#’how would this work with the soulmate mechanic’ well you see it doesn’t matter because it’s kink art | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

spice-chan · 4 years

Text

Untold

description - king Katsuki Bakugo, who’s desperate in wanting to get closer to his mate hatches a morally dubious plan to do so. Let himself get injured ? check. Convince his clueless mate that his dragon needs to breed her otherwise he will rampage ? check.

warnings - Bakugo is soo bad at feelings. loss of virginity (m&f), dom bakugo, vaginal penetration, dirty talk ?, clueless reader, breeding kink, slight lactation kink but reader isnt lactating, implied brain washing. Bakugo and his dragon are like two separate entities who existing in one body. feral baku. mentions of poison and injury. Manipulation. slight dub con if you squint.

The first time Bakugo met you was after a meeting at your kingdom. A meeting he was more than disgruntled at having to attend.

You were the epitome of angelic, you had pretty, curly hair that framed your face, with bright (e/c) eyes that glistened in the sun as you helped a maid up. There was not an ounce of supercility or contempt in your humble smile. He didn’t even think you were a royal at first glance from how willing you were to touch and talk to someone so beneath you societally.

Not that he thought a lot at that moment, because the only thought going through his head was -

Mine.

That, he made you.

At least in the eyes of the nations of the dragons and your home land.

Not in the eyes of his dragon, the fiery beast who resided within him, and neither in his, because he craves you in intimate ways that he has yet to experience, let alone experience with you, his wife.

He promptly negotiated a marriage with your family who approved, and married you a week after.

You didn’t get a say in it, in fact, you only spoke to him a few times before the knot was tied. It physically pained Katsuki to see the resent in your eyes.

You slept next to him everyday, but he knew you wished to be far, far away from him.

The closer his body got to you, the further you shrunk away from him. It was pitiful, how your small and fragile body that was made for him, scurried far away from the body made to protect it, the body it should be lusting over.

He was well endowed, a very tall man with muscles earned through hours of grueling training, yet the only thing you graced him with was a polite smile as you passed him in the hallway.

He loved you, gosh, he loves you so bad. But you can’t see it, can you ? You just see a man who you were forced to marry within a week who ripped you away from your life. A strange, barbaric man who growls when things don’t go his way and sniffs your hair after he deems that you’ve fallen asleep.

And Bakugo has a plan to finally make you want and need him.

……..

The sunlight hasn’t yet painted the sky a yellow hue, yet Katsuki somehow finds himself waking up. He stirs awake, his eyes opening languidly as his over sensitive nose seeks the smell of his mate. He turns his head to your side on instinct, and finds you snoozing without a care, your chest rhythmically moving up and done, and adorable features relaxed and vulnerable.

Vulnerable, yet you sleep so far from him, the distance between the both of you almost reminds him of the sun and moon.

When he married you, he bit your neck to mark you, making you officially his mate. Bound to him for life. He could deduce that you are his soulmate, a phenomenon among dragon species. They were a powerful nation, therefore to make sure their numbers don’t go out of control yet stay stable, they were gifted with soulmates. The only person they will feel sexual attraction to during their long, long lives. Their mate will age like them and the children, if one parent wasn’t of dragon kin, will still turn out full dragons. Their blood is powerful. No wonder your parents were so eager to tie themselves with him. He feels slightly furious when he remembers how eager they were to marry you off, did you live with this sort of apathy from your parents your whole life ?

Well, it doesn’t matter how those bastards treated you because you are with him now. Besides, their uncaringness made the marriage easier and smoother.

He turns to face you, and finds you sleeping with your back to him, your hair looks like a pretty mess across the pillow. Do you feel trapped ? Do you sometimes lament on the years you will have to stay bound to him ?

But questions fly out of his head when his eyes stray to your form. He pants softly in need, his dragon clawing at him to claim you. Your silk nightdress did little to cover your voluptuous ass, and the spaghetti straps did little to cover your spilling cleavage, and least from what he could see from your back to him. He feels incredibly robbed about not being able to touch you right now. But he didn’t want you to hate him…

He turns his head away from you and steadies his breathing, but the tent in his pants stood proudly. Great, another day of rubbing one for you instead of ravishing you…

…………

The first step of his plan to get closer to you is to prey on your kindness. He’s going to let himself get injured enough to trigger his dragon’s self defence mechanism. That means not letting anyone get close to him, because he classifies everyone as a threat, except his mate, of course.

Now, how to do it without losing his honour as the dragon king is the true question.

Well, the answer to that is one of his counsel man. A mad cowardly enough to run away from a fight with the dragon king, and lacking honour enough to try and poison him at the same time for a few thousand quads.

…………..

Bakugo holds his sword in a lackadaisical manner, staring at the man across from him who shivers from his intense glare. Bakugo rolls his blood red eyes, his mouth forming into a sneer. Look what finding his mate had reduced him to.

A vulnerable mess.

The training ground is filled with spectators who stopped their own training to watch their king fight, a necessary thing for his plan to work. He’ll have you in his arms in no time.

His dragon rumbled in happiness at the thought of having his mate.

The fight starts, with steel meeting steel, a minute goes by, and just as discussed, the man lets go of his sword, forfeits and bows down.

Then grabs a sharp dagger from his pocket, coated with paralyzing poison, and slashes it across Bakugo’s chest before making a run.

Katsuki feels his limbs become heavier, falling to the floor as the large opening in his chest bleeds and burns. Had he not been a dragon, this cut would have been fatale to his mortality. His pupils dilate as the sound of growls fill the air. His simple minded beast trying to warn the bystanders to keep clear of him or else. His dragon desperately tries to get it’s host to move, and when the beast tries to take over the host in order to survive, Bakugo gladly let’s it.

The wiser of the bunch go to fetch the queen, their hearts hammering across their chests in anxiousness as a murderous aura surrounds their king, which is fatal to them. A dragon in this state will kill anything and everything around it to ensure its survival. His abilities, which are already deadly, will be doubled once the effects of the poison wear off. They can’t run, that would be shameful, but they can hope that the queen gets here in time.

Deadly and furious growls fill the air, their eyes keep on switching from looking at the imminent threat that is their king and their possible saviour which is his queen.

His toes and fingers move, and Bakugo’s reptilian eyes lock on them in clear warning. No sight of you. His claws elongate and his teeth lengthen and sharpen, their size enough to rip a chunk of meat clear of a man's chest. No sight of you.

His limbs are slowly becoming mobile again, but too fast for the spectators' liking. No sight of you.

They were slowly succumbing to their gruesome fates.

His feet, which have regained mobility, along with his arms, support his previously supine body into a standing position. His enraged face faced them, his fiery throat lightening up and ready to erupt them into flames. And he was about to, until a -

“Katsuki !”

He abruptly turns towards the sound, familiarity oozing from every syllable of the soft angelic voice that called him.

His reptilian eyes lock on her neck, recognizing the soft pink marks that mar her neck as his own.

“Mate.” His guttural voice spoke, the sound so deep and raw it was almost inhuman.

You were slightly taken aback that he recognised you in this state. Dragons must really put their mates on a higher pedestal, especially considering how he was about to toast those men…

“Mate” he repeats. He turned to the strangers, growling at them with newfound vigour. They are a threat to his mate. Kill threat.

“No. No, no.” You said in horror, waving your hands back and forth to get his attention away.

You slowly walk to him, your steps tentative as you gauge his reaction. He seems confused, and he remained unresponsive, at least verbally.

You steps continue until you you could feel the warmth emanating from his body, and that's when his arms circle you and pull you possessively to his chest, protecting you as he shields your face away, still wary of the ‘threats’.

“Katsuki, what happened, why are you trying to kill them ?” You speak patiently, trying to ignore how close you are to him. This is the closests you’d ever been to a male, and your face speaks volumes of that.

“Kill me. Kill mate.”

You quirk a brow in confusion. “What do you mean ? Why are you speaking like this Katsuki ?”

“No Katsuki. Me !” He growls in frustration, looking into your eyes desperately, his eyes seem more… red- more animalistic somehow. Even when he looked into your eyes, he still kept an eye on the men nearby, who for some fucking reason are still here.

“Why are you guys just standing here ?! He obviously wants to kill you, go !” You command, your soft voice raising into an octave none of them ever heard from their kind queen.

The earth shook as a booming voice rocks the earth, you look left and right, trying to find the source of it when you realize that you are hugging the source.

Katsuki’s skin fills with leathery patches of red, and his elongated nails pierce your skin as he holds you protectively, his eyes try to find the slightest movement in his surroundings. So he can eliminate it.

“Mate. Angry.”

You were starting to understand something.

“Oh. Are you the dragon ?” You ask, once again trying to direct his attention to you.

He nods, his features relaxing slightly as he looks at you.

“Well-uh- um, why are you trying to kill them ?” You ask him in an attempt to diffuse the situation, your uncertainty leaked into your words however.

“Threat.” Came his simple answer.

You sigh, trying to think your words over but you feel choked. There’s many lives on your hand.

“No. They aren’t a threat.” That caught his attention. You gesture with your head to the exit of the training grounds, and decide to tug him after he stood still for a solid minute instead.

That’s how you end up tugging a dragon to his bed, who in turn keeps a tight hold on you and growls at anything that moves.

Eventually, we made it to the bedroom. You open the door, noticing that for the first time, the dragon seemed somewhat relaxed.

“Do you have a name ?” You question him curiously, having tired of calling him dragon in your head and otherwise.

He seems more like a puppy now, trying to cling to you while you lead him to the bed. He rubs his head against your cheek, trying to get his smell on you, but when he registered your question, he shook his head.

“Do you mind if I call you something ?”

He smiled excitedly, maybe like a child offered candy, but his sharp teeth were anything but childlike. You’ve no doubt they could rip flesh like marshmallows.

You took that as a sign of acceptance.

“Ok ! Oh, but maybe I shouldn’t give you a new name. Since you are Katsuki… Ok I’ll just call you Bakugou so I don’t mix the two of you up.” You exclaim with child-like vigor, the innocence in your eyes contradicting how consequential your current actions are. The dragon and his human host, who are so incredibly enamored with their mate, are carefully weaving a web in an attempt to trap her. Their mate, who was slowly inching to the web out of her own free will.

He nods.

Your eyes stray down. You gasp at the sight of his bloodied chest.

“Oh God ! I’m so sorry, this must hurt a lot.” You apologize profusely, mistaking his growl as a pained one. You move to call for a medic or something of the sort, but Ares grabs you and pulls you to lay on the bed, your supine body beneath his large frame.

He looks down at the gash, his body will recover soon. He can’t smell anyone nearby or in the room except himself and his mate. So there’s no danger.

His chest rumbles in happiness though, knowing his mate was worried about him. “I heal.”

The worry evaporates from your face, instead replaced with amazement. Though the sight was unappealing, upon taking a closer look, you could see the edges of the cut sewing themselves together.

“Amazing.” You breath out. His chest puffs up in pride, knowing he was the cause of the current expression painting his mate’s features.

“Cute-“ his simple observation causes your face to heat up ”-good mate” and the rest of his statement didn’t help that. His face leans down and instead of pecking you, he nudges your face, and sinks down to your neck where he starts laying kisses, then slowly begins licking. The warm sensation was strange, but you didn’t find yourself hating it when he spread his warm saliva on your neck. You didn’t even find yourself hating it when his teeth start softly suckling on your neck like a chew toy. His sharp teeth aren’t quite breaking the skin.

A content sigh leaves your lips as tingles travel down your spine. He continues leaving love bites on your neck, and upon finding it decently covered, he goes on to suck on the mating mark, and to your horror, a tiny moan escapes your lips. His movements pause, and his wet mouth detaches from your neck to flash you a smirk, and you found yourself longing for the sensation.

This is strange, you should be protesting, you should be embarrassed, but it feels as though a fog is clouding your senses. A sweet, sweet fog. It’s as if you’re put under a spell and all that is occupying your mind is the dragon who claimed you as his mate. Little do you know, you aren’t that off mark.

“Hot.” He says as he caresses your cheek with his calloused finger hand.

“I’ve never done this with anyone before. It feels so nice…” you confess, your eyes seem glossier than usual, it’s as if being teased by this pleasurable feeling then having it taken away is frustrating enough to make you want to cry.

He made a satisfied noise that is akin to a rumble and a growl. “Good. Mate is mine.”

His hand starts caressing your tummy. Even with the dress you adorned, you can still feel the warmth. His head followed the direction of his hand, his nose doggedly sniffing your stomach. If you hadn’t known he was a dragon, you might’ve assumed he was a wolf shifter.

“No hatchling.”

You frown, not having expected this.

“Do you want kids ?” You ask and receive a singular word in response.

“Hatchlings.”

You grow increasingly uncomfortable as every daunting second passes by. You didn’t like the direction of this conversation at all. If you could even call it that.

Would Katsuki be repulsed by his dragon’s behaviour? Would he be repulsed and weirded out by you ? He didn’t let the tiniest hint that he might like you slip out.

You notice that the sky outside has darkened. It would be safe to assume there would be no dinner tonight. Not with this primal dragon keeping you away from the prying eyes of anyone. You wiggle out of this hold, and when he notices that you are trying to slip away, he makes a move to grab you but you stop him by putting a hand on his shoulder. “No.” He whines in response, trying to ignore the barrier of your hands but you repeat the ‘no’.

“I have to change.” You explain, wincing at the thought of sleeping with this uncomfortable gown. Pretty, but uncomfortable.

Bakugo was about to protest, your dress made you look like the queen you are, the pastel shades of pink and flowers decorating it make you look...Cute. But then the image of your nightgowns cross his mind.

Your tiny, tight nightgowns that leave most of your delicious legs on display and do little to contain your womanly breasts that are going to fill with milk and feed his hatchlings soon enough.

He lets you go, and to his delight, you come out of the bathroom in a maroon night dress. Your maids would usually come in two hours to prepare you for bed, but today is a mess as it is. Maybe going to bed earlier would be favourable for everyone.

Katsuki’s chest is completely healed, nothing but a tender, pink line across his chest to tell the tale. You could bet that by morning there would be nothing. And this day will be a forgotten memory in your husband’s mind. You brought with you a wet towel to wipe his chest of any remaining blood.

You sit on the edge of the bed, and push his body into a supine position. He watched you intensely and in silence as you wipe his chest, the warmth blooming across it either from the hot water that dampened the towel or from the love within the confines of his heart as you cared for him. Maybe it’s because for once, he feels true care from the other side of the bond the two of you share.

He loves you so fucking much. If only he can just tell you. Well he can, but Katsuki can’t . You’ll reject him and it’ll ruin everything.

“I love you, mate.” He speaks softly, that even his deep voice feels like a warm blanket on a winter day because of how tender his confession is.

Your blood rushes to your face and ears, but you clear your throat awkwardly. You don’t know what to do. The dragon might think that he does because of course he fucking would, he marked your neck and bonded with you, but Katsuki doesn’t.

“Thank you.” You reply stiffly, before disposing the towel and washing your hands.

Your head is reeling from the confession, but you feel incredibly robbed, for some twisted reason. If only you got stuck in a loving marriage, if only. You yearn for love, but the one person in your love who mentioned love in relation to you is a beast who’s human host will never let out after this turn of events.

The dragon, Bakugou, on the other hand wasn’t faring any better. He was happy when you expressed your gratitude in relation to his confession, but when he clocked that you never said it back his mood plummeted faster than a dragon whose wings got obliterated mid flight.

His mood felt so low, that when Katsuki prodded him for control, he didn’t protest.

………

After freshening up yourself, you return to the bedroom and immediately sense the change in demeanor.

Katsuki should do this now. He needs to bind you to him emotionally.

“(Y/n). I need to speak to you.” He motions for you to sit down, his voice that’s usually boisterous and loud is now eerily calm.

You walk, the padding of your steps filling the otherwise empty room.

The few seconds it took you to sit on your side of the bed, facing him, were enough for him to finalise his plan.

“I need to get you pregnant.” Your mouth gapes at his blunt statement.

“Excuse me ?”

“This thing today, it happened because we delayed consummating our mating because I knew you weren’t ready. But I can’t delay this anymore. I’m sorry, but my dragon demands a hatchling, or what happened today could be repeated until I can’t control him anymore.” He explains. Don’t question. Don’t question. Please, accept his explanation- or more befittingly, his lies.

You didn’t see his paralyzed form on the floor, he didn’t especially fill you in on what mating entails.

And he’s reaping full advantage of that.

Maybe his lies will come back to bite him, but he needs a child with you so he knows you won’t leave him—maybe after tonight, you’ll also develop some affection for him. He’ll be so good to you, you just have to give him a chance.

His heart pounds so hard that he can hear it as loud as a drum being played right next to his ears. His poor, sensitive ears that will soon fill with the sound of your moans.

You sigh. You didn’t want to do this. It was too abrupt. To have a child… but the thought of endangering all those lives didn’t sit well with you. It’s not Katsuki’s fault, it’s not, it was nice of him to wait for you anyway. But tears still formed at the corner of your eyes. Frustrated tears, helpless, angry tears. But tears won’t help you.

He could have forced you to do it on your wedding night and demanded you perform your duties as a wife, even if you didn’t want to do it. And for his understanding, you were grateful.

“I-“ your voice cracks”-I—I understand.” And his heart cracks upon seeing your red eyes that filled with tears, tears that veiled the natural curiosity and brightness that your eyes seemed to naturally permeate. Tears that didn’t make you any less beautiful to him.

Before he starts feeling guilty, he reminds himself that he’s doing this for your future. He’ll make your sadness and doubt disappear soon enough.

His hand, as if it has a mind of its own, goes to your soft cheeks and wipes the falling pearls. Your doe eyes look at him, innocently surprised, and the witness coating your lenses only made you look more angelic. As if acknowledging that you’re at his mercy-or rather, trusting him with your sadness.

He wipes all your fallen tears, then brings your smaller body closer and hugs you. This would have been greatly romantic-and it was to you, but the underlying truth is that Bakugo is the cause of those tears.

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you and our hatchling.” We’ll be the perfect family, just that way we're always supposed to be, mate.

“It’s-“you hiccup”- it’s fine. I-I don’t blame you.” You reassure, returning his hug. You were surprised that Katsuki was capable of being nice like this, you didn’t know that he possessed a gentle and tender touch. Everyone always pitied you for being forced into wedlock with him, despite keeping their opinions to themselves. Maybe that’s what caused the barrier in your relationship. You suddenly feel shame at judging him so fast.

But instead, you soak up the warmth of his body pressed against yours.

Katsuki took the initiative, he cups your cheek and presses his warm, supple lips against yours. A truly loving kiss, because Katsuki loves you and he’s about to show you what him loving you entails.

Surprisingly, his dragon makes an odd request.

Katsuki tries to continue kissing you but his dragon is growing increasingly demanding with his pursuit of control.

Katsuki detaches from your lips, dissatisfied with it, but why ? The first time he kissed you at your wedding, it was magical, but now he hungers for more.

Through his frustration, he lets his control slip and that’s when Ares comes out.

And he truly looks like the God of War.

He’s ready to conquer.

He smashes his lips against yours, rather roughly, and the smacking sounds of your lips filled the room. His warm tongue prods your lips, and through your inexperience, you clumsily followed his cue. He’s like a more primal version of Katsuki.

His tongue begins exploring every crevice and every corner of your mouth, only becoming more hungry at the taste of you.

He only separates himself after you start running out of breath and when your delicate hands push his chest away.

His hungry eyes take in your red and swollen lips appreciatively. “Mate delicious.”

His smirk however, flips to reveal the unfamous scowl of Katsuki.

