an alpha male.

Alleged fans of limited government just wanted their own cult leader. Bully the libs to have a true republic. Cult seekers shouldn't get someone who literally ran a pyramid scheme, especially not again.

Blandness is better. Some Republicans fret about party identity in the months after Trump was forced to flee as if it's bad for an entity allegedly built around ideals to not have a single personality be the only answer in word association. It's better to not revolve around one person, especially the rather obvious phony person in question.

Use the freshness of a divorce from a charlatan to develop an ideology based on, well, ideology. Thinking Trump is the most awesome doesn't count. Actual conservatives should develop notions and not worship individuals. At least one party shouldn't face Washington while praying.

Anyone familiar with how anything works is not expecting an individual to solve our planet's woes, like an alleged conservative saying “I alone can fix it.” Consider how much he broke to make his all-star pompousness look particularly foolish. The rugged individualistic side thinking a rerun will provide comfort leads to worshiping a quite false golden idol.

Life is so nerve-wracking that some participants want to take comfort in again patronizing a miserable clown show. A mortifying lack of accomplishments isn't going to scare off the faithful. Worshipers desperate for reassurance expect grand gestures.

The last Republican president displayed a taste for federal intervention befitting of an egomaniac who thinks his amazing decisions spur prosperity into existence. Political experts conclude massive spending is not how to limit government. Trump's a conservative in the same sense the USFL is about to play its championship.

Alleged victors sure seem miserable. There's outright misery in seeking nothing but to torment the other side. You're supposed to do that with policy successes, not just in making libs cry CPAC-style. Confused juvenile adults think that any inflicted aggravation means they're winning political bouts. A black hole of a human absorbs light and decency like the glass that adorns his appallingly tacky fortresses of garishness.

A failed insurrection was the perfect ending. Why mess with a conclusion worthy of Breaking Bad? Hoping Trump can pull off a soft reboot of Grover Cleveland's presidencies is like Robert E. Lee spending 1866 claiming Gettysburg as a win. It's not like General Trump is going to learn dignity in retirement.

Anyone good at business could tell you an unmotivated seller can doom a product, so don't ask Trump. The perpetually entitled hoary adolescent doesn't want to run again any more than he did in the first place.

The misplaced ego of needing to prove he can win is the only thing that's ever motivated him, presidency or not. You don't have to pretend it's a show just because he does. Nobody wants another season of reality-style maneuvering in the primary that led to facing Hillary Clinton, who would've been beaten by any of the dull twerps available.

Winning without articulating why it's good dooms any snow. Trump still thinks doing so proves how tough he is, as beating the worst major-party candidate in history is easier than learning pushups. Crushing others for its own sake is particularly sad for someone who couldn't crumble an aluminum can. A painfully phony image imploded like his failed casino.  I have an idea: avoid bringing back a contender who couldn't profit off slot machines rigged in his favor any more than he could beat Joe Biden.

Waking up from a nightmare is unhelpful when horror remains despite open eyes. Hoping Trump will run in 2024 is the only thing more embarrassing than him. Besides, he's not into it. Was there ever a moment where even his most rabid zombies thought he really wanted the job?

The presidency was the first time he ever had work responsibilities besides blathering. One would think he has his myriad of businesses to run again. That's unless he's been an utter fraud in every life aspect. We better let him commandeer the party again to glorify the least deserving egomaniac imaginable. Maybe he'd finally finish that wall.