“Sorry. He’s eager. He wants to breed you roughly, he demands it.” Katsuki tells you shamelessly, panting with need and cheeks blushed lewdly. His predatory eyes take in your compromising position, thinking of different positions to breed you.

“It’s ok, just please be gentle with… you know-- I’m a virgin...” you remind him with a chuckle as you try to play it off, but the embarrassment is evident on your face. Katsuki was well aware of the fact, but seeing you admit that he would be the one to deflower you just made the tent in his pants more obvious. Sprawled out beneath him, trying to avoid eye contact from shyness. What a beautiful sight.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you enjoy it.”

He went back to kissing you, and his dragon kept giving him tips, surprisingly, and seeing how he ravished your lips before, he took the beasts advice wholeheartedly. He shed his clothes while you were preoccupied with his lips.

“I am too, if it makes you feel any better.” That’s pleasant to hear, and it only gave your ever improving image of Katsuki more credibility. He’s not like those perverted male royals who frequently use prostitutes while fussing over the slightest male interaction their wives have. You guess that’s a plus of marrying a dragon.

After he thoroughly swapped saliva with you, his lips go to your ear and breathlessly whisper “I’m going down to prep you.”

Your features scrunch adorably in confusion. “What do you mean ? Don’t you just put it in ?”

He internally coos at your words, so naive.

Outwardly though, he chuckles. “You’d be crying if I just shoved my dragon cock on you sweetheart.”

You gasp and his words and cover his mouth with your hand.

“Katsuki ! Don’t be crude. And did you just call your manhood cock ?”

He continues chuckling, only now with new found vigor while removing your hands. “Yes, I called it cock.”

His red eyes didn’t seem to hold the slightest bit of shame, you huff grumpily.

“Ok (y/n), you have to be relaxed for me, ok ?” He asks seriously, and you nod, not knowing what to expect, but willing to let him lead.

Katsuki goes between your legs, and lifts your tiny dress up to reveal your panties. He could already see some wetness. He slips your cotton panties down to reveal the delicious sight of your pussy.

You adorably turn your face away, not willing to look any longer at him looking at your private parts.

He’s lucky his primal urges are guiding him on what to do or he’d be lost, but his dragon is eagerly licking his lips at finally being able to taste his mate. He takes a tentative lick, and becomes pleased when you tense up. He takes another, slower one and when he pinpoints the exact location that had you tensing, he pays attention to it.

After hearing a cute, restrained moan escape the confines of your mouth, he begins sucking on your clit. Your thighs close around him as you moan louder.

“Ah. Katsuki, that feels so good.” So sexy, it’s like all his dirty daydreams in one sentence.

He keeps sucking, and his fingers prod at your opening. You were lubricated enough that his thick finger slips right in. He experimentally thrusts it in and out while he keeps on sucking you and gets rewarded with pleasurable noises from you.

He adds a second finger, the stretch still not quite enough.

A third finger prods your entrance, and you gasp. “Please slow down Katsuki…”

He gives your thigh a kiss, and murmurs a little apology before he resumes eating you out.

Your thighs clamp around his head in pleasure as he continues sucking you. Your heart rate speeds up as you abandon all inhibitions and moan for the man pleasuring you.

“Katsuki I feel- I feel like I’m going to pee…” you confess bashfully as he continues to suck you with his mouth while two of his fingers thrust in and out of you, mimicking the movement of his manhood.

“No, you're about to cum. Don’t hold it back.” He commands you. So that’s what the knot you feel in your stomach is.

He takes his fingers out and uses both of his hands to lift your hips up. His tongue teases your nub, not sucking anymore but merely rubbing your clit with the tip of his tongue. The loss of the stimulation of his fingers, added with this, makes you come down from your high. Frustrated tears stream down your face as dissatisfaction gnaws on your chest.

“Why ?” Your question while looking down at his face between your legs, he gives your clit lazy strokes.

“You didn’t say thank you. Is that how a good mate behaves ?” Katsuki’s voice was deeper now, not deep enough for it to be Bakugo-the dragon, but deep enough for you to know he’s primal right now.

He did say he wanted it rough…

“I’m sorry Katsuki. I’ll be good from now on, promise !” You beg, desperately for more stimulation then the lazy strokes if his tongue.

“I don’t know if I should believe you.” He rubs his dampened chin, looking contemplative.

“Please, I’m gonna be a good mate ‘n say thank you Katsuki.” You plead again and he hums in response.

Katsuki is crooning with pride seeing how desperate for him you are. Your lip wobbles as you beg, dependent, submissive to him and only him.

“Fine, since you begged so nicely. But next time, I’m going to punish you.” You nod in acceptance. But before he can reprimand you for the same mistake, you use you words. “Ok, thank you.” His chest rumbles in pride at your obedience.

In no time, Katsuki had you cuming in his tongue, and he laps it up, moaning at how tasty at is.

“Thank you- ah. Thank you-“ you babble incoherently.

Katsuki lays kisses on your thighs, giving a few nibs to mark you.

He slips your night dress off while you bask in the afterglow of release and growls at the delicious sight of your bare breast.

He captured a nipple in his mouth, twirling his tongue on the sensitive skin then suckling like a hatchling would.

You bury your hand in his hair, pulling at it as pleasurable tingles travel through your body.

“Gonna fill those with milk soon.” He declares, his fierce and deep voice confident while he squeezes your breasts in his hand.

He took off any remaining layers on himself, deciding he delayed this enough. He was kind of nervous at your reaction.

You look in horror at his monstrous manhood, huge, absolutely huge and the thickness towards the end could compare to a coke can, a fizzy common drink you saw servants indulge in.

“ it’s not going to fit.” You say, folding your legs against your chest protectively. This huge thing, inside you ? Hah.

“Yes it is.” He growls. But he softens his tone when he sees the intimidated look on your face.

“Don’t worry.” Even though you still wanted to protest, you realize that it’s not like he can help his size, so you nod cautiously.

He takes hold of your ankles and spreads them further apart, revealing your juicy core.

A white pearl of precum gathers at the tip of his dick, glistening and proof of his excitement at finally being able to breed you and claim your body. His balls were full and ready to be milked inside your walls.

“There, you can hold my hand. And tell me if it hurts.” You nod, and he interlocks his fingers with yours while his other hand adjusts his cock at your entrance. He pushed it inside, smoothly at first and he had to bite his lip to contain the whine that was going to slip out. A few inches in and you were gripping his hand until both of your knuckles turn white.

“It hurts.” You rasp out. Well that’s troublesome, less then half his cock is inside.

Despite how tempting it is to just ram it all in, and bask in the warmth of your walls, he gave you his word. So he pulls out, his length wet from your juices.

He puts one of your legs over his shoulder and goes eye level with your cute, tight little hole that didn’t manage to take him.

He gathers saliva in his mouth, then sticks his tongue inside. His warm muscle fucks you for a few minutes, thrusting in and out and relaxing your rigid walls.

But when you start moaning for release, he takes his wet muscle out.

Half of his length slips right in from your wetness.

He grabs your hand and laces his fingers in yours yet again. Your hot walls clamp around him, and as he pushes his length in more and more, your tightness becomes comparable to a piece of cloth stretched too thin. It feels as if he’s going to rip you apart.

Tears slide down your face, he’s too much. “Katsuki, it hurts…” he squeezes your hand, and begins kissing your tears away, distracting you from the painful penetration.

“I’m all in honey. It’s ok.” He rasps out. You sigh in relief. It hurts so badly, but you’ll bear with it like a good mate.

He stays still for a few moments, cockwarming you, while he tries to restrain his raging dragon. He growls in satisfaction, having popped your cherry and claimed your body. His scent is all over your body, even your insides.

He begins moving his hips, hungry for the friction. You start to relax slightly, and after a few thrusts, you start to even enjoy it.

He moans when your walls squeeze him, squelching sounds filling the room as he picks up speed. He lays his head on your chest, sucking your mounds while his hips snap against yours.

“‘Gonna breed you so good. You’re gonna be gorgeous, swollen and full with our hatchlings. They better look like you, gorgeous.” He rambles, his cock twitching at the thought of you nursing the hatchlings with your milk and rocking them and cooing at them. It seems that you agree with him, because you hug his body tighter and squeeze him harder. So hard that his fucking falters.

He groans when your fingers pull his hair, pretty lips mouthing pleas to come, the broken begs sounding better then any music he’d ever heard.

He grabs your knees, pushing them against your chest, which made your walls even tighter, and let him breach and massage untouched places.

“Ah.” You moan loudly in surprise when his tip nudges against your crevix, your tongue lolling out lewdly.

His expression mirrors yours as he flushes an even deeper shade of red. He groans as you tighten around him in preparation for an orgasm.

“Tell me baby, did that feel good ?” He asks, pushing your legs against your chest even more while the sound of the room fills with his balls slapping against you.

“Yes. Thank you- thank you. Please let me cum. I’ve been good. Please. Please.” You plead and plead, but his hips slow down in response.

“No !” You protest. He shushed you gently, grunting at the sudden lack of pleasure coursing through his body.

“Shh. It’s ok. I’ll let you cum if you do this one thing.” You nod eagerly in response. Anything.

“Tell me you love me.” You almost expected the voice you heard to be animalistic and deep like Bakugo, but it’s the more humanoid one lf your husband.

“I love you Katsuki.”

His heart flutters, the words he’s been so desperate to hear finally come out of your mouth. His lips lay a soft peck on your lips, his tender touch soft like a lover’s touch would be.

“I love you too kitten.” He replies, and before your brain can return to its senses, his hips begin slamming again, and in no time, you are squeezing him like a vice while you cum around his cock. He hugs your small body close to him, your soft chest against his, while his cock paints your walls white.

“So much cum and it’s all for you. It’s gonna keep coming out because dragons have that much fucking cum for their mates-“ he rambles breathlessly, shocks still traveling through his body, “- then when it finishes, I’m gonna flip you and fuck you from behind and fill you all over again.”

The fog was starting to clear from your head, and once again, you become aware of your sweaty bodies hugging each other close and his massive cock that's still inside you and still filling you with cum.

“Uh, you want to do it again ?” You ask, unsure whether his post orgasmic rambling his nonsensical or not.

His red eyes look at your flushed face, and he wipes any sweat or tears sticking to it with his hand- which is fairly sweaty in its own regard, but he wanted to feel like he’s taking care of you.

“Can I ? I- the dragon is not totally satisfied yet.” He confesses while his hand presses your bloated stomach and hisses due to his cock still being inside. He’s proud of having bloated his mate because of his seed. He’ll be damned if he doesn’t do it again.

..................

please like and reblog if you liked this, and thanks for reading.

kofi

#bakugo #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou fanfiction #mha bakugou #katsuki bakugo x reader #fantasy!bnha #arranged marriage AU #dragon king bakugou #soulmate au #yandere katsuki bakugou #yandere katsuki

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solarwonux · 4 years

Text

24H || Seuncheol

mechanic!seungcheol x reader

soulmate!au

w.c: 6.5k

warnings: talks of death, angst, self doubt

note: hello everyone I am not completely back yet, I am still on hiatus. I have been writing this one shot since the release of 24H. I have rewritten it many many many times and have a abandoned it many times as well. Anyway, this is the finished product and I hope you guys like it as much as I do. Thank you for reading and please let me know your thoughts. And thank you @sunlightwoo for literally witnessing it all lol.

Also maybe one day I’ll post the original draft of this one if anyone is interested.

P.S. this is a part of a soulmate universe in which all the members are going to have a story, but that’s gonna take a little while lol, but I hope you all stick around until them

masterlist

Hour 1 - 17:00

Seungcheol threw the wrench on the pile of tools next to him before rolling himself out from underneath the car he was working on. “I don’t see the point in it, Shua.” He sat up, grabbing the towel he had next to him, and tried his best to wipe the black smudges of his fingers. “I’m already a disappointment to my parents, why not add one more to their list?” He shrugged, eyeing his best friend who had decided to come and visit him at the car shop he worked at.

“I think Shua has a point; you can’t brush this off. You don’t want to end up forgotten in a ditch somewhere.” Jeonghan said, pointedly resting his forearms on top of the hood of the car he had been working on.

“I’m not going to end up in a ditch and forgotten. The higher-ups--” Seungcheol stuck a pointer finger out and pointed at the cement ceiling, “are just going to set me up with someone.” He stood up and brushed off his whitewashed jeans, the only ones he seemed to wear as they had various oil stains etched into the creases of the fabric. In actuality, he had many of the same pair, and each of them had their own unique patterns of different oil stains.

“But wouldn’t it be better if you married your soulmate, your other half, your partner in crime, the person the Stars destined you to be with,” Joshua spoke in rushed sentences as he ran a frustrated hand through his jet black hair. His wedding ring shining in the light of the sun, glowing in all its glory. A reminder that he had chosen the path that he and Jeonghan were trying to get Seungcheol to take.

Sometimes curiosity would seep in s when he saw how happy his best friends were with their soulmates, or when the ticking of the clock scarred into the skin of his wrist, and got too loud to ignore. Seungcheol knew he didn’t belong on that path. He was never one to follow the crowd, and the proof was in his parent’s disappointment when he decided to study music instead of medicine.

“Nope.” He stood up and closed the hood of the car. He could feel their glares burning holes into his scalp as he strode over and opened the driver’s door. “I’m a firm believer that soulmates are made not found.” Seungcheol grinned before getting behind the wheel and inserting the keys into the ignition. He had spent all morning working on a minor problem in the engine; he was hoping that after many failed attempts, he would finally be able to get the car to start again.

With a deep sigh, he turned the key listening as the engine sputtered a few times. The hope and confidence he had gained diminishing with each hiccup until, finally, the car roared back to life. A sigh of relief leaving his chapped lips along with a light laugh. He rested his forearms against the old battered steering wheel, peering through the windshield, catching Joshua’s nod of disapproval. He turned on his heels and walked out of the large garage door of the shop.

Seungcheol knew his friend’s meant well, and he knew they didn’t want him to end up unhappy with someone that wasn’t his other half. But how was he supposed to be sure that happiness was a given? When at the end of the day, everyone’s given soulmate was chosen at birth by a group of old white dudes calling themselves Stars.

Hour 2 - 18:00

“What are you going to do then?” Jeonghan closed the hood of the car and dusted his hands. His blonde hair grasped the light of the afternoon sun. Seungcheol placed down the paper bag that contained his and Jeonghan’s lunch on top of the aluminum table they kept in the far corner of the shop. “I don’t know...eat lunch.” He stated, shrugging and started taking the contents out of the paper bag. “Shua leave?”

Jeonghan rolled his eyes and pushed himself off the hood of the car. He strode over to where Seungcheol was and took the burrito he had held out to him. “Said he doesn’t want to stay and watch you ruin his life.”

“I’m not ruining my life,” Seungcheol sighed, shaking his head and sat on top of the table, unwrapping his burrito. “I’m choosing the road not taken.” He finished before taking a decent bite out of his burrito.

“That’s ruining your life in my book.” Jeonghan gave him a pointed look and unwrapped the foil of his burrito, cursing when he noticed some its contents start to fall out of its confinement. “Aren’t you at least a little bit curious about how they look?” He dug inside the paper bag and took out a napkin to clean off the salsa stain of his grey graphic tee. Jeonghan rarely dressed down, unless he was working. Though, sometimes he’d show up in outfits Seungcheol always deemed to clean for the oil splatters he would obtain throughout the day.

“If looks were the all end tell-all, you’d be an actor instead of the owner of your father’s car shop.”

“Are you calling me sexy, Choi Seungcheol?” Jeonghan gasped, making the other boy scoff in annoyance. Seungcheol took another bite of his burrito, the salsa running down the stubble of his chin and sighed. “Cause may I remind you I am happily married.” Jeonghan jokes, raising his hand, wiggling his ring finger.

Seungcheol squinted as the ring got caught in the crossfire between the heat and summer sun. The churning at the pit of his stomach started up again, along with the little voice annoying voice that lived in the back of his head. The red block of numbers on the inside of his wrist laughing at him as he tried his best to push the thought to the back of his head. Like he had done his entire life.

“Sure...but that would just be an excuse, and it wouldn’t be fair towards the other person.” He shrugged, finally cleaning his chin the rest of his mouth. He crumpled up the foil in his hands before throwing the ball he had formed into the paper bag. “It wouldn’t matter soon anyway; I don’t have much time left.” He jumped off the table and made his way to shelves where they kept most of the tools along with small spare car parts they might need some time in the future.

“How much time do you have left?” Jeonghan asked a little too exasperatedly than he would’ve liked, but Seungcheol had managed to catch his tone, and it was starting to make him feel uneasy. He closed a drawer he had mindlessly opened and dropped his head. Seungcheol hated looking at his timer because it never brought a good reaction out of him. He hated the way the anxiety would filter in through his veins as he let his mind wander to the what-ifs.

For as long as he could remember, he only allowed himself to stare at the number scar before bed but never enough to dwell on it. Last night he had twenty-four hours left; now he was positive the timer had reached the single-digit zone, and to be frank, he was afraid. He didn’t want to feel the pressure against his chest and the shortness of his breath. He didn’t want to feel the shaking in his hands and sweat that formed against his brow bone. Seungcheol had already chosen, but he knew that the second he glanced over at the timer, his doubt would start to run free. And he hated that feeling more than anything, but he also hated Jeonghan’s burning gaze staring him down as if he were doing something he wasn’t supposed to be doing. So he caved.

He turned his wrist and pushed the bracelets he used to hide his soulmate mark with his other hand. His breath caught itself in the back of his throat, his lungs closing in like two crushing walls as he saw the numbers ticking down. For a split second, he wondered if he had chosen the right path if his parent’s and his friends had been right all along. But he had been so sure just like he was confident that his name was Choi Seungcheol, that he had chosen right, so why was he letting his thoughts take over.

Maybe it was the teachings of the Stars he grew up reading at home and at school, or the guilt has finally started to consume him. Whatever it was, he decided to push it aside, bury it deep inside the archives of his mind. He had chosen right, and he wasn’t going to let any false pretenses change his mind.

“Five hours.”

Hour 3 - 19:00

Seungcheol moved the straw of his bubble, creating soft caramel tidal waves in the cup. He had already picked out all the tapioca pearls leaving him to deal with the unpleasant honeydew tea he had ordered. The soft melodies of an old pop song played in the background, drowning out the flirting going on between the lovers in front of him. He kept his eyes trained on his cup; it had started to accumulate the condensation that came with the humidity of the summertime. His index finger traced over the water droplets that had fallen onto the table, creating a small picture of nothing.

Jeonghan had dragged him to their usual boba shop after closing up the shop for the night. He had given Joshua a frantic phone call, claiming it was a 911 type of emergency. Seungcheol wasn’t sure how they weren’t tired at having the same conversation, and why they couldn’t let him live with the consequences in peace? If he ended up unhappy, that was his problem, and he would eventually deal with it, but he couldn’t stand the way everyone around him always seemed to have an opinion on how he should live his life.

It had started the day he was born, scarred with a mark against his own will. It carried out onto his childhood, his parents and teachers telling him how to sit, how to dress, how to speak, and how to breathe. When he left for college the same day his parents decided to disown him, he had finally felt free. He thought for himself, walked for himself and lived for himself. But now his best friend’s the ones he thought he could always count on and he felt knew him better than anyone in the world. Where the ones were trying to guilt-trip him into making a choice, he had made years ago, and frankly, he was getting really tired of it.

“Are you even listening to us Seungcheol, this is your future you're putting at risk,” Joshua whispered angrily, his grip on his cup grew tight enough his knuckles had started turning white.

“Why does it matter?” Seungcheol lightly flicked the straw of his drink before pushing it away and crossing his arms. Jeonghan and Joshua both looked at him as if he was growing a third head, annoying him even more. He wasn’t sure why this was such a big deal to them, it wasn’t their life getting ruined.

“It matters because we don’t want to see you dead.”

Hour 4 - 20:00

“Are you serious? Do you guys actually believe that kind of stuff?” Seungcheol shook his head and looked out the restaurant window. The sun had finished going down for it’s deep slumber and in return awakened the night life of the city. He took in the people smiling and laughing as they joked and clinged onto one another. He saw limbs start to give out as the alcohol they had previously consumed started to replace their blood. Seungcheol found himself wishing he was one of those people, where the one controlling his body wasn’t the one that gave up on their dreams but instead still held onto that small sliver of hope. It would at least be an escape for a little and most importantly it would be an escape from the painful talk his best friend’s were giving him.

“Fuck you Seungcheol.” Joshua spat out, quickly he stood up grabbing his coat and shrugged it on. “I’m not going to stay with you and watch the clock count down until you die.” He stuffed his hands in his pocket and took out his wallet before throwing some money onto the table. “Are you coming with me?” He said before facing Jeonghan who was biting his bottom lip in contemplation. Seungcheol saw the gears turn in his head as he thought over his options, his eyes traveling between the furious looking Joshua and himself.

“Joshua calm down, look there have been some cases in the news lately of mysterious deaths and the only thing they have in common is that their timers went out before they got to meet their soulmate. I don’t know if it's all connected but it can’t just be coincidence Seungcheol.” Jeonghan stated, he tapped his forefinger against the wooden table as Joshua eyed him down waiting impatiently.

“And what if it is, what if I do find this person and then they turn out to be horrible? You guys got lucky but my life has never been a series of unfortunate events since the beginning of time so who's to say this is any different?”

“If you keep sitting here and mopping and feeling sorry for yourself, you’ll never find out.” Jeonghan nodded before taking out his wallet and throwing money onto the table. He hated the pity he saw behind his eyes. It only frustrated him because to him it felt like they had given up on him already. That they were planning his funeral without him leaving the world yet. Seungcheol wasn’t entirely convinced that death was at the end of this unfortunate journey, he sadly hoped it was. That way his friend’s would actually have something to pity, but he was alive and healthy (for the most part) so their pity in Seungcheol’s eyes was uncalled for.

“Then let me find out. Everyone is always telling me what I should and shouldn’t do, I didn’t need you guys to also be one of those people too. You’re supposed to be my friends but here you are nagging me like you’re my parents. If I’m not worthy of hanging with you guys anymore because I’m not married and I have no interest in ever getting married then just leave me alone. I’m better off by myself anyway.”

Seungcheol knew that as soon as the words left his mouth they had been a mistake, but mistake or not he would never take them back. No matter how the luck of hurt flashing in their handsome features affected him more than it should’ve. These few hours could be the last of his life and instead of living it to his fullest with his closest friends he was pushing them away. Just like he always did whenever he felt too comfortable or afraid.

“Jeonghan let’s just go, he’s already made up his mind. He’s not going to listen to us.” Joshua sighed, the exhaustion was evident on his face. It was clear he had given up long before the events of tonight. He knew how stubborn Seungcheol was, he knew that once he sets his mind to something there’s no way to turn it back. Seungcheol suspected that’s why he hadn’t tried as hard as Jeonghan to convince him to change his mind.

“Cheol, just think about it okay. You don’t have to go out and actively look for that person but just keep an open mind and they might just appear right before you. I know you think that we’re trying to do this to change you or to get you to settle down, but we don’t want to turn on the news tomorrow and have your names be part of one of the victims. If you can’t do this for us or yourself at least do it for you mom.” Jeonghan nodded one last time before scooting himself out of the booth. He stood sending a glare to Joshua that wasn’t missed by Seungcheol and somehow it made him feel uneasy inside. He didn’t want to be the one to cause a rift between him and Joshua’s friendship, they had known each other longer than they had known Seungcheol. For half of their life’s Seungcheol was simply an outsider between the threesome. He didn’t know at what moment they became inseparable, but now he wished they hadn’t.

At least they wouldn’t be involved in the webs of Seungcheol’s complicated life, and they certainly wouldn’t be here showing the utmost care for him when he himself felt like he was unworthy of it.

“I’ll call you tomorrow” Jeonghan mumbled before dragging Joshua out of the restaurant, mumbling angrily underneath his breath. Seungcheol knew the small comment was Jeonghan’s way of holding onto the little amount of hope he had for his friend. The hope that he would walk into the car shop tomorrow morning and see Seungcheol passed out drunk, his drool stain embedded into the checkered pattern of the old battered couch in the office, because he couldn’t remember how to unlock his front door.

Though, it was a phrase full of hope, it wasn’t a promise, and it felt more like a goodbye to Seungcheol. It made him uneasy and Seungcheol hated feeling uneasy because it only made the ticking sound of the clock tattooed onto his skin louder.

The front door bell to the restaurant sounded, signaling that someone had walked in or out. He turned to face out the window again and saw Jeonghan and Joshua in a heated argument before Jeonghan kept dragging him away by the ear this time. The scene could’ve been comical to him at some point, but now he just wondered if they were all going to be okay by the time the night ended and morning came again.

Either way it was clear to him that they had walked out of his life, maybe not for good but they also wouldn’t be the first ones either.

Hour 5 -21:00

Seungcheol paid the bill and exited the restaurant quietly, his best attempt to remain invisible. It would be a lie if didn’t admit how scared he was after Jeonghan and Joshua left him alone with his thoughts for the first time since he awoke that morning.

Would his faith really be death?

Or where they using their evil tactics against him to convince him to do the right thing. Needless to say he was scared, more scared than he ever was whenever he thought about falling in love.

He had once, a long time ago, back when he was still studying music production in college, before he dropped out and took up a job at Mr. Yoon’s carshop. During the three years he was there, all the songs he had composed resembled something about her. Whether it was a phrase she had said or the way the color blue seemed to make her honey doe eyes pop. He was in love, head over heels, ready to give it all up, his friends, his pride, his dream, his life, everything under the sun, for her. He had his bags packed long before she had agreed to run away with him.

In fact, he almost did, but the morning as he stood underneath the winter sun, waiting at the bus stop with two overprized one way tickets, with his fingers threatening to fall off from the cool. Everything became clear to him, she had abandoned him and their plan. She had given up on him, just like his parents had when he first told him he was going to follow his dream, instead of theirs.

Seungcheol was angry, it boiled inside of him like an overflowing calderon, and the closer he got to the university and his dorm, the more it spilled over. In a frenzy he had entered his home and destroyed everything he owned. His studio setup, his computer, his many notebooks that were filled with lyrics, because everything had been touched by her and he wanted nothing to do with her anymore. Not after she had lied boldly to his face the night before when they shared the most intimate moment with each other.

And just like he promised to her underneath the moonlight, he gave it all up, but this time because she had broken him.

There was a letter she had left for him to find. It didn’t come into his possession after he had stopped attending classes and was living on Jeonghan and Joshua’s couch. The university had called him to pick up his belongings from his dorm after he dropped all his classes on whim one Saturday afternoon. When he did, when he opened the front door of the wretched dorm room, the room that once held so many beautiful memories turned sour. The toe of his shoe was met with a brown paper envelope, his name scribbled neatly on the back. Instantly he knew who it was from.

Seungcheol had once prided himself in memorizing the way her letters curved with one another. A useless talent he now wished he could forget entirely. With a hesitant he opened it and skimmed through, not wanting to linger long enough on every single one of her words so it would hurt less.

In the end it did.

It hurt more than her leaving him stranded on the bus stop that morning. It hurt more than finding out that the little things she had strategically left at his place had mysteriously disappeared when he came back home that morning. It hurt more than giving up entirely on a dream so pure that it ended up tainted. It hurt more than dying, or so he assumed because now he finally knew the truth. A truth he had been blinded to the entire three years they spent lost in each other’s thoughts and arms.

She didn’t love, and she never did. She had a passion that consumed her to the point of greed and when she realized she wasn’t going to achieve her dream with Seungcheol at her side.

She left and he had given up love for good.

Which is why Seungcheol was so against the entire soulmate phenomenon. If death was the outcome then so be it, even though the thought of his mom finding him out he was dead scared him to the point it welcomed chills to his body. He was stubborn though, and his father always hated that about him because it reminded him of his younger self. But Seungcheol was never going to give in, no matter how loud the click on his wrist was ticking and how fast he found himself walking.

There was a little bit of hope. It was reserved for special occasions and those had been a rarity in Seungcheol’s life for longer than he liked to admit. But it was still there, buried deep inside, behind his walls and his pride. And it was threatening to burst out into the open, because as much as Seuncheol was scared of falling in love again, this time with a complete stranger, terrified him. The thought of not knowing if his life was really at stake was far scarier. He was gambling with his life line and that was a risk he found himself not willing to take. Though he would never admit to himself and especially not to Jeonghan or Joshua.

He was in complete denial at least for a slight second. Yet, he had started to walk with fever and hastily. He was desperate, he didn’t know where to start or how to start or if he should even start. He just walked, until his body was running on autopilot. He didn’t know where he was going or where he was going to end up, but the only thing on his mind was that the timer was blaring inside of his eardrums at an alarming rate, and the hope he kept at bay spilling out of his pores.

He needed to find his soulmate before it was too late.

Seungcheol didn’t want to die, he still had a dream to achieve. He will do it, he had promised himself that much. And he wasn’t going to let anyone take it away from again.

Hour 6 - 22:00

Seungcheol was panting, bending over, with his sweaty palms against his jean clad legs as tried his best to put the air back in his lungs.

He wasn’t sure how long he had been walking, all he could remember was bumping into a few people along the way and mumbling sorry’s underneath his breath when they had sent him glares his way. But he had ended up at the park across the street from his studio apartment, the one he rarely lived in because more often than not. The old raggedy couch at the car shop had been his home for as long as he had worked there. He had bought it last year after saving up enough money, in hopes of it becoming his new beginning, his safe space, where he could jump right back into working on his one goal in life.

Though, the first night he had spent there, he had hated it. Occasionally he would give it a second chance. He had given it many second chances, but the outcome was always the same. He would stay awake until four in the morning, get frustrated and then end up running laps at the park until sunrise.

This park had been his sanctuary, the one his apartment couldn’t provide, so it was no surprise his body had carried him here. He felt at home here, the hollowing of the wind chiming and wrapping around him like a blanket of safety. Here, in this park, Seungcheol felt comfortable enough to let his mind race through the thoughts he would keep hidden behind a wall.

He straightened himself out, running his fingers through his wet sweaty hair and made his way to the park bench by the basketball court, where he would occasionally lay down in the middle and look at the sky, counting the lack of stars in the sky. He knew they were there, but because of the city's light pollution they were invisible to his eye. Those were the only stars he trusted, not the ones that used the Universe’s gifts for their own selfish desires and to control everyone.

The stars in the night sky, the one’s he used his imagination and intuition to connect with, trusted him. They were the only one’s in his life that believed in him, even when he couldn’t believe in himself, and it made him feel at ease knowing that at least someone out there was rooting for him to win this losing battle.

Seungcheol took a deep sigh and placed his palm over the watch on the inside of his wrist. He had only two hours left, and he would rather not witness the time ticking down. He could hear it, it was drumming loudly against his eardrums, loud enough to the point in which he couldn’t hear the wind and the tree’s surrounding him singing their natural melody. The last thing he needed was to see the visual representation of his last breath nearing him.

He wanted to fight, but he was tired. If tonight was his last night living a life he had been so cruel to. He would at least take his last breath at the place he felt most at home.

So, he sat back and closed his eyes tightly. He felt the wind against his cooling skin, the familiar shivers running up his spine. For the first time since he woke up that morning he felt at peace.

Hour 7 - 23:00

The ringing of his phone startled him. He had only had his eyes closed for about five minutes. Only five minutes of peace before it was interrupted by the ringing of his phone. He let out a frustrated sigh and fished out his phone from the pocket of his oil stained light washed jeans. His gaze and heart softened when he realized his mother was the one calling him. Without hesitation he unlocked his phone and placed his phone to his ear.

Silence. He was met with silence, until a choked sob broke it, his heart shattering in the process. “M-Mom, what’s wrong?” Seungcheol sat up. His eyes grew wide. The anxiety running through his body making his leg bounce.

“Joshua called me. He was freaking out saying that you were making a mistake. What is talking about? You’re not thinking about leaving again?” His mom spoke. Seungcheol could visualize the almost heart attack Joshua had given his mother when he called. He could visualize the color draining from her face as her hands shook while she dialed his number. Seungcheol’s mother was an over thinker and she always thought about the worst possible scenarios. Especially when it came to Seungcheol and his brother. Joshua knew what he was doing when he had called his mother. He knew that his mother was his weakness. Despite the differences they argued about over the years, Seungcheol loved his mother and knowing she was in such distress because of him, scared him more than what he already was.

“Nothing mom, he’s over exaggerating. Jeonghan, him and I had a small argument earlier but it’s nothing mom. I’m okay.” He spoke into the receiver lying through his teeth. He wasn’t fine, although he was in his sanctuary and at peace. His timer finally reached the fifty-nine minute mark and his heart was racing to the point he was scared it would literally squeeze through the spaces between his ribs and rip through the safety of his skin, onto the concrete pavement beneath his feet.

“Are you sure? He sounded really scared and worried, what did you guys fight about?” The words came rushing out of her mouth at lighting speed. He knew that question was coming and although he tried scouring through the files in his mind to come up with a concrete answer that would make his mother worry less. He couldn’t. There was no answer he could give her. If she lied she would know, but if he told the truth, his mother would certainly never be able to recover.

He knew he could prevent her heartbreak. All he had to do was get up and start walking again, let his feet carry him as his intuition and the Universe led him to where he needed to be, but he stayed seated. His hand closing into a fist taking the roughness of his jeans between them, the frustration, fear and anxiety coursing through his veins faster than before. Maybe if he wasn’t such a coward, maybe if he didn’t let his own selfishness consume him to the point it clouded his judgment, he could’ve let himself do what he needed to do. What he wanted to do.

“It’s not a big deal, Jeonghan asked him to be his best man and I got a little upset. Tomorrow we’ll be fine and laugh about it.” He said letting out the breath he had been holding in. He knew he sounded like he had just ran a few miles rather than sitting down in complete silence and stillness.

“I know you’re lying but I have been able to get the truth out of you, so I’ll drop it. At least I know you’re okay and you’re still here.” Seungcheol’s mother stopped speaking for a second, he could hear his father whispering something to her and his mother answering in agreement. “Visit us tomorrow, your brother is coming over tomorrow for dinner. Your dad wants to see you.” She half whispered the last part and it brought a slight smile to his face. For years Seungcheol and his father had not been on good terms, whenever they saw each other, his future always became the topic of conversation. His father always shared his disapproval and disappointment on how Seungcheol’s life had turned out. His father expected too much from both him and his brother, he had dreams in which he had tried to instill in them. It wasn’t enough that one of his sons had achieved his dream, his pride was attached to the two of them. And knowing that Seungcheol always refused, always followed the beat of his own drum, wounded his pride.

His mother and brother always tried their best to bridge the gap between them that had only grown deeper over the years.

Seungcheol admired their commitment, but just being in his father’s presence fully aware of how he felt towards him was only a simple reminder of what he did not want to become, and it only made him resent him even more.

“I don’t know mom, I work until late tomorrow and I wouldn’t have enough time to go home shower and change. Maybe some other time.” Seungcheol whispered. The wind blew causing a single leaf to escape its perspective branch. Seungcheol watched it closely as it flew down, landing on his lap. He picked it up in between his forefinger and thumb, twirling the steam as he listened to his mother sigh out.

“Just come after work...it’s important.”

Seungcheol wanted to say yes. The simple three letter word was one of the hardest ones to say. With the urgency in his mother’s voice, he knew that she wasn’t lying and that whatever his father had to tell him. It was important. But Seungcheol didn’t want to make a promise he could not keep. For he didn’t know if his tomorrow would ever come. If the last thirty minutes (indicated by the timer on his wrist) would be the last thirty minutes of his life.

He wondered if it was possible for time to run faster than before, and the quick ticking sound in his head proved that he was right. It was now drowning out the sound of his mother’s low and desperate pleas.

“M-Mom I’ll see what I can do, maybe if Jeonghan is in a good mood I can convince him to let me off early, I’ll try to be there by dinner time.” The almost empty promise escaped his throat, running past his teeth and perfect lips faster than he could stop himself.

“Perfect. We’ll see you tomorrow.” His mother cheered. He could hear and sense her happiness through the receiver of his phone and it shattered his heart. When tomorrow came and what Jeonghan and Joshua both claimed to be true would happen. What would be his mother’s reaction?

“I’ll try mom, you know I’m not good at keeping promises.” He half joked, the tears had started to pool in the corner of his eyes. He looked up at the night sky, making eye contact with the moon. They had once been intimate, but over the last few months they had been disconnected, the stars surrounding her protecting her from his own selfish needs and acts. He missed her, he wished he could feel her light upon his skin, caressing him and holding him in ways he wanted to be held. Ways in which he needed to be held. Though, he could feel her reluctance as he took in her beauty. She was there with him, keeping him company as the last twenty minutes of his life counted down.

“You always find a way to keep them Seungcheol. I’ll see you tomorrow night. I love you.”

“I love you too mom.” He whispered before the line went dead. Seungcheol sighed, bringing down his phone from his ear. He stared at his mother’s contact name, trying to decide if he should call her back again. Tell her that he wasn’t fine that he was scared and that he wanted to be in her arms, singing the song she always sang to him whenever his imagination betrayed him, plaguing his dreams with nightmares. But he didn’t again, his own pride and reluctance, the one he gets from his father and the reason why they clash so much kept him calling her back.

Instead he looked at his timer one last time, noted that there were ten minutes left and placed his phone down next to him on the bench. He took in his surroundings one last time before leaning his back and closing his tired soft eyes.

Hour 8: 24:00

“Excuse me?”

Seungcheol opened his eyes upon hearing the sound of the soft voice behind him and the light tap on his shoulder. He sat up quickly looking around frantically. He only had five minutes left and his peace had been disturbed. He turned around his gaze falling upon someone he had only seen in his dreams.

“You dropped your phone.” You said shakingly, handing him his phone. He assumed that it had fallen through the cracks of the bench; he had been so deep in his thoughts he didn’t hear the thud of it hitting the ground.

“Oh um, thank you.” He spoke quickly, taking his phone. His fingers accidentally brushed over the soft skin of your wrist, the familiar digital clock appearing before him and the ticking sound became loud enough to the point he couldn’t hear the nagging voice that had stayed with him for the last twenty five years of his life. Quickly he glanced down to his wrist and then at yours, he could feel the fear radiating out of your pores as the seconds counted down faster than the speed of light.

Seungcheol almost laughed. In fact he felt the laugh suppressing itself in the back of his throat. But as the timer finally reached the infamous zero’s, his last breath didn’t come, and neither did yours. He watched as you looked around frantically before your eyes found his. You let out the sob you had been suppressing for the entirety of the day. Your knees gave up on you and you leaned down hugging your calves, burying your face into your thighs, the sobs came quickly and Seungcheol sat there not knowing what to do.

It was like his body was acting on his and he stood up, rounding the corner of the bench and crouched down. His shaking arms wrapped around you tightly, running a soothing hand down your back, smoothing out the wrinkles of your navy blue sweatshirt.

The next words we muttered, were words he never thought he would say again. But again it felt like he wasn’t in control of his body. It felt like after the timer hit the long awaited double zero’s his body belonged to someone else, almost as if he had been reborn again after twenty five years.

“It’s okay, I am here.”

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billiedeanhwrd · 4 years

Text

mind is just as frail as it's frame, you know i'd leave it alone

billie dean howard x reader

summary: you're fighting a losing game with your disorder, let's hope it's not too late when your ex-girlfriend shows up in your apartment.

warnings: eating disorders (bulimia), depression, sad ending

word count: 1730

a/n: this is basically a vent i dumped into my notes app in one sitting after not being inspired to write for way too long, so, pls don't judge too harshly and pls DONT READ THIS IF IT COULD TRIGGER YOU

gif credits to @mildredratchds

You had fallen into the dark, deep blue again. Time and time again you fell and you fought your way out, you fell and you picked yourself up again. Not this time though, you were drowning and there was nothing you could do to get back to air. You were trapped in this pool of misery as if it was locked on the surface, and there was no way you were getting out of it by yourself.

The last time it got this bad you had Billie, sweet, sweet Billie, who would've sacrificed her life to help you in any shape or form, but she was gone. Her departure left a cavity in your heart, yet you couldn't be mad at her. She had tried. But you locked her out when you needed her the most. There really was no one else to blame for the decaying of your heart, but you.

Nothing particularly bad happened that would've caused you to spiral this extremely, it was simply the fact that everything was bad, everything is bad, and everything would always be bad. In reality, your problems weren't getting worse, but the continuous strain of having to deal with the same troubles every single day was eating away at your resistance. You could feel the energy and willpower to keep going creeping out of your body, leaving you with the empty shell of who you used to be.

You hadn't talked to Billie in months, after repeated tries to break down your walls and being pushed away every single time, she gave up. You did it, you pushed away the one person who truly cared for you. Your mind was clouded by self-hatred and anguish, it was as if your eyes were shielded by a grey layer, making it impossible for the world to look anything but cold and loveless.

There was not a single thing that could spark up the joyous flame inside you. Nothing was even remotely good anymore. Nothing.

You were here, but at the same time, you weren't. As if you had taken a step back from reality. The feeling of not being real blurring the lines between good and bad. At certain moments the light inside you would flicker, pulling you back and guiding you to the right thing. But it was only a flicker. It was weak and it was temporary. The disordered desire to completely destroy yourself was starting to consume you.

Everything was blurry, the line between good and bad, the one between acceptable and inappropriate and most dangerously the one between you and your illness.

Were these your authentic thoughts or were they caused by a disorder?, was a question you often asked yourself, but never actually answered.

You had long reached past the point of not caring, now you wanted it, actively wanted absolute destruction. You resumed all your old unhealthy coping mechanisms and made no effort to stop your current ones.

Who would really care if you died? no one, at least that's what you made yourself believe.

Total isolation from friends and family was necessary so you could spend all your time focusing on your eating disorder.

Instead of spending your nights in the arms of the woman you loved, you spent them hunched over the toilet, hurling your guts out.

You felt weak and disgusting at all times, nothing about what you were doing was anywhere near glamorous. Well... except if anyone finds choking on your own vomit or all kinds of gross digestive issues glamorous.

You couldn't recognize the girl starring back at you in the mirror, who the hell even was this red-eyed girl? Her puffy cheeks stood out to you immediately. Snot, vomit, and bile were running down her face, probably picking at her skin. And her eyes... well, except for tears and popped blood vessels there was nothing in them. Not a single glimpse of happiness or remains of a person.

It was a heartbreaking sight that left you cold.

Dizzily you walked to your bed, too tired to do anything. The tiny remains of energy you had left you with the content of your stomach.

It was 5 in the evening and you were laying in bed, staring at the spinning ceiling, until your eyes fell shut.

Your friends had contacted Billie, she was the only one who used to be able to help you at least a little bit. She was there for you, always, and she never judged. She stood by you in your darkest times, supportively holding your hand and not letting go even when the going got tough. You were constantly terrified of dragging her down with you, the last thing you wanted was to rob the world of her angelic presence.

She would hold you close when you were down, which was admittedly most days. She would clean your apartment and do your laundry, things you didn't feel like you could do in the state you were in.

She loved you and you loved her.

Of course, you returned the favors, you were there for her as well, but you knew it was different. It was a bigger challenge being with someone so deeply intertwined with their illness, but she still did it.

She was your everything, and you had lost her.

Not only was she your light in this pitch-black hole others called life, but she was also your soulmate. The one you laughed with most. The one who got you, everything about you. You shared a myriad of beautiful moments that outshined any bad time for her. She wanted to marry you one day, of course, you didn't know that until you kicked her out of your apartment and discovered a red, velvet box weeks later when you finally cleaned out her drawer.

You were moody, irritable, impulsive, and horribly depressed. It seemed as if your actions didn't have consequences, life was a game of numbers. Calories in. Calories out. Nothing else mattered.

You felt no remorse when things ended with Billie. The realization only really hit you when you found the 18 carat Tiffany diamond.

For a second your eyes opened wide and your lips curled into a smile, despite having ruined the surprise proposal. Then, boom, it hit you and your heart crumbled. There was no surprise to ruin, anymore. You two were done. She didn't need you, she had moved on, appearing with a new side-piece on the covers of tabloids weekly.

Why would you even care though? You ended things. you could hear a painful laugh erupting from you, you didn't need her, you didn't need anyone, not when you had your innermost nervosa.

Eyes wide and dead, smile big and stiff, you looked horrifying. But what did it matter? Sanity was a hoax anyways.

When your friends called Billie she dropped everything for you, like she always had and always would. The second she heard how you were behaving, her heart rate went sky high. It was happening again, and this time, she wasn't there to throw you a lifejacket, this time, you were drowning on your own.

It was 6 in the evening, and you were laying in your bed, facing the now still-standing ceiling.

Billie chuckled to herself as she used the spare key you hid in your not-so-secret-secret hiding spot to open your front door. The apartment was just how you had left it.

After you had practically inhaled the kitchen until you were painfully full and then, of course, ritualistically aggressively forced your hand down your throat to un-do what just happened. That's what appealed to you about bulimia. The control. Life didn't have an undo button, so you had to create one for yourself. You cheated in the dirtiest games of them all and your pride overthrew every bit of rationality that was left. Not once did the thought "I shouldn't be doing this" enter your mind, this was after all normal to you, blurry, but normal.

It doesn't work that way though, you can't undo anything or cheat your way through life just because you're unable to give up control. And a part of you knew that, a part of you wanted to listen to what your therapist had told you. She was right, you could drop dead at any second, the chances of having a sudden heart attack rising after every heave.

The smell of vomit invaded the medium's nose when the door creaked open, and her heart sunk. She wanted so badly to help you through this, stand by you, and overcome this with you, but you wouldn't let her. You made it impossible for her to be apart of your life. She had no energy to keep up the fight and so she left, like you wanted her to, like you said you wanted her to.

She called out your name. no response. you must be asleep somewhere, she thought. Your ex-girlfriend made her way through the food packages and dirty dishes on the floor to the bathroom, it wouldn't be the first time she'd find you passed out on the cold ceramic tiles. She flushed the toilet and wiped down the blood and vomit-covered toilet seat before stopping in the doorway to collect herself. Fiddling with her pearl necklace before taking a deep breath, she left the bathroom.

It was 6:10 in the evening when Billie switched off the light in the bathroom and headed to the kitchen, her red pumps echoing through your deadly silent apartment. She stopped in her tracks and seriously considered cleaning for a second, like she used to do for you when you were dating.

She missed you, a lot. She missed seeing the relief on your face when you entered your freshly cleaned kitchen after beating yourself up for nights for not being able to just. Do. IT. She missed the way your eyes sparkled when you looked at her, she missed your bear-hugs and cuddles, she missed everything about you. Billie shook her head, cleaning could wait, she needed to talk to you.

It was 10 past 6 in the evening and you were laying in your bed, which was how Billie found you a few seconds later.

Because everything was just how you had left it. Dirty dishes on the floor. Lights on. Vomit in the toilet. A lifeless body facing the ceiling.

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goldens0422 · 4 years

Text

Beautiful Shadow - Anidala Fanfiction

Prompt (not a request): The shadow of a person is that of their soulmate's.

It all started when Anakin turned 18. As he walked outside alone and went along his typical walk, he noticed how odd his shadow looked. It was so odd that it didn’t even look like him. His shadow was smaller than he was, more petite, and perhaps prettier. Around two days after noticing it, he decided to look at it closely. The shadow appeared to be a small woman, slim, wearing a dress, and with curly hair. Whoever that woman was, she had a pair of arms smaller than his and a pair of hands smaller than his. Despite how little she knew about this shadow, however, she was beautiful to him already.

____________________

Padmé was closing in on her 22nd birthday when she noticed it for the first time. She and Sabé were walking together on their way to go shopping. Her shadow was “taller” than Sabé’s and undoubtedly taller than her. Padmé stopped when she noticed this and told Sabé of it, and she noticed it as well. Still, she shrugged it off…for now.

She examined it later that day. A larger man took form of her shadow. She would guess he was well-built and muscular from the way his shadow looked. She couldn’t get much of a hold of what his hair seemed like, but it seemed thick from her perspective. One time, it appeared curly, but she didn’t see it enough times to be sure.

____________________

Anakin was the first to do the research: searching up all of the different ways one soulmate could be associated to another, though people nowadays appear to have dubbed it as “Soulmate Gimmicks.” He guessed that made sense.

Some had tattoos related to their soulmates’ one or had a tattoo that could be associated with their soulmate. Others were colorblind until they meet their soulmate. Others saw this “red string” of sorts that would lead them to their soulmate. Others had their scars appear on their soulmate and vice versa. Others felt the pain of their soulmate and vice versa. The list goes on, though Anakin did already get an idea of what his soulmate gimmick was like.

He stood up and glanced at his shadow for a while, wondering if it seemed familiar. Chances are it wouldn’t be familiar. If it would be, he would’ve already met his soulmate by now. Unsurprisingly, nothing seemed familiar to him at all. Still, he was annoyed by this and let out a slight groan.

Perhaps it might be a good idea for him to go out and have a walk.

____________________

“What gimmick do you have between you and Darred again?”, Padmé asked her sister, Sola. “I forgot what it was.”

Sola revealed her waist which had a tattoo of Darred’s name.

“Name tattoo,” Padmé’s older sister answered. “The most common gimmick out there.”

“So, what do you think mine is?”

“Well, since you see someone else as your shadow, something tells me your soulmate, whoever he might be, is the one in the shadow, and that shadow is a bit of a reference, I would say. When you see your man, he’ll be familiar because of the shadow, I guess.”

Padmé shrugged nonchalantly, “Whoever he might be, I don’t think I’ll meet him anyway. I’ve been full of bad luck recently.”

“Hey,” Sola placed her hand on Padmé’s shoulder. “Your soulmate won’t only be around for a limited time. Whoever he or she is, they’ll be yours for a lifetime. It doesn’t matter how long it’ll take: When you two meet, you two are never going to come apart. Trust me when I tell you that, and if not, trust the statistics.”

Padmé turned to her, “You really think I’ll find him?”

Sola gave a reassuring smile, “I know you’ll find him.”

The younger sister scoffed lightly before standing up, “I think I should just take a walk. Maybe go to the park. It’s only a few blocks away, and I could use a good walk.”

“Okay, well, I’ll see you soon.”

Before Padmé left, she turned to her sister once more, “How long do you think it’ll take for me to find him?”

Sola gave a knowing smile, “Not nearly as long as you think.”

____________________

There was a slight breeze ruffling the leaves on the trees scattered all around the park, and it gave some coldness to the otherwise warm surroundings. The city park was somewhat quieter than usual, and Padmé definitely found that odd, though not unwelcome. The breeze was bringing along some leaves with it, some flying whereas others hit the ground. The fountain was catching some leaves itself, actually.

She looked around, seeing a pair of soulmates watching their son play on the playground while another was sat by the fountain. They all seemed happy, and from what she heard, there was a 0% divorce rate on soulmates, so she supposed they would stay happy. Perhaps one day, she would find her soulmate, but right now, her man was little more than a shadow of what should be hers.

She glanced at her shadow, pondering what could be. She hoped he would be a charming man, a kind man, and an at least somewhat successful one. Of course, she had a lot more details in mind, but that was really the bare minimum of her standards. However, knowing the nature of how people feel towards their soulmates, something tells her she might just throw those standards out of the window when and if she meets him. She just knows it.

She decided to sit down by a bench to watch all the people, perhaps in an attempt to imagine her walking around with whoever her soulmate was. Not to mention, she spent enough time just looking at her shadow.

Someone sat down next to her, and she turned around.

A man was sat down with curly dark blond hair, wearing a leather jacket, shirt, and pants. He was holding a Starbucks cup as well. Goodness’ sake, he was also pretty gorgeous.

The man noticed Padmé looking at him and turned to her, “Hello.”

“Hey,” Padmé smiled almost shyly. “Uh, I’m Padmé.”

“Anakin,” he replied. “Looking for a friend?”

She laughed, “Well, not really, but I could use one.”

“Me, too,” Anakin agreed, laughing as well. “I was here waiting for a friend, but as of right now, she hasn’t come.”

“Oh, that’s a shame.”

“Yeah, I’m not sure she’s gonna be coming anytime soon.”

“Ah, well, I don’t have any friends either, so how about we go for a walk?”

He got up and offered his hand, “Well, that sounds like a great idea.”

Almost involuntarily, Padmé took his hand.

“So, what do you do around here?”

She shrugged, “Nothing much. I am finishing up my last year in Harvard though.”

He stopped and turned to her, an impressed look on his face, “Harvard, huh?”

“Mhm,” she grinned with pride. “Psychology.”

“That is impressive,” he complimented her.

“What about you?”, she asked, instantly regretting it, but the regret disappeared once he answered.

“MIT, still only just entering though. Mechanical Engineering.”

She was equally impressed and clapped her hands to prove it. Anakin blushed and laughed very shyly as he rubbed the back of his neck.

Anakin added, “I probably could’ve sat back and relaxed for a year or two, but if I could get in at 18, I’ll try at 18.”

“Wait, you’re 18? Really?”

“Yeah.”

Padmé was rather similar, having entered at the mere age of 18 herself, but nevertheless, she was still impressed.

“You impress me even more.”

“What about you? How old are you if you don’t mind me asking?”

“22.”

“Well, that must mean you started at a close age yourself.”

“Yeah.”

“So, I am no better than you are.”

She pouted, “You think I was saying you were better?”

He simply shrugged, “You gave me that idea.”

They both laughed before they walked quietly for a bit. The only thing that was on her mind was having him as her soulmate. It didn’t take long for her to write off the idea that him being a few years younger than her would be an issue as she knew he would be off studying while she would be off working. He was a smart, kind, seemingly wise, and handsome young man who was set for a successful career, and while some qualities of his weren’t the type she thought about, she still wanted that type of guy.

“Can I ask you a somewhat personal or weird question?”, Padmé asked.

“Of course, ask away,” he answered as he stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“That friend of yours that you were talking about: Are they your soulmate?”

“Oh, her? Ahsoka?”, Anakin scoffed before shaking his head. “No, no, that friend is my sister. Adopted.”

“Oh, okay.”

“Speaking of soulmates, have you found yours? That is if you’re set to have one, of course.”

Padmé pursed her lips before answering, “Nu-uh, no, not having much luck on that.”

“Ah, well, you’re not alone. I assume you know your gimmick?”

She nodded and was about to tell him until…

“Wait, Ani, stop,” she held her arm out, not even once considering the cute nickname she had in mind for him that she just blurted out.

“What?”

His shadow. A young woman with a dress and curly hair. Padmé gasped lightly.

Slowly turning to him with hope and love all over her eyes, “A-Anakin…?”

He looked down at the shadow himself and noticed it immediately, and in a similar manner, he turned to her.

This was it.

He tucked a strand of her hair behind an ear and smiled, “So, I guess it’s you then.”

Padmé wanted to reply, but all she could do for the meantime was smile herself.

Anakin placed a hand behind her neck and brought her closer ever so slight, “May I?”

She nodded and closed her eyes, “Of course.”

As he brought her in for a kiss, both knew they would be in for the ride of their lives.

And, they never looked back.

My (Empty) Masterlist

#anidala #anakin skywalker #padme amidala #fanfiction #soulmate au #modern au #anakin x padme

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mkstrigidae · 3 years

Note

Okay so I'm making my way through your masterlist and I'm in love?? Like let's start off with Winter's Child- a masterpiece. You make Sansa a loving and relatable character and interweave the powers into cannon in a way that actually makes cannon make more sense (preconceived biases and such). Jon and Sansa's relationship is SO SWEET and they way they bonded was absolutely adorable (and the backstory with the houses and the powers they have make so much sense) 1/3

(2/3) Neon Rain literally the best Cyberpunk AU! I've ever read. Like what you did with the world building?? The stark class differences (haha see what I did there?), the choices in SOUND, and I could FEEL myself there! I love the family dynamics between the Starks and I'm loving the little details you're dropping with the Greyjoy's , Jon's parentage, and all of the medical procedures. Jon is dramatic af and I love it and Sansa is a bamf AS SHE SHOULD. Nothing but love for this

(3/3) A Past Worth Having has a special place in my heart. You build up this setting like a tapestry, just seeing more richness and depth the longer you look. I'm proud of Sansa for holding her composure, just FEELING in the angst that the older Starks feel at her return, and loving the relationships with Robin and the rest of the Starks + Jon Arryn. The detail that you're putting into the investigation/Oberyn is awe inspiring and I can't wait to see what you do next with the trial + Jonsa

Haha thank you so much!!! This is such a sweet ask to get! My response is under a cut, because this might get kind of long! (lots of my own meta below, bc i accidentally had a lot to say, haha)

With ‘Winter’s Child’ I’ve really enjoyed weaving in fantasy elements to the world because I like to look at stories and pick at loose threads until they unravel and asking ‘what if?’. I thought it would be a super interesting concept to take a character like Sansa, who in ASOIAF is exactly what she is supposed to be as a noblewoman of her class and conforms very well in that role, and put her in a position where she was essentially a societal outcast in a lot of ways! In WC, Sansa has a lot of similar coping mechanisms to ASOIAF Sansa, in that she sort of romanticizes society to avoid thinking about how absolutely awful it is. In ASOIAF, Sansa holds tight to the notion of knights and chivalry and courtly love to cope with the fact that she essentially has no control over her future and, as a woman, is basically property. In WC, I have her really struggling to make herself into that perfect lady and using that as a sort of shield to the fact that, without a gift, there isn’t anything she can do to improve her lot in life. Sansa has these ideas about becoming a perfect lady and hoping that being perfect in other areas will ‘make up’ for what society perceives as deficient about her, but is more jaded than ASOIAF Sansa due to her age and her earlier exposure to the ills of society. So you get a Sansa who gets along better with Arya and Jon as a result, in part because she’s had that exposure to what it’s like to be an outcast in society. I think that the best fantasy has a really strong emotional backdrop (a really great example is ‘Fruits Basket’ which starts by hooking you with this wacky, fun premise about people in a family turning into animals when hugged by a member of the opposite sex, and slowly builds into a point where you can see that the family ‘curse’ is a representation of generational and familial abuse- of bonds that should be broken, and of bonds that may kill us even as we cling to them- it’s extremely complex and rich and if you haven’t read or watched it, I can’t recommend it highly enough), and so while I really love writing about the fantasy aspects, and writing scenes where Sansa does really cool things with her ice powers, the core of the story is really about Sansa coming into her own, and learning that she was a person who was worth something even without any sort of gift. Sort of overcoming societal stigma and realizing your worth and forcing others to see it. It’s so much fun to write, but i’m stuck at the moment, because i need to reread the books, and my roommate is borrowing them right now haha!

God, APWH is like, indulging my inner world-building suspense-narrative loving writer persona. It’s literally my all time favorite trope- which is of someone growing up to find out that they’re a long-lost somebody or have family they never knew about- combined with a lot of research on trauma (which i’ve been doing for academic and other reasons for a while) and a lot of slowly growing psychological horror courtesy of Petyr Baelish (trust me, it’s going to get WAY more intense). There are so many pieces of media that I love, but I think that GRRM has so many characters and such a well fleshed out world that it’s very fun to dive into his worlds and create something there. Inherently, I love a slowly unraveling mystery and morally gray characters, and this is allowing me to indulge in both!!! World-building is my favorite, because i tend to be fairly detail oriented, and i’ve been laying bread crumbs in so many places throughout the story to hopefully build up to a decent conclusion! I know sort of how it ends, and I think people are going to absolutely lose their minds if I execute it correctly. We have a few chapters to go until we get to anything in the semblance of a trial- there’s some more emotional aspects that I think need to get addressed first, and so I’m so grateful that people are so supportive of being willing to wait for the Jonsa, because they really start spending a lot of time with each other during the trial and prior to the trial (i’m a big believer in bonding via long car rides and so there’s a lot of that!). I’m just so humbled and awed by the response to it- I never dreamed that people would enjoy the story this much- when I started it, I was writing a light-hearted family piece that wouldn’t be too long, and, uh, it kind of evolved from there. Clearly, I am not good at keeping things concise haha.

I left Neon Rain for last, because your comments on this one really made me smile! Of all of my stories, oddly enough, Neon Rain is actually the most deeply personal for me, and I’m just so flattered at your kind words! I spend a lot of my time thinking about the flaws inherent in our society, and without getting too detailed, Sansa’s experience with a family member struggling in the medical system is not unfamiliar to me. There’s a weight that comes with the realization that a system that is supposed to care for people is based on capitalistic ideals of profit maximization, and as someone who has experience working in the healthcare system- no matter how bad you think it is in the US, I can promise you it’s actually worse.

Neon Rain actually just started out as a series of mental images from listening to music that I had to get down on paper, and evolved from there. I actually really love the ‘soulmates’ and ‘class differences’ and ‘mastermind art thief’ tropes, but am incapable of writing fun stories without thinking about the reality of those tropes (see APWH for another extreme example of this haha), and so as I was writing and trying to capture this mental image, the rest of the world began unfolding around me. Jon is different because of a different upbringing here, and so is Sansa, and to see the formerly idealistic Sansa become so jaded by the time she meets her soulmate is just catnip for me. You have this interesting dynamic between them, because Jon wants nothing more than to have Sansa in his life, and give her everything she wants and needs, but where the old Sansa (who was arguably middle-class and somewhat naive, as financially secure teenagers understandably tend to be) would have swooned over that, the Sansa who meets Jon when the story begins is seeing the world and all the unfair and unequal systems in it. She can’t just live happily ever after with him right away- there’s a sense of guilt there, of sansa not feeling like she deserves nice things, and there’s also Sansa’s deep sense of compassion and kindness that won’t allow her to just live life as the well taken-care-of girlfriend of a wealthy man, because she isn’t able to just put on blinders and pretend that all the injustice in the world around her doesn’t exist, simply because it wouldn’t affect her that way anymore.

I think that the core to writing Sansa, for me, in any universe, is that she is a kind and compassionate person who is capable of feeling sympathy towards even the people who have done horrific things to her and her family- that emotional awareness and empathy is a harsh thing to have in a world like Neon Rain, and in our own world, honestly. I’m so glad that you appreciate Sansa’s BAMF-ness in the story- I think that her chapters demonstrate that she is capable of doing extraordinary things when she’s doing them for people she cares for, to be kind (The scene where Alayne helps Robin down from the eyrie is most indicative of this I think), and so in this world, I just love having Sansa be a complete badass out of necessity. Also, it’s fanfiction, and I really wanted to give Sansa a cool motorcyle, because no one else was gonna do it!!!

Also, my characters like to run away with me, and before I knew it, Rodrik Greyjoy had a huge adorable crush on Sansa in the story that I immensely enjoy writing. The Greyjoys are fun because they’re all absolutely insane, and i’m a total sucker for ‘gruff dangerous character is completely a sucker for the kind sunshine-y character’ trope.

God, this accidentally got really long??? I’m sorry- thank you so much for such a kind ask!!! I love hearing what people think of my stories, and this was so sweet :)

#my writing #joanofarkansass #ask answers

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cockasinthebird · 4 years

Text

Apparently I never shared this here?? Some more Soulmate AU because fuck if it isn’t cute

For a Saturday morning, Steve is awake surprisingly early.

When his alarm rings at 8am, he shoots up and has exactly ten minutes to become clear headed after too little sleep, maybe 4 hours or so; it's so hard to fall asleep when his skin tingles.

Feet stumble over yesterdays outfit, as he rushes into his bathroom to turn on the shower, drowsy movement guided by a groggy head from lack of sleep, but it's worth it all when he catches himself in the mirror.

“What song best represents you?” Steve had written on his bicep, and the response was-

“Rock you like a hurricane ;)” Which... isn't a surprise. “You?”

“Don't you forget about me”

He still feels a slight blush creep up when he sees what Billy's response had been. “I won't.”

“Show me your moles again” Billy had requested, written across his ribs.

And Steve had taken his time with that; circled every single one he could reach from the comforts of his bed. Up and down his arms, his chest, that he shaves for this exact reason, abdomen, shins... thighs... hips... down where he trims his pubic hair, body oddly... excited to reveal certain locations, and his heart races as he re-reads, in impressive cursive-

“Oh ;)” down between his legs.

He catches himself grinning like a fool in the mirror.

Then looks at his left hand, words on his wrist-

“Take my hand”

The circle in the middle of his palm has faded a bit, probably worn off by Billy as he had gone about his day-to-day in Australia, while Steve had slept in America.

And he reaches for the ballpoint pen on the sink – a tactic he was quick to learn, is to always have something to write with in every room of the house, rather than just carry one pen with him everywhere and occasionally lose it – then retraces the circle in his palm, now fresh and clear blue.

It takes less than 10 seconds before he feels pressure in the same form again, as Billy draws on top of the circle in his own palm.

Next there's a gentle and familiar tickling across his naked hip-

“Good morning princess” and a little crown scribbled above the i.

Steve is so, so tempted to draw out a heart, to just make that tiny little shape down there, but the both of them understand what a heart so low means. So he simply signs off with a singular dot, to show “message received.”

And in the shower he does his best to wash away old messages and song lyrics; to clean up the canvas for today's fresh pen strokes. His skin is itching to be touched and used again already, ready to be marked up everywhere the two of them can reach.

When the clock says 08:09am he's out of the shower and drying his hair – never before has he washed up so quickly, but for good reason, because barely does the clock switch to 08:10am, when the phone on his bedside table rings.

“Harrington residence, this is Steve,” he says all courteous and well mannered, but who else would it be other than-

“Hey pretty boy,” Billy drawls out.

A smile grows immediately. Steve leans against the table and smooths his hair back from where it lies limply against his forehead. “Hi.”

“You busy?”

Steve hums in feigned contemplation and looks around his room, only slightly messy. “I guess I can take a break from my busy morning for you.”

The way Billy chuckles deep in the receiver urges forth goosebumps down Steve's bare arms.

“Want me to put on some music?” Steve asks per the usual.

Since he lives alone and hates the silence of such an empty home, he listens to music near constantly, and it eventually became a bit of a thing between them, to always have something running in the background.

“Yeah, play the song you mentioned earlier.”

The song he had said “represented him best”, although having thought more about it, there are several songs that could describe him and his life, Tainted Love, Sweet Dreams are made of this, Don't you want me. Plenty of songs put in to words how utterly lonely and starved for attention he truly is, but Don't you forget about me had been the subtlest choice in a constant struggle to not come off as clingy.

“Ok, hold on!” the tone he had intended was soft, but it jumped right into eager before the words had even left his tongue.

Swiftly with practiced hands, he slips out the vinyl from its sleeve, lifts up the plastic cover for the turntable, and places the stylus in the grooves of the LP. The music is low and Jim Kerr's voice fills the room.

Steve dances; pumps his shoulders to the beat and spins his way back to the bed, then lands with a poomf next to the phone receiver he had thrown onto his covers.

“Is it too loud?” he asks with closed eyes as he listens to the song.

“No it's good,” Billy says with a clear smile to his tone. “And the song isn't that bad.”

Saying that they have vastly different tastes in music would be a severe understatement. Sure, a few of the records that Steve has lying around his house is technically from rock bands- Van Halen, Inxs, even Simple Minds is rock, but not the right type of rock according to Billy. It's pop rock, it doesn't count.

“Sleep well, princess?”

Steve feels his lips twitch further up at that stupid name that started out as a tease years ago when Steve had been crying about not getting his way with his rich parents, but now it was something dear.

“Mmh yeah,” he mumbles out and leans into the phone. “Didn't get much sleep though.”

“Hey you can't blame that on me, I was at work all day,” Billy laughs, “You're the one that started it all... couldn't stop thinking about you after you fell asleep.”

“And now I'm awake and you're going to bed,” Steve whines only a bit.

“Yeah... time zones suck.”

There's a short silence, as the chorus plays-

Don't you, forget about me

Don't, don't, don't, don't

Don't you, forget about me

“Tell me about your day.” He crawls further up the bed till he meets with his pillows, and takes the pen from his bedside table.

“Same shit as every other Saturday really, spent all day at work getting distracted.”

The insinuation in his tone makes Steve laugh.

“My co-workers really tease me about it sometimes, they noticed all the circles on my skin and asked about it.”

“And what did you say?”

“The truth; that my soulmate was marking all her moles...” It's clear in his voice that Billy stopped smiling. “I'm sorry that I haven't told them that you're a-”

“A guy?” Steve interrupts, his own mood slightly sour, but he gets it; he can't blame Billy for the way the world works. “Billy...” he speaks softly, “I don't want you to feel bad about not telling anyone that I'm Steve and not Stacy. I've only told one person here the whole truth.”

“Robin, right?”

“Yeah, from history.” He pops off the cap on the ballpoint pen, and sits up to start drawing little flowers up on his thigh.

“Hmm...” Billy hums as he has probably noticed. “How's it going with her and Heather?”

“Pretty good; Robin's become an oddly proficient swimmer suddenly.” And Steve chuckles, “I'm kinda feeling neglected though. My best friend is spending more time with her girlfriend than me!”

“Well...” Billy's voice suddenly so warm and sweet like honey, as he says, “What can you do when you're in love.”

And Steve's heart beats an extra few times upon hearing Billy say that word. Love. Yeah, what can you do...

“Anyway,” Billy says as there's no response from Steve. “There is this one guy at work, uhh, think his name is Julien? Julian? Julius? Something with a J, it doesn't matter. I think he might be gay, too.”

Steve perks up a brow with a sly smirk. “Oh? And how do you know that?”

“I dunno,” his response a slight mumble, “He just... gives off a vibe?”

And the other brow goes up. ��A vibe?”

“Yeah! Like!” frustration apparent at the fact that Steve doesn't just get what he's saying. “You know... all... well groomed?”

Steve chortles loud enough for it to drown out the music through the phone. “Ok, go on.”

“His hair is just always so nice, face clean shaven and skin always so clear...”

“Oh you must have gotten pretty close to notice all of that,” Steve is still bubbling with leftover laughter.

“Steve...” but Billy sounds so worried. “You know I wouldn't-”

“I haven't asked you not to,” Steve interrupts and looks up into the air, as if he could catch Billy's eyes and give him a reassuring look. He can feel that they're all so suddenly on the brink of a rather important discussion that they've already had.

“I know! I know...” Billy sighs. “I just want you to know that I haven't... been with anyone ever since you and I started...”

Getting serious? Are they serious? With an ocean between them, can they be...

“Yeah, me neither...” Steve's heart thumps as his mind starts spewing out ideas of what it would be like... to be with Billy. “But you can. If you want to. You don't need my permission, Billy.”

“Yeah you've said that already, and the same goes to you, too, of course.”

“I know...”

But there's a clear air of assumption between them, despite the thousands of miles. Assumption, expectation, hope that there's a chance...

The song repeats again.

Won't you, come see about me

I'll be alone, dancing you know it baby

Yet the two of them don't say a word. Just listens to the song, together. The type of silence between them that can only be achieved with someone you're so comfortable with. When Steve feels Billy draw in his hand, and looks to see a heart in his palm. A little, shy heart.

And he can't help but smile warmly; feels his cheeks heat up with unspoken feelings- the kind that just came naturally over the last 7 years, and that he wishes to cherish forever.

He draws a heart around Billy's, just slightly bigger, surrounding it, like an embrace.

“Getting tired yet?”

“Yeah,” Billy sighs, sleepy and exhausted. “I always feel so drained during winter. It's so cold and dark... I miss being a lifeguard, but no one wants to go to the beach in this shitty weather. And I use my body in a different way as a mechanic, and I have to deal with customers and co-workers...” he complains about it a lot, but Steve knows that Billy loves getting to spend all day getting dirty and fiddling with cars.

Once talked about opening his own shop somewhere. Says he hasn't quite decided where to do so yet.

Assumption, expectation, hope...

“Should we hang up?”

“Mmmh, no, let me just hear the song a few more times,” is his reasoning, but they both know that that's not why.

They always struggle with hanging up, which is why they don't do this as much as they want to- other than it being expensive of course. Despite their souls being connected and bodies bonded this way, being on either end of the phone line is when they truly exist together. Even in silence, just knowing the other is there too keeps the world away.

“Want me to trace my hand?” Steve whispers softly, his voice a sweet little thing, only for Billy's ears.

“That'd be nice, yeah.”

And oh how he wishes he could see Billy now; eyes closed, a warm and dopey smile, tan body naked under the sheets. There's nothing he wants more in life, than to fall asleep with his muscular arms wrapped around himself, to share body heat, to share their breaths.

But for now, he can settle with drawing the pen along the lines in his palm; creating an endless pattern that Billy describes as feeling like you're running your finger over my skin.

The closest thing to caressing his soulmate that he can get. For now. And the last thing he hears from Billy's end, is him humming with pleasure of the gentle touch.

#Harringrove #My Writing #Soulmate AU #Fluffy fluff fluff #Steve Harrington #Billy Hargrove #working on another part

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wallofweird · 4 years

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I’m so excited for season 5! What are you most excited for? 😍😍😍

And did you see they’ll bring the covid theme to this season?

I’m so sorry I haven’t answered this sooner, I think I probably read this ask while I was sleepy and decided to reply it later and then forgot there was something in my inbox. I’m really messy, so I apologize, but thank you for sending me this, I really appreciate when people come to talk to me. :)

Yes, I did see that they will bring COVID-19 to the plot! I’m glad that’s happening because even though This Is Us is all about The Pearsons, they are conscious about what’s happening in the US, the world and at each specific timeline. They’ve addressed to some extent The Cold War, The Vietnam War, racial segregation etc, even small things like fashion and musical trends (like Kate being obsessed with Alanis Morissette, this is such a 90/2000′s thing and I believe she was listening to Hanson when she was upset after her first break up?). So not addressing COVID-19 would feel wrong, I’m sure they will address the Black Lives Matter movement and maybe even police brutality and the presidential election too to some extent. Of course, the focus will still be The Pearsons and all these life-changing events happening in the big three’s and Rebecca’s lives, but they will acknowledge how the world will be affecting their lives too.

By the way, this turned out to be waaaaaaaaaaay longer than I expected it to be and I apologize for it, haha. By the way, this is in NO PARTICULAR ORDER.

So, about what I’m most excited for, well, that’s really a hard question because there are so many things left to explore and so many different places they can go. I guess one way to put it is that I’m more curious about the unseen and barely seen stuff. For example, I believe we’ve seen enough about Jack and Rebecca as parents of children and teenagers, so I wouldn’t mind if they reduced those scenes a little bit. I’d love to see them as parents of babies (which would be a great parallel with Kevison and Katoby), or when they first started dating, when they got engaged, when they were newlyweds. And I believe it’s not a coincidence that we’ve hardly seen any of those experiences regarding Rebecca and Jack, it feels like they saved it for when Kevin finally found the one (cough Madison cough).

I’d also like to see more of them before getting to know each other, their childhood and teenage/young years (we already know there will be one flashback on the first episodes at least!), maybe a little bit of their other relatives as well. Like, what happened to their parents and Rebecca’s sister? Specially Jack’s mother, he mentions she made three clothes for the babies, so she was still around when the big three were born and that was eight years after their first encounter.

I’d love to see more of past timelines that haven’t been visited enough as well. The 20′s is my favorite episode from season 2, I loved the storylines in there and mostly loved to see Kevin, Randall and Kate in their late 20s. Show me more of what was happening in their lives back then! Also, show me more of Randall and Beth as newlyweds and first-time parents too and more parallels with Kevison, please?

Kate. I know that eating disorders and insecurity just don’t go away, that they can be a daily struggle and anytime they can haunt you back and make you relapse. I’m glad the show explores that. However, they also work on Randall’s anxiety and Kevin’s addiction really well and have given them more different stories. I want the same for her. I’m glad that she is also married and has an expanding family of hers, but it seems like she post-poned her career again and I’d like to see her working again at some point. Also, what happens to her in the future? We saw a flash-forward that was like, two years from now and she was all dressed-up and seemed to be writing a song. I hope things are going well for her. And no, I doubt she is dead.

More about ‘the others’. Show me more of Madison, Beth, Toby and Miguel! Why isn’t Madison close with her family? How did she develop bulimia? Isn’t there really anyone who she count on in her family? Will they reconcile or has she left them for good to make her own family like Jack did (another potential for parallels, btw). I remember Beth mentioning to William that she had a lot sisters and lived with an enormous amount of people and we kind of saw it on the few episodes that centered on her, but what are her sisters like? How were their dynamic while growing up and what is it like now? Same for Toby, he has mentioned having a brother and a sister and it looks like they’re not that close, but Toby really loves and admires Kate’s bond with her brothers, so I feel like he craves that kind of relationship to himself and I’d like to know why he doesn’t seem to have it with with his own siblings. Plus, Miguel. He has biological children and grandchildren and yet he seems to be closer to Rebecca’s side of the family. And we’ve seen him with his biological family and know it is complicated, but couldn’t they fix or at least change that a little bit?

Randall’s biological family. Memphis is one of my favorite episodes from season 1 and one thing that was very satisfying and rewarding to see was Randall bonding with his biological family. The show has done a great job showing how Randall felt a vacancy in his entire life for being black in a racist world, for being black in a white family, for dealing with racism in his own family, for not having enough black references for a long period of his life, for being adopted, for being abandoned, for not knowing anything about his biological family, for not sharing genetic traits with his family, for still feeling like an outsider among some black folks he tried to connect with. He said it once that he either tries too hard or not hard enough, but he never manages to GET IT RIGHT. So when he met his biological family in Memphis, it was sort of an awakening, fulfilling moment after 36 years of dealing with all those complex feelings. And that was all, which is one of my few disappointments with the show. However, Sterling has talked about it and it seems that they will explore that again. And if they do, I hope he can introduce Beth and the girls to his uncles and cousins! Sure, he is closer to The Pearsons, but it wouldn’t hurt to have him spending time with his biological/extended family at least for one episode on seasons 5 and 6, right?

Final closure for Kevin and Sophie. I thought episode 3x16 was the perfect closure for them: Sophie talked to him about Grant and how he was her soulmate, they recognized the fact Kevin didn’t commit to their relationship as he did with his relationship with Zoe, they said goodbye without any hard feelings, he went back to Zoe and said he wanted to have a life with her and bought Sophie and Grant tickets to a concert. It was perfect. Then, I guess they wanted to play with the ‘who’s the baby mama’ question for one last time and brought her back as a plot device. It didn’t feel natural at all. They threw in two stories about a game they had imagining different endings to Good Will Hunting and her family ring out of nowhere, no previous hints, built-up or whatsoever. It felt like something made last minute to fuel them enough so she could be considered a baby mama/wife contender again after how badly their relationship played out with the cheating, hiding, lying, heartbreak and overall dynsfunctionality and the fact he dated Zoe for a year and saw himself marrying her. Even the way their relationship has been portrayed over the course of the show, it is an idealization. When Kevin is fine and happy, when his career is going smoothly, when he is life is well, he doesn’t think about her. When he gets frustrated and deluded, he runs back to her. It’s not a constant sentiment of missing her and longing for her, it’s a desperate move and Justin has talked about it and even compared it to his addiction and a unhealthy coping mechanism. So I just want them to definitely shut the door on it now. I believe they have done 50% already with them watching the ending of the movie and saying “it was better than they could've possibly imagined” and Sophie laughing at his billboard, not giving any hints of seeing him in a romantic light anymore. Now, they just need to write some closure to the ring. Give it a proper ending and move forward.

Deja, Tess and Annie. The girls are growing up! So keep giving them more things to do, specially Tess, she is one of the few LGBTQIA+ characters in the universe of the series, so I hope they explore her even more. Specially since she’s come out to her school not so long ago and it is in a phase of her life when the first crushes and relationships tend to happen, there are a lot of things they can do with that and I’m sure we from the LGBTQIA+ community would love to see it. Also, show me them in the flash-forwards! I’d also appreciate if we saw Tess having a love interest and a wlw kiss in the future.

Deja and her biological family. She’s adopted by Randall and Beth, but she has a whole story before them, she has a mother that is apparently doing well too and is a part of her identity. Showing adoptive and biological families having a well-balanced relationship for the sake of their child would be refreshing and really important and they could show the contrast between Deja’s and Randall’s experiences. There is a lot of potential there.

Hailey. I have no idea how the adoption process works in California/the US, but I hope the little one comes as soon as possible! And adult Hailey is adorable, too, she seems to be such a devoted sister, so I hope to see more of that as well.

Unexplored or underdeveloped dynamics. I know that Jack, Rebecca, Kate, Randall and Kevin are the leading characters. I know Jack/Rebecca, Randall/Beth, Kate/Toby and now Kevin/Madison are the main couples and they will have a lot of screen time. I know Kate and Kevin have a special bond because they are twins. I know Kevin and Nicky have a special bond because he stayed with his uncle and helped him with his sobriety. I know Kevin has a special bond with his nieces and baby Jack because he is the last one to become a parent. I know all of that and I don’t want that to change. Still, it doesn’t hurt to mix it up and shake things up a little bit. Give me a little bit of Randall and baby Jack, show me a little bit of Kate and Nicky, bring back a little bit of that funny dynamic Kevin and Toby had on the early seasons (I remember one scene where the actors did a little bit of an ad-lib and it was awesome), give me a little bit of Madison and Randall’s girls, the women/men hanging out together and Rebecca and Miguel! We’ve already got confirmation about Rebecca and Miguel’s story being explored this season, so I’m excited about that.

Kevison, Kevison, KEVISON!! This is absolutely no surprise since I’ve been interested in them since season 2, Madison is my favorite character and a lot of my blog is dedicated to them. Just give me EVERYTHING. Again, one of my few complaints is how the main relationships happened way too fast on this show. Don’t get me wrong, I love the couples as much as the next person and I can enjoy every trope if they are done right. Still, my favorite are still the slowburn ones. As I viewer, I like to see the seed being planted, watered and the slowly growing like a real plant. I like rooting for something, knowing that it will happen, but not when and how it is going to play out. I like to see every single step of the journey: being acquainted, becoming colleagues, friends, confidants, best friends, falling in love, dating, getting engaged, married and BEING married. I love seeing little things and changes in their dynamic, like becoming more touchy, lingering looks, making each other blush, a little bit of jealousy... Sure, we got a little bit of those moments with Jack/Rebecca, Randall/Beth and Kate/Toby, but it wasn’t the same feeling because they were all love at first sight (which is one of the tropes I usually don’t like) and got together pretty quickly. And even when we saw their first meeting, or Jack being a little jealous/hurt when he saw Rebecca with her ex-boyfriend, it was more of a momentary thing than an example of changed dynamics and feelings becoming deeper and romantic. It wasn’t the result of months and a number of episodes in the making, it was a flashback we visited when we already knew the destination of their story, that it wouldn’t last and they would be happily married and the love of each other’s lives. So I specially appreciate that kevison will be the only main couple to have a different construction and development. I’d also love to see flashbacks of the time they slept together (it was afternoon when they met at Kate’s house and they went to Madison’s place and he only left the next morning! WHAT DID THEY DO DURING ALL OF THAT TIME?), which I’m quite confident we will get, but also before that. On episodes 4x10, 4x12, 4x14 and 4x18 I got the feeling that they were quite familiar with one another. They weren’t exactly friends, but they weren’t awkward with each other anymore, they were comfortable hanging out and shopping with Kate, he sweetly smiled at Madison’s quirks, Madison seemed unimpressed and annoyed when she opened the door to him and she didn’t have problems at all stepping inside Kate’s house as if she owned the place and ignoring Kevin when he told her it wasn’t a good time. Their dynamic really changed since episode 3x15 and Justin mentioned Kevin saw her as part of the family before their night together, so I wonder why. Also, some parallel flashbacks would be particulary nice. For example, they could have a flashback of Madison making a pregnancy test on a day that Kevin is babysitting Jack and daydreaming of having his own children. They could show parallels of Kevin and Madison struggling with addiction/bulimia in the past. Maybe she also lost a close relative and grief has impacted her as much as Kevin. So. Many. Possibilities. That. Can. Be. Explored!!!!! Those two are the characters that have THE MOST IN COMMON WITH ONE ANOTHER and there are a lot of things the writers can explore with that. Another particularly sweet thing that wouldn’t hurt or take more than a single minute would be a flashback of them meeting each other way before Kate. Like, if they had bumped into each other on the street years before and don’t remember it until they talk about it one day and realized they saw each other before? I’m watching this dizi (aka a Turkish TV show) where the characters are in a considerably similar situation, pregnant as a result of a drunk one-night stand after their first date and there was this moment where they were talking and she remembered she had bumped into him years ago when she was heartbroken over her ex getting engaged. It was such a small and fulfilling moment. It really gives the idea of COMING FULL-CIRCLE and I’d love to see something like that.

Kevison and the other couples enjoying their pregnancies. I feel like we see the characters with their children as much as we should, and I definitely appreciate that, but we don’t get to see them enjoying the pregnancy period. Last year, most of Kate’s pregnancy revolved around worry, for example. And I get that since it was a complicated pregnancy and she had suffered a miscarriage before, but still. Kate only has one biological child. Rebecca only got pregnant once. Madison is likely to be pregnant only one time too. We basically only saw Beth and Lucy giving birth and that was only one time for each character. It would be nice to see their pregnancies being fun. Documenting it, buying baby clothes, discussing baby names, building cribs, decorating the baby(ies) room etc. It would be nice to have flashbacks of that and specially to see KEVISON doing all of that, since this is the pregnancy that is happening at this current moment.

The characters having friends outside their families and marriage. Like I said before, I KNOW that the focus of the show are the big three and Jack and Rebecca. I know which dynamics will be more explored on the show and I don’t want that to change. However, Kate is the only one that has the luxury of two friends (Madison and Gregory). Randall got Jae-Won on season 3 (I actually think they only became real friends last season, tbh) and Kevin had Cassidy for a while and now doesn’t even seem to talk to her anymore (not that I miss it because I didn’t like their dynamic, specially after they slept together and I just wanted season 4A to focus on him and Nicky without anyone’s interference). Let them have some friends of their own too and hang out with them at least for an episode? Same goes to Beth, Toby, Rebecca and Miguel (I know he had Jack, I’m talking about present time).

Kevin’s career. For now I want him to focus on his children and Madison, but when it comes to his career, I’d like to see him doing different things. He played a soldier and a cop. Let him play different characters and show more versatility. Maybe doing voice-work on a Disney movie for his children to watch it and enjoy it? Dealing a little bit with fame, tabloids and paparazzi could be interesting as well. He’s not a big celebrity like Oscar-winner actors, but he is famous enough to be photographed on the street and have mean rumors about him spread on the media (they mentioned one about him being drunk and running over his daughter with his car), so there are many possibilities to explore when he comes to his career too.

Kate being there for Madison during the pregnancy and more moments of Kate helping and comforting her during difficult times, both in the present and the past years. This is not criticism. Kate helped her when she relapsed that one time and took care of her. It also didn’t make sense to focus on Madison that much because her character didn’t have such a big role back then. Now, things have changed and Madison will be needing her, so let Kate repay the favor.

The couples enjoying some adult time without children involved. One of the very few flaws of This Is Us. We only got that with Jack and Rebecca. The only times Kate/Toby and Beth/Randall tried to have a night just for themselves they had problems. Susan mentioned that she would like to see them going on a date and so do I? Hopefully we will see Kevin/Madison, Randall/Beth and Kate/Toby having some quality time without the kids as well.

If we get to see more of the big three as older children and teenagers (which I guess we are because unless that’s changed, the actors are still part of the main cast), I hope they show more moments of them bonding, having fun and helping each other. Having their own experiences and having each other’s back instead of problems that Jack and Rebecca try to solve for them or help them with. Let them be bigger characters and let them be close as siblings too. That episode where they watched Arsenio Hall together was particularly sweet and refreshing to see, same goes to Kevin helping Randall at school when he got a notification and was having a panic attack. However, for their teen years, I’d definitely love to see them being easy with their parents and those five having a good time together, enjoying each other and their parents for a change, specially since Jack passed away when they were only 17.

Jack, Hailey and the twins. Sure, they will be little, but I hope we get to see the cousins together for a decent amount of time. It is really nice that they are all close (Madison/Kevin/Kate), and NOW, FAMILY. It is nice that Hailey, Jack and the twins will be closer in age and not have a lonely childhood. I hope they explore that a little bit.

Jack Damon. I love him. He is creative, charismatic, funny and adorable. He is also one of the few representation of disabled people that was done right. He is a visually-impaired person played by visually-impaired actors. His disability is a part of who he is and his story, but not all of it. He is a successful musician. He has a big family with his daughter, wife, sister, cousins and uncles. I want to know more of him. Plus, the writing exploring accessibility. Episode 4x13 when Kate, Jack and Rebecca went to the retreat and we saw all those children playing and having fun and living a full life was amazing. We need more of that on TV.

Plus, what about Nicky? Who did he marry? I have an entire theory about this and I hope he can get a little family for himself. Don’t get me wrong, The Pearsons are his family too, his bond with Kevin is one of my favorite relationships in the entire show, but I’d want him to have a family outside of his extended family, too, you know?

Dr. K and Wlliam. We can never get enough from them! I don’t know how often we will see them due to the pandemics and the fact the actors are eldery, but they are the guest stars I will never grow tired of. A fantasy sequence with the entire family while having Jack, Nicky and William would be particuarly nice. They could’ve done it on episode 4x17 and I was a little frustrated that they missed the opportunity.

The future of the family and the future of the show. Rebecca is a grandmother now. Randall, Kate and Kevin are parents. Deja, Tess and Annie are growing up. Jack is 1. Madison is very close to giving birth to the twins. They’ll be 40 when the season premieres. Kevin is a year sober. They’ve all grown in so many different ways. And since Rebecca’s health and memory are deteriorating, I’d like them to be in the upfront of the narrative now. As I mentioned before, I know the leading characters are Jack, Rebecca, Kevin, Kate and Randall. I know the big three are some of biggest characters on the show. Still, when it comes to family, the narrative has always focused on Jack and Rebecca as parents and Kate, Randall and Kevin as children. They have always explored more the problems those three experience, whether is in the past or present time and Rebecca and Jack trying to help them navigate through them and solve things. Let’s reverse everything. Let Rebecca be vulnerable and having her children taking care of her. I’d also love to see more of the future timelines with Randall’s girls as young adults, Jack, Hailey and the twins as children and teenagers, them and their parents dealing with all of that. What will Randall and Beth do when they all go to college and move out? What will Kate and Toby do when their children have nightmares? What will Madison and Kevin do with the twins when they have problems at school? Let us see (more) of Randall’s, Kate’s and Kevin’s parenting style and what they got from their parents and are passing on for their kids and what is their own approach to parenthood. Let us see them passing on Jack and Rebecca’s legacy for the future generations of The Pearsons, but also making their own little traditions and having their own experiences. Let’s us see them making NEW MEMORIES FOR THEMSELVES AND THEIR FAMILIES. It is a good idea to explore both on seasons 5 and 6, imo. Showing how far they have come, how this family that started with only a couple and has evolved into this gigantic fabric of people and how Jack and Rebecca will live forever though Kevin, Kate, Randall, their children, Hope and the ones from generations that are still to come.

IT’S NOT that I exactly WANT it, but iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiif we really have to go there:

Kate and Toby’s divorce. I don’t want it. I love them as people. I root for them as a couple. Sure, they have faced some major problems and this season explored that, but I hope they get passed it, specially since they are about to welcome a second child. Still, I can’t come up with a good enough of an explanation why Toby isn’t wearing his wedding ring. Every possible reason that crossed my mind was either heartbreaking or underwhelming at best: there was a small incident and he will buy a new ring, they got divorced, Kate died. I don’t want any of it to happen and I bet money that Kate doesn’t die. Still, if after making such a big deal of it, it turns out that they just are buying new wedding rings or whatever, that will be so ANTICLIMACTIC. And if they do get a divorce, it will be REPETITIVE since they teased it for the entire season and they stayed married. So far, if it were for them to split up, it should have happened on season 4. If they’re reaaaaaaally gonna go there, I hope it will be done well considering there are only two seasons left, two children involved and it was something they literally played with LAST SEASON. They must find a way to make it REFRESHING AND NOT REPETITIVE. They must find a way to explore the outcome of it. Dealing with a divorce, being single again, the custody of their children and how it will change their dynamic as parents. I also want them to find a new love. Sure, it would be realistic if they ended up alone, yes, and there’s no shame in that. A lot of people don’t want to get married or never see that dream coming true and those are stories worth telling too. STILL, I’d be really frustrated with they were the only characters who ended up alone when Randall/Beth and Kevin/Madison are happily married. Even Jack and Lucy seem to be going strong! So show them finding someone else and give well-developed love stories with different people for them while exploring everything else that’s already going on too. I wanted there to be a big and plausible enough explanation why on earth Toby isn’t wearing his ring and yet is still very much married to Kate, but I recognize it is more wishful thinking.

If they still want to bring Sophie through flashbacks, then answer relevant questions than just having her there sitting next to Kevin. The divorce is a great example of storyline and it can serve as a parallel for Kevison, like, what they got right and Kevin/Sophie didn’t. Justin said Kevin cheated on her twice, so how did all of that happen? We don’t know.

#this is us #jack pearson #rebecca pearson #randall pearson #kate pearson #kevin pearson #madison simons #madison simmons #madison pearson #beth pearson #toby damon

34 notes · View notes

schmokschmok · 3 years

Text

everything changes, nothing perishes

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Relationship: Jon Sims x Martin K. Blackwood

Characters: Jonathan Sims, Martin K. Blackwood, Gerry Delano, Georgie Barker, Melanie King, Tim Stoker, Sasha James

Wordcount: 10.000

Freeform:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Alternate Universe - College/University

Romantic & Platonic Soulmates

Brief Georgie/Jon

Amicable Breakups

Trans Melanie King & Martin Blackwood

He/Him & They/Them Pronouns For Asexual, Nonbinary Royalty Jon Sims

HOH Tim Stoker

The Mechanisms Are The Archivist’s College Band

Summary

It’s just like Martin to get a soulmate who’s already bound to someone else.

A "the first words your soulmate says to you are written on your skin"-au but the twist is only a twist if you haven't read the first installment of the series (which is not necessary but appreciated).

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28395876

Complimentary Georgie/Melanie Fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25056415

CN: Alcohol (mentioned), Canon-/Fanon-typical Martin Loneliness, Food (mentioned), Toxic Parent-Child Relationship (Martin’s mother)

Just got drunk and walked in.

It’s kind of a funny story, Martin supposes, what with the admission of alcohol being the catalysator and the cocky confidence of the script. When he was young, he thought about this sentence a lot, even though his idea of ‘getting drunk’ didn’t correspond to reality. (He still thinks a lot about it, but it’s not as rose-tinted anymore. Or at least he likes to think it isn’t.)

He never pictured a face or an actual voice to accommodate the words. But he thought about the tone, and the inflection, the way someone might say it with anger or arrogance or the intensity of a really great punchline.

The stories he made up were full of bravery and heroism, of drunk shenanigans and questionable decisions, of happy accidents and laughter. Fantastical in places, but realistic most of the time.

On better days he imagines a whole group of people close to him – friends – waiting for him in their favourite pub or on a patch of grass in front of the college he’s going to attend soon or in the flat of one of them. He imagines them chatting and retelling stories animatedly, laughing and talking over each other in enthusiasm and comradery. And one day there would be someone new, someone Martin would not have seen before. And in the moment, Martin would get into earshot, they would say it: Just got drunk and walked in. And it would be the start of a story about the lack of courage and the finding of it on the bottom of a bottle. Or the beginning of a tale about someone trying to do good, being all on their own, however. Or it would be the end of an adventure of nerves and worry.

Martin can see himself with someone equally as anxious as him. But he can also see himself with someone cockily declaring that they drunkenly walked into a place they shouldn’t have been in as well.

On worse days he imagines hearing the words in a crowd, only in bypassing, the source of countless daydreams and nightmares swallowed by the masses of people going on about their day without ever realising he was there in the first place.

One thing stays the same though in all of his imaginations and phantasies. In every single version Martin can think of, he falls in love with the voice before seeing their face first. It doesn’t matter if the words are yelled in arrogance and vanity or muttered self-consciously and kind of self-deprecatingly or hesitantly contemplated. He falls in love so fast and hard he stops breathing for a second then and there.

He had years upon years to build up enough expectations to know it only needs a little shove to snowball all of his fluttering endearment into the devastating, all-consuming love he was always destined to feel.

Martin is a romantic at heart and it doesn’t matter that all of his what ifs are futile and unrealistic, he’s in love with the idea of having a fairy-tale romance and that’s enough as it is. With all its daydreams and the gentle warmth in his stomach.

He doesn’t want to be lonely, really, he tries his best not to be. But it’s hard and he doesn’t know how to change it. When he still lived with his mother, she complained a lot about him being home all the time when he wasn’t working. (He shouldn’t think too much about it, she also complained a lot about him being away too much – no matter if he was out working or meeting up with somebody who could turn into a friend.)

The first two years in college didn’t change that fact at all. He was friendly with most of the people he met in his department and at the events he attended. But he wasn’t friends with them by any means. And that had always been the problem, hadn’t it? They thought he was a good lad, a nice chap, a dapper mate, a “we should hang out sometime!” and an “it’s lovely seeing you here!” but he’s not interesting to talk to. People don’t remember him because: While he can hold small talk relatively well, conversations with him tend to be one-sided. He asks the right questions, listens and reacts appropriately to the things people tell him, but he doesn’t reciprocate, can’t counter a story with a story because they’re either too personal or too embarrassing or don’t exist at all.

The first person talking often enough to Martin to make him share a few selected stories here and there is Gerry Delano. They share a single class and find themselves sitting next to each other, sharing and comparing the notes they made during the lecture. They haven’t met up outside of their shared class before, so Martin’s pleasantly surprised when Gerry asks him to come see his band the up-coming weekend.

He’s late. Because of course he is. One time. One single time he gets invited to something, so naturally he has to put in overtime. He’s at least an hour late, maybe even a little bit more. The text he shot Gerry to let him know that he’s late sits unread and unanswered in their chat and Martin feels awful.

Eventually, he reaches The Anglerfish, the small student bar just off the campus that hosts open mic nights and concerts for student bands. Gerry’s band is supposed to play tonight as the closing act; the after-act for a bigger student band Martin’s never heard of – The Mechanics? The Mech– something something. Apparently, they have a longer set than the other bands so Martin could be lucky to only have miss one or two songs of Gerry’s band.

Martin hasn’t listened to a single song of any of the bands that play tonight, so he’s not sure what to expect from the evening. Muffled music spills out of the slightly ajar windows, but he can’t make out a genre or any specific instruments, so he reaches for the handle of the door and takes a deep breath, for the last time relatively alone, then he opens the door and goes into the dimly lit entry way.

The first thing he hears are the chattering voices of people standing off to the bar and sitting at tables lining the walls, but when he dives into the crowd, simultaneously scanning it for Gerry’s lanky figure, he hears it.

“Just got drunk and walked in,” declares a voice loudly and with a manic kind of arrogance. Martin freezes in place. This is all wrong.

But he doesn’t get the chance to dwell on the fact that he heard the phrase etched into his upper thigh verbatim from someone he can’t even see, because the crowd doesn’t stop moving. Despite Martin’s need for the whole world to take a fucking breather, the people behind him shove him into the room and he tries to get air into his lungs again, but he only manages a few shallow breaths before the voice carries on and Martin realises that it has to be the singer on stage who said the most fateful words of Martin’s life.

The voice is gruff now, deeper and drunkenly confident.

Careful not to bump into too many people, Martin navigates through the crowd, trying to catch a look at the stage. In spite of his height it proves difficult and he goes further into the bar, diving into the crowd, while absolutely forgetting why he came in the first time: To meet Gerry who wanted to see the band Martin’s currently enraptured by, before playing with his band.

Finally, he manages to find a place at the far-right side of the publicum – close enough to see the stage but far enough to not stand in the way of the fans that came specifically for the band.

The song’s still going, and Martin scans the stage briefly. The band’s bigger than he expected and if it weren’t for the sheer presence of the person standing front centre stage, clutching the retro silver microphone with only one hand, Martin’s sure he’d have to look at every member of the band to determine who he’s looking for.

Adjusting his glasses, he attempts to take in every detail he can but he’s pretty far off and he can’t see everything he wants to. The things he can see are their long brown hair, dishevelled and laced with braids to keep it from falling into their face, goggles perched on their head like a headband; the dark brown skin of their face and hands and the lower half of their left arm; the black paint around their eyes, rampant like ivy roots; the black nail polish on the hand holding the microphone; the white linen shirt underneath the muddy brown waist coat, a dip hem skirt in the same soily brown over fishnet stockings and heavy brown boots with at least four or five centimetres of heel.

Their voice sounds like it’s made to narrate and yell and sing and– well, talk, actually. It sounds like a voice Martin would love to talk to and listen to and wake up to and– shit. This is bad and, did he mention, this is all wrong.

A narration begins and Martin realises all of a sudden that it took one measly song for him to lose all dignity and sense of appropriateness and instead win all of the love at first sight he dreamt of but didn’t anticipate to, well, suck so much.

He can’t have a crush on someone like, like that! Someone beautiful who carries themselves with ease and swagger and confidence. Until now he thought he could do this, you know, meeting his soulmate and instantly falling in love and maybe even talk to them like a civilised human being. But he was wrong, god was he wrong! He can’t talk to that ethereal being in fishnets. This is, wow, this is so far out of his comfort zone, he involuntarily takes a step back.

The only reasonable explanation is that he must have misheard the narration, must have missed a quintessential detail of what happened. Or it’s a very strange coincidence, his soulmark isn’t the most non-sensical sentence, there’s probably plenty people out there being able to say the exact same sentence. He just hasn’t met them yet.

Still, he can’t avert his eyes, he’s transfixed on the stage, listening to the, to be embarrassingly frank, horribly hot voice laying down the events leading to Oedipus’ Trial of Wits. Everything except the stage steps back and Martin’s brain singles out the band. The elbows touching him and the feet stepping on his don’t feel as real anymore, or maybe he’s less real in this weird interspace of knowing your soulmate or crushing on a complete stranger with the intensity of a thousand burning suns.

But there is no way to know, is it? He can’t go back and enter the bar again, consciously heeding the sentence that caused his distress. The only things he can think of doing are either getting to know the singer, who introduces himself as Jonny d’Ville just a few songs later, which is pretty creepy and Martin doesn’t want to do that – or he has to attend the next concert (or next concerts?) to determine if he merely misheard which doesn’t seem like a better alternative, if Martin’s honest.

So, still unsure what he should do next, he focuses on Jonny d’Ville and the way he gestures while narrating and singing like he’s winding his thoughts forth; the way he sits down during the songs he’s not involved in; the way he can’t hold back when Marius von Raum sings the part of Herakles and he mouths the words excitedly before jumping back to the microphone to sing the part of Zeus; the way he uses a single drumstick to beat the drum and holds the harmonica; the way he draws a steam punky gun and flourishes it like a natural extension of his arm.

“I’ve been looking for you!”

Gerry’s voice is so close to his ear, that the sudden proximity startles him more than the actual talking to him, or at least that’s what he tells himself. He’s not far gone enough to admit, even if it’s just to himself, that he was captivated by the band so much that he didn’t even realise that they neared the end of their act.

“D-Didn’t you get my text?” Martin yells back, leaning back, out of Gerry’s personal space. “Had to put in overtime and when I got here, I couldn’t find you.”

Gerry waves dismissively and shouts back: “Well, I found you at last, we’re up next!” He grins self-consciously and nods towards the stage. “Don’t really wanna get up after them but the crowd’s hyped up so maybe they’ll accept us as one of them.”

Even though his gaze flickers to the stage multiple times, Martin succeeds in looking at Gerry and smiling encouragingly. Then he says: “You’ll do amazing, Gerry. Don’t worry.”

While Gerry opens his mouth, the last notes of Elysian Fields carry through the bar and applause rings out. Jonny d’Ville takes a step forward, basking in the applause of the crowd and chugging water from a half litre bottle. As the applause dies down a bit, he lifts the microphone up again and exclaims: “Thank you! Thank you! Now, we are aiming to put that on CD, ehh, sometime around July. It won’t be exactly the show that you saw, this is, well, this is the debut. This’ll be refined and processed, et cetera, et cetera.” He bows outlandishly. “But if you want to help with that occurring – and you know you do – there is a crowdfunding, an indiegogo page, uhm, for this, uh, CD, there’s lots of,” he fumbles for words, “lovely perks from dice to patches and all sorts of brilliant things. So, go there, give us all your money.” The crowd laughs. “And then we will make a CD and we will send you the CD and you can listen to this to your heart’s content, uhh,” the crowd cheers again, “but thank you so much for coming!” He gives a few more thanks, then he says. “We’re going to, well, we’re going to leave you, uhm, with one quick final song and I think you probably know which one. So, sing along if you know the words.”

And the crowd knows the words.

Involuntarily, Martin steps back, overwhelmed by the sheer energy that erupts because of the people around him jumping up and down, yelling the lyrics to Drunk Space Pirate.

After that, it doesn’t take too long for The Mechanisms to clear the stage off their instruments and The Black Eyed Keays to set up their own act. Gerry comes out, hand gripping the neck of his electric guitar harder than necessary, knuckles lighter than the rest of his tan hand. His band is composed of five members including him, Martin’s yet to meet them.

Before he can start really looking at the other four musicians, he can see Ashes o’Reilly coming through the makeshift curtain separating the backstage area from the public. They goe straight to a woman standing off to the side, while politely dismissing people congratulating them and trying to involve them into conversation. As Martin averts his eyes because it seems like a private moment, he sees Jonny d’Ville leaving the backstage area, pulled through the curtain by Raphaella, their hands intertwined.

Something in Martin halts, something that had been on edge for the last hour or so, something that seemed to only be satisfied by the crushing reality of his potential soulmate holding the hand of someone other than him. (They could be friends, Martin knows that, he’s not that dense to think that everyone holding hands has to be romantically involved with each other. But it doesn’t stop him in the slightest of thinking that he wants to be in the place of holding Jonny d’Ville’s hand. He doesn’t even know the real name of the guy and already wants to hold his hand. Pathetic. And definitively creepy.)

Shaking his head to remind himself that he’s here for Gerry and The Black Eyed Keays, he turns away from Jonny d’Ville and Raphaella stopping at the bar, but out of the corner of his eyes he catches sight of Raphaella wrapping her arms around Jonny d’Ville’s waist.

As far as Martin can tell, it’s going well for him, wonderful even, just perfectly fine. He realised today that he hadn’t spent too much time wondering about The Mechanisms or Jonny d’Ville in the past few months and he’s rather proud of himself for not obsessing. His shift ended a tad early today, he didn’t have any costumers that grinded his nerves, the night provided him with a good eight-hour long sleep, and he didn’t even have nightmares.

This is the literal incorporation of a good day. Martin doesn’t have too many of them, so he tries to really bask in the feeling, who knows how long it’s going to last.

On the way out of the Ceaseless Watcher, he picks up two cups – one filled with black coffee and one with a herbal-fruit tea blend – and starts walking to the patch of grass in front of the Jonah Magnus’ University where he’s supposed to meet Gerry. Careful not to spill coffee or tea or burn himself, he clenches one of the cups between his forearm and his chest, while he fumbles for the phone in his pocket.

For a second, he contemplates coming to a halt to text Gerry that he’s on his way, but he doesn’t want to stop, being in the momentum already. While concentrating on proper (or at least somewhat comprehensible) grammar and typing the right letters, he’s paying a little less attention to the way as he should. Of course, he notices the change of underground from the hard-stomped way underneath the trees to the openness and softness of the grassy patch. But, actually, that’s about it. It’s not too crowded because it starts to be too cold outside to properly hang out, so he doesn’t even have to navigate through groups of students.

The thing is: Martin doesn’t really think something (or someone) could cross his way, so he doesn’t even try to pay attention to the area around him. And that’s why he doesn’t reckon with the incredibly inauspicious sounding crinkling when he steps on something that is decidedly not lawn.

Martin stops dead in his track, draws a shaky breath and wants to say anything (like an apology probably), but the only words leaving his mouth are a softly whispered: “Oh no.”

The words of apology are stuck in his throat and he doesn’t dare look up from the sketchpad he stepped on unintentionally. Right on top of a study of the two statues in front of the academic museum of arts is a rather perfect imprint of the sole of his boot. Martin swallows.

“You cannot be serious,” drawls a voice that makes heat rise in Martin’s cheeks – out of shame and recognition all the same.

As if the voice had snapped Martin out of a stupor, he rushes to say: “Oh, god, I am so sorry.” Shoving his phone into his coat pocket and setting down the two cups, he crouches and starts to wipe at the now slightly damp paper, more apologies tumbling from his lips.

“Alright!” The voice cuts him short, impatiently. “Stop it. It’s alright. Don’t bother.”

Two hands reach for the sketchpad, taking it out of Martin’s hands without further ado.

“I’m really sorry,” Martin says again, still not daring to look into the face of the person he just ruined the day for. Instead, he’s looking at their hands – one of them pulling the sleeve of a jumper or hoodie out of the sleeve of their coat and over their other hand to gently dab at the paper that already starts to get wavy where Martin’s boot hit it.

The person who is definitely not Jonny d’Ville (because Jonny d’Ville is a stage name and Martin doesn’t know who the human being in front of him is) retorts curtly: “I gathered as much.”

“Is it …”, Martin interrupts himself, shifting his weight so that he’s sitting on his heels instead of the balls of his feet. “Was it important?” He scrunches his nose. “I mean, I didn’t– didn’t destroy, like, a project for a course you’ve been working on for months, did I?”

“No,” they reply but their tone suggests otherwise. “It’s not … It’s nothing.”

They stop dabbing at the paper and Martin realises that they’re looking at him now and that it would be the polite thing to look back. It costs him approximately a metric shit ton of effort to lift his eyes and meet theirs. But he manages. (Just about.)

Martin regrets his decision to meet their eyes at approximately the same time that he can start making out the details of their face that he hadn’t been able to see in the dim light of The Anglerfish and the distance between him and the stage. It’s the exact same moment that Martin realises that they are as beautiful as Martin thought they would be. In a more reigned in and moderated kind of way – their hair confined in a bun, their face not painted with ivy roots but dotted with circular scars, and their outfit more suitable for daily use – but nonetheless beautiful.

“It doesn’t look like it’s nothing,” Martin says softly, and he doesn’t know where he’s getting the courage from. (Probably nowhere, he’s not exactly thinking as it is. And ‘not thinking’ is not the same thing as conjuring up courage.)

A scoff slips past their lips and they reply: “It is, though. And even if it wasn’t: I don’t see how this could be of any concern to you.”

Martin averts his eyes and looks down at the two cups he placed next to the place where the sketchpad had previously lain. The shock of already having his foot in his mouth is probably the reason why Martin just goes on: “If I want to make it up to you, I need to know just how bad my clanger was.”

His gaze flickers back to their face and takes in the steep corrugation between their drawn together brows.

Slowly, they say: “You don’t have to make it up to me.” They look almost appalled at the thought, and Martin’s not sure if he should be offended on his behalf or theirs. (Does he look like someone who ruins peoples work and then walks away? Or did nobody ever thought about righting their wrong when interacting with them?)

“I know I don’t have to,” Martin retorts, then he backpaddles and tries to correct himself: “I mean, you don’t seem like someone who’d enforce rectification but … I want to.” He swallows around the lump in his throat. “Make it up to you, that is.”

“Oh,” they say softly, and Martin thinks that they seem like they didn’t even notice they said anything at all. Absentmindedly, their left hand fiddles with the hem of the maybe-sweater-maybe-hoodie sleeve still pulled over their right hand.

“This was absolutely and entirely my fault,” Martin says when they don’t speak up again. “So, if it would be alright with you, I would like to, I don’t know, buy you a coffee?” The blush on his cheeks intensifies because he knows what this could look like. But someone like them would never even consider that someone like Martin could hit on them, so he tries not to dwell on that thought for too long. “I work at the Ceaseless Watcher, so, you could drop by and get a coffee on the house?”

Martin attempts a smile but it’s a rather weak one. The palms of his hands are clammy and a little numb, but he doesn’t dare wiping them on his trousers to get rid of the feeling.

“Are you working on Thursday?”

In all honesty, Martin didn’t reckon they would actually agree. Much less on the first go. (Such things don’t happen to Martin. He is never lucky enough that things just work out.)

“I– uh, yes,” Martin rushes to say before they can think about changing their mind. “Five to eleven.” An owlish blink in Martin’s direction. “P.M.”

“Good,” they say, both hands now lying flat on their sketchpad. “Then I will see you on Thursday.”

Martin takes this as his cue to stand up and leave, and it takes him almost ten whole minutes until he realises that he doesn’t even know the name of the person he had just met. And it takes him almost five more minutes of self-loathing and -pity until he remembers that they will see each other again. Next Thursday.

Maybe one time everything can work out for Martin. Just one time.

It doesn’t work out for Martin.

It doesn’t work out for Martin, so obviously and severely, that Martin genuinely thinks about hiding in the employee’s bathroom so that Jane can take over the register and deal with the slowly trickling in students of the Jonah Magnus Institute.

Jon (that’s his name, Jon without an H, it’s short for Jonathan, narrowed eyes at Martin’s name tag, Martin) has a girlfriend that is beautiful like a flower meadow in full bloom underneath the blue open sky. But they don’t just look great together (and they do, Martin’s perfectly and painfully aware of that fact), they seem to get along greatly, too. (Which is good! It’s not like Martin’s begrudging someone’s happy relationship or anything. It’s more like … he envies it? Envies the apparent ease and comfortability that come with knowing someone intimately for a long time. Envies the way they lean into each other and share private smiles. Envies the look of contentedness and trust when they look at each other. – Or maybe he’s overanalysing things he has never been part of. Eternally condemned to an etic approach to romantic relationships.)

Today, however, Martin wants to flee the scene because Jon looks livid and Georgie’s attempts to calm him down seem rather futile. They’re barely in earshot when Jon hisses: “I still don’t understand why you invited her along.”

“It’s not every day that you meet your soulmate,” Georgie replies soft spoken and with an exasperation that implies that it’s not the first time she has said this sentence to him. “And I won’t let you antagonise her just for the sake of it. At least get to know her. If she’s as bad as you think she is, you get to tell me that you told me so and I’ll back off.” She smiles at him. “Deal?”

But she doesn’t wait for him to answer, instead she turns to the counter where Martin’s been standing the whole time, trying to look like he hasn’t been eavesdropping, and greets him: “Hey, Martin.”

“Hi.” Martin tries to smile through the awkward glances Jon shoots him. “What can I do for you?”

“Two latte macchiatos, one decaf, one regular, and one white coffee,” she replies. While he’s ringing up her order, she continues: “And maybe if you could answer me this: Do you think Jon’s approachable?”

Martin stops dead in his tracks and Jon splutters: “Georgie!”

“What?” Her gaze flickers between an indignant Jon and the redder and redder growing face of Martin. She tilts her head in confusion and furrows her brows.

Jon hisses: “You can’t rope Martin into your schemes, you wretched thing!”

“Why not?”, Georgie questions before Martin gets to have a word in this. (Not that Martin would actively try to intervene when they’re obviously fighting about something important. Something Martin doesn’t want to think about while they’re still standing right in front of him.)

“Because,” Jon starts to say, but Georgie’s bulldozing on: “Martin is the newest addition to our squad and you brought him in, so, if anyone knows if you’re approachable or not, it’s him.”

“Martin is not a part of our friend group,” Jon says bewildered, then the realisation that Martin’s right in front of them sinks in. But the words are out in the open and the damage is already done.

“Jon!” Georgie exclaims, her voice filled with outrage (or at least something that comes close to outrage).

Martin smiles weakly and says: “It’s okay, Jon’s right. We’re not friends, or anything.”

It’s true, even though Martin had hoped that they could become friends. Or at least acquainted. Sometime in the future. (But Martin has to admit that Georgie thinking that Martin belongs to them in any kind of way – it felt nice. Nicer and bigger than it should probably have.)

“Oh,” Georgie says, brows even more furrowed than before, and a look of contemplation on her face that Martin can’t decipher. Then she shakes her head and Jane calls out for Jon and Georgie to collect their drinks.

They continue their argument while walking away, and Georgie sends him a soft smile and a wave over her shoulder before they grab their coffees and head for a table near the front of the café.

Martin tries not to look at them too much, or at all even, but he must have failed embarrassingly, because he notices Jon’s displeased face before he realises that someone has entered the café and beelines for the table Georgie and Jon sit at.

And that’s the moment Georgie’s and Jon’s conversation hits him full force. Jon’s soulmate has come into their life. Jon‘s soulmate has come into their life and the soulmate in question has just entered The Ceaseless Watcher. Which means one thing: Martin is not Jon’s soulmate.

Martin laughs lowly and self-deprecatingly and thinks: It’s just like him to get a soulmate who’s already bound to someone else. If he’d tell his mother, she’d probably tell him he had it coming without ever specifying why.

“Sounds exhausting,” Gerry says, both arms on the counter and more slumped against it than standing upright.

Martin shrugs his shoulders and says: “That’s just uni life.”

“It’s not,” Gerry retorts, pulling a face. “I’ve been lying on my bed the whole weekend, working on a few new songs. What you’re doing is the Martin way of life and, no offence, but it sounds exhausting. Three out of ten, wouldn’t recommend.”

“I kinda … take offence?” Martin’s voice goes up way too much at the end of the sentence, and Gerry waves his hand dismissively. “Did you just come by to insult me?”

Gerry grins and extends his arm to ruffle Martin’s hair (which is not something Martin expects other people to do and that’s why he doesn’t really know how to react to it), before he says: “Nah. Don’t. If it’s working for you, go ahead. – I’m here because my roommate and their girlfriend broke up, so I’m waiting for them to, I don’t know, cheer them up, I guess.”

“Oh,” Martin says eloquently. “I’m sorry?”

Gerry shrugs. “It’s alright, I think. They didn’t sound too upset on the phone.” Then his gaze falls on the giant clock on the wall behind the counter. “Should be here soon. Could you please ring up one regular latte macchiato and one decaf?”

Nodding, Martin punches the order into the register and Gerry reaches for his wallet. Then Martin steps over to the coffee machine to prepare the two different shots of espresso and heat and foam the soy-oat milk blend.

They exchange a few more quips while Gerry carries the hot beverages to a table next to the wall and gets back to the counter because they don’t want to disturb the other patrons by talking too loudly.

Gerry’s about to go on a tangent about the breaking of his G and B strings, when the bell above the door chimes and someone enters The Ceaseless Watcher.

Without intent or his own volition, a bright smile plasters itself onto Martin’s face, before he even turns towards the door – pavloved into customer friendliness – and sees Jon walk into the café. His smile falters a bit, but he manages to uphold it and greets: “Hey, Jon.”

Jon nods in reciprocation and says: “Martin, Gerry.”

“Oh, you know each other?” Martin asks, already one finger on the register to punch in Jon’s order, but Gerry’s hand makes an abortive gesture.

“Jon’s my roommate,” Gerry explains with another gesture towards the table where the two latte macchiatos wait for them. “Didn’t know you were acquainted.”

A blush creeps up Martin’s neck and he forces an embarrassed groan back down his throat. He’s torn between processing the information that Jon and Georgie broke up (apparently) and the realisation that Gerry used they/them pronouns for Jon.

“Well, we are,” Jon replies curtly and frees Martin from saying anything at all. Jon already turns to leave the counter when Martin squeezes out: “Jon, could I– would you– just a moment?”

Jon nods and Gerry walks to their table to give them a moment of privacy. But Martin doesn’t continue, because the questions that pile up in his mouth and block the way for the thing he actually planned to ask try to fight their way over his lips. Did Georgie and you really break up? Is it because of your soulmate? Are you alright? Is Georgie alright?

“Yes, Martin?” Jon looks vaguely annoyed. (Or maybe Jon looks obviously annoyed, but Martin doesn’t want to accept it because he’s a hopeless romantic and thinks that even if he is not Jon’s soulmate, Jon is still his and that must mean something, right? The universe wouldn’t be as cruel as to present Martin his soulmate only to make them hate him, right? – Yes, of course, Martin knows that soulmates don’t have to be romantic or even platonic, that a shared soulmark only means this person will have an impact on your life and that it is on them to find out what kind of impact that is. But Martin wants it to be positive. He desperately craves for it to be positive force in his life. And he doesn’t know what he’s going to do if this thing ends up being a giant fluke.)

Martin clears his throat and tries to ignore the burning behind his eyes.

“Just,” Martin swallows down everything that doesn’t have any place being in his mouth, “Gerry used they/them pronouns for you and … I don’t want to misgender you?”

Jon’s face doesn’t tell Martin anything. If Jon is pleased knowing that Gerry uses the right pronouns; if Jon is annoyed that Gerry made a capital t Thing out of Jon by using gender-neutral language; if Jon doesn’t really care either way. Jon just looks at him. It’s a bit unsettling.

“If you don’t want to talk to me about this, I get it,” Martin continues softly when Jon doesn’t say a thing and only studies Martin’s face. “You don’t have to. But I would like to, you know, respect it if you preferred a specific set of pronouns.”

Martin shrugs to shove the weight off his shoulders, but Jon’s stare turns disconcerting. Uncertainty making its way into Martin’s chest, until Jon says slowly: “I use he/him and they/them pronouns. At the moment it’s the latter.”

A nod in acknowledgment earns Martin something akin to a smile, the smallest of uplifts of the corners of Jon’s lips, and warmth spreads through Martin’s cheeks and chest.

They lift their hand in a wave goodbye until they seem to realise that they’re not actually leaving but rather sitting down at the table Gerry’s still waiting at, and duck their head in something Martin wants to call embarrassment.

For a few minutes while nobody walks up to the counter and everyone seems to be busy except Martin, Martin takes a plate out of one of the cupboards and places two pastries on it. Then, after a few pacing steps forward and back again and too much hesitation, he walks over to Gerry and Jon and places the plate on the table.

Jon opens their mouth to say something and Martin can see the questioning look on Gerry’s face. But he cuts the discussion short by blurting out: “On the house.”

In an attempt to mask the anxiety already spreading through him, Martin smiles his brightest smile, turns around and walks away. (Which: Who does something like that? Jon must suspect that Gerry has told Martin something Martin shouldn’t know about. Or they must think that Martin is an absolute court jester. And given Gerry’s face, at least Gerry suspects that Martin is not acting out of sheer courtesy.)

(Martin desperately wishes for the ground to open up and swallow him whole.)

Georgie and Jon are broken up for good, or that’s at least what Jon says to Martin. This is remarkable because of two things: First of all because it means that Jon is actually talking to Martin except for, you know, ordering coffee or awkward small talk while Martin prepares the beverage. And secondly because Martin didn’t think their split would actually last. Georgie and Jon are, even if it sounds impossible, the perfect pair and Martin isn’t sure how they managed to not be soulmates.

Since Martin tried to clarify Jon’s use of pronouns, Jon has significantly warmed up to Martin and Martin isn’t sure if it’s because of this or because Jon can’t spend as much time with Georgie anymore. (It’s not like they actually take a break from seeing each other. Gerry told Martin that Jon and Georgie went to an outing together on the same night they broke up.) Either way, Martin’s suddenly confronted with a Jon who asks him low-voiced how he’s doing and who hesitantly wants him to have a good day.

“He/him day,” Jon says instead of a greeting. He wipes sweat from his forehead and tries to tug every stray strand and wisp of hair behind his ears or underneath his hair tie – rather unsuccessfully.

Martin throws a glance behind Jon to assess the situation in the café and if he can risk leaving the counter for a moment. When he deems it safe, Martin says: “This reminds me … Wait a moment, I …”

He doesn’t finish his sentence, but instead walks into the little storage room in the back of the shop to fish a little box out of his bag and come back to the front of the café. A small blush blooming on his cheeks, Martin smiles at Jon and says: “Hey, Jon.”

Jon furrows his brow as if he hadn’t realised that he skipped an essential part of the conversation, then replies dutifully: “Hello, Martin.”

“So,” Martin begins, “I’ve been thinking. We’ve been talking about your pronouns and …” Martin trails off and presents the little box he retrieved from his bag. He opens it and showcases two braided bracelets, one in salmon pink and one in teal. “I heard about pronoun pins and bracelets? Had some yarn laying around and thought … if you want to, you could use them to indicate your preferred pronouns?”

At the end, Martin’s voice trails off and he sounds a lot less sure about his idea. His uncertainty is a mix out of ‘did I overstep’ and ‘am I too much’, but the way Jon’s furrowed brows melt into something entirely else lets Martin think that he’s not as much a burden as he feared.

Cautiously, Jon reaches for the bracelets, stopping mid-air to throw another glance at Martin who can’t stop himself from making a weird combination of nodding and shrugging.

Jon takes the two bracelets out of their box and Martin throws the empty box into a drawer underneath the counter. He runs them through his fingers, feeling the texture of the yarn and the structure of the fish braid pattern. Pocketing the salmon pink bracelet, he extends his right arm with the teal-coloured one towards Martin, asking: “Could you tie it?”

The uncoiling of the knot right underneath Martin’s midriff makes Martin smile and he takes the bracelet out of Jon’s hand to tie it around Jon’s wrist. He miscalculated quite a bit with his own wrist as reference, but he is able to comfortably wrap the bracelet around Jon’s wrist two times, before he ties it into a loose knot. The colour looks nice against the warm undertone of Jon’s skin and up-close Martin can see the smaller and bigger moles scattered across his lower arm.

Martin’s not sure if it is he who lets go of Jon’s arm first or Jon who takes his arm back, but he knows that he looks up from where he held Jon’s wrist just a few seconds ago and catches sight of Jon looking at him. It’s not a look Martin can decipher. As so often, Jon looks like he’s trying to make sense out of something Martin has said or done. (Or maybe he’s trying to make sense out of Martin as a whole. The same way Martin is still trying to grasp the essence of Jon.)

“This is really nice,” Jon says, and it sounds more like he’s turning every word three or four times before releasing it into the air between them; like he’s somehow forcing the words out after analysing and approving them, because they don’t want to be heard. But the way he cradles his wrist and the bracelet with such great care and a little disbelief shows clearly that he’s serious. Jon’s eyes snap upwards to look at Martin again, and Jon adds: “Thank you, Martin. That’s really,” he draws in a breath, “considerate.”

Not sure if he should dismiss Jon’s words or not, Martin ducks his head and turns towards the register: “Decaf or Regular?”

“Surprise me,” Jon replies with a shrug of his shoulders. Martin tilts his head in confusion and Jon clarifies: “Gerry and Georgie think I drink too much coffee, but I don’t necessarily like them interfering with my life choices, so we made the deal that every time we drink coffee together, we order one decaf and one regular and it’s a surprise who gets to drink the decaf.”

Chuckling lowly, Martin retorts: “That’s a nice tradition.”

Jon pays for his coffee and Martin turns around, reaching for the decaf beans, safely out of Jon’s sight. For the taste, he adds much more ground coffee than Elias normally allows him to use and sprinkles a bit of cocoa powder on top of the milk foam. Then he hands Jon the final product and smiles.

Their fingers almost touch when Jon takes the mug out of Martin’s hands and he starts to walk away for two and a half steps, before he turns back again and asks: “When does your shift end?”

“Oh,” Martin throws a glance at the clock behind him, “in about an hour? Why?”

Jon shifts his weight and replies: “I thought I could use a walk, and that, maybe, you could use a walk, too?”

This seems to cost even more surmounting than thanking Martin, but it fills Martin with warmth and the hope that Jon doesn’t hate him. (He should know by now that Jon doesn’t hate him, they’ve been friendly for quite a time now, but the fear that Jon [or anyone, really] could suddenly decide that Martin is too much and too overbearing is prevalent.)

He swallows all that down and says: “Yes, I’d like that.”

When Melanie and Georgie get together, Martin’s not entirely surprised. Actually, he’s not surprised at all because Jon himself has told Martin that Melanie had asked him about his feelings for Georgie. (I don’t get it, Martin, do I look like I would begrudge them their relationship? Do I look like a fragile thing that needs to be coddled? No, Gerry, shut it.) But part of Martin wonders if Jon’s really as alright with the situation as he makes it out to be. As far as Martin knows, Jon and Georgie had been dating for quite a while, and Melanie is Jon’s soulmate. It must be a horribly awkward situation to be in.

Somehow this hasn’t kept them from hanging out as a group, though. Melanie and Georgie are lying in the shadow of a tree, while Sasha and Tim rampage through the water, and Jon and Martin, they sit on the small landing stage, their feet dangling in the water.

Jon’s hand is resting right next to Martin’s and it would be so easy to reach out and grab it, to intertwine their fingers and just enjoy the weight of Jon’s hand in his. But they have never done something like this, Jon is an untouchable entity in the night sky, beautiful like the milky way but foreign and unjudgeable with his disconcerting stares and assessing questions and brutally honest words. And a mere mortal like Martin can’t just reach for the hand of a natural phenomenon like Jon Sims.

So, he takes his hands into his lap instead to keep himself from doing something ill-considered like taking Jon’s hand anyways.

For a moment, they watch Sasha and Tim, but when they head back to the picknick blanket Georgie and Jon had brought and where Georgie and Melanie are leisurely sitting, Jon indicates that they could go back to the others, too. So, they get up and walk back to the others. (Martin’s hand twitching to reach for Jon’s.)

“No way! You’re lying!” Tim’s voice is barely more than a whisper, while he’s scrubbing his hair as dry as possible with a towel.

Sasha’s hand reaches out for Tim’s ankle to direct his attention to her, and she says while signing simultaneously: “Nobody can hear shit of what you’re saying.”

“Louder?” Tim asks and it’s obvious that he tries to adjust his volume. But Sasha shakes her head. “Louder?” Sasha shakes her head again and Tim waves dismissively, before he continues to towel dry his hair.

“What’s going on?” Martin says, sitting down next to Sasha, quietly marvelling at the fact that Jon sits down next to him even though the space doesn’t necessarily allow it.

Melanie’s cheeks redden (a foreign and unsettling sight, if Martin is honest), and she seems to think about her answer for a moment, before she finally extends her legs, showcasing multiple sets of names written on her skin. Sasha’s, Tim’s, Georgie’s and Martin’s. But most prominently right in the middle Jonathan Sims in the same curvy scripture as the rest, but instead of a felt tip marker, it seems to come from under Melanie’s skin.

“Oh,” Jon says right next to Martin and Martin thinks: Oh, indeed.

That is, however, where the similarities between Jon and Martin end, because while Martin starts to panic at the obvious evidence of Melanie’s and Jon’s soulbond, Jon says: “Georgie, this is your handwriting.”

“Yes, it is,” Georgie replies cheerily, before pointing at the crook of her arm. “And you know what? That’s Melanie’s handwriting.”

“Congratulations,” Jon deadpans, but Martin can feel the rigid line of Jon’s shoulders relax.

Just for a moment, though, because Georgie says: “And you know what that means, Jon! There’s still someone out there waiting to be found by you!” And Jon is as tense as before.

“I hope not,” Jon replies, and Martin can’t help himself hoping that Jon is right. Because Melanie turning out not to be Jon’s soulmate doesn’t automatically turn Martin into Jon’s soulmate. Martin doesn’t even know what’s written on Jon’s body, and even if he knew he’s not sure he could remember the first thing he ever said to Jon.

Georgie only smiles, used to Jon’s antiques and clearly mentally occupied.

“You’re making such a big deal out of it,” Tim says while turning his C.I. back on. The volume of his voice adjusting to an appropriate level when he’s finally able to hear himself again. “Out of anything, really. Why don’t you just enjoy the knowledge that somewhere out there is someone who enjoys talking to you, like, without any obligation.”

Out of Jon’s sight, Georgie starts a countdown (three – two – one!) with her fingers, and as if she had given Jon a sign, he goes on a tangent about determinism. Martin has never been as in love with Jon.

Oh.

MartiniKolada: sos

MyKeaymicalRomance: what did you do?

MartiniKolada: i had an oh. oh. moment MartiniKolada: you know where you think oh. and then it hits you like oh. but it’s italic and the italicity of the moment hits you right in the face??

MyKeaymicalRomance: i don’t think italicity is a real word

MartiniKolada: italicness then??

MyKeaymicalRomance: maybe italicisation?

MartiniKolada: does it really matter???

MyKeaymicalRomance: probably not lol

MartiniKolada: as i was saying MartiniKolada: i just had the mortifying realisation that i think i love jon?? like, not likelike but lovelove?? and idk what to do, like, what WILL i do next? burst into a song or into tears??

MyKeaymicalRomance: oh, well, i think it’s probably too early to tell him

MartiniKolada: “probably” he says

MyKeaymicalRomance: well, what do you want me to say?

MartiniKolada: idk???

MyKeaymicalRomance: do you want me to come over after my class?

MartiniKolada: yes pls ))):

MyKeaymicalromance: k

#10

It’s October, and their semester break is over in two weeks. Martin’s already dreading having to go back to courses and classes because he’s not sure if the last few weeks of seeing Jon almost every day are over if they both have to pick up work again. (The good thing is that the others will come back from their visits home. Martin doesn’t know how it happened, but he’s grown close to Gerry and Jon’s squad and actually misses them.)

Now, however, he concentrates on the fact that Jon asked if he would like to stay overnight because Gerry’s away and he doesn’t want to be alone tonight. He said It’s eerily quiet and Martin didn’t need more to say Yes, I mean, yeah, no problem, I’d love to. Because: It’s not like Martin regrets agreeing to Jon’s request, it’s more that Martin’s utterly overwhelmed with the thought that he is going to spend time sleeping in the same room as Jon. (Embarrassing, right?)

“You seem distracted,” Jon states and reaches for the mousepad to pause the film they’re watching. Or in Martin’s case: attempt to watch.

It’s not a new development that Jon and Martin sit on Jon’s bed, huddled close together, to watch a movie or play a two-player game Jon has found on his hard drive. But it being old news doesn’t prevent Martin from marvelling at the way Jon’s thin frame fits in neatly with the curve of Martin’s fat stomach and thigh. And the way Jon seems to melt into Martin over the course of one evening, almost liquified at the end, nestled into Martin in a manner that Martin couldn’t recreate if he tried to; absolutely unretractable when Martin tries to reconstruct how he could find himself in a situation like this.

“A bit,” Martin agrees, studying the cursor now resting on the nose of the protagonist. “It’s nothing.”

“If you don’t want to watch a film, we don’t have to,” Jon says and it’s only because they’ve been spending so much time together that Martin recognises the defensive tone of Jon’s voice as concern. (A few months back he would have definitively thought that he had done something wrong and that Jon is annoyed with him. And the knowledge that the anxiety coiling underneath his midriff is with great certainty unfounded and only fabricated by his own brain makes warmth spread through his whole chest.)

“No, it’s alright, really, it’s nothing,” Martin repeats placatingly, already reaching for the mousepad to unpause the film.

But Jon catches his wrist mid-air and says lowly: “I hate when you do that.”

“What?” Martin’s hand sinks until it hits his stomach, but Jon’s hand remains wrapped around Martin’s wrist as if he needed to keep Martin by his side; as if Martin could somehow muster up the volition to get up and go.

Jon’s gaze is entirely on the junction of their skin, probably focusing on the way Martin’s skin tone clashes with the salmon pink of one of the two bracelets Jon’s wearing tonight. (Or probably not because Jon doesn’t really care for things like that.)

“Well,” Jon says to Martin’s wrist, “when you say it’s nothing even though it’s clearly something.”

Self-consciously, Martin contemplates for a hot second telling Jon the truth. That he just likes being with him even though Jon doesn’t feel the same way as Martin. That he likes how they fit together like matching salt and pepper shakers. That he likes the firmness of Jon’s hand around his when Jon excitedly grabs Martin’s hand and forgets to let go again. That he likes Jon’s distracted (and to be honest distracting) soliloquies and overexcited monologues.

Being honest, however, isn’t worth the awkwardness that will most likely be the result of confessing his feelings, so Martin deflects: “That implies that you’re always telling me right away when something’s bothering you. But that’s not what you do, is it?”

Jon pulls a face. “No.” He sighs. “No, it’s not.”

Without thinking, Jon shifts the weight of Martin’s wrist in his as if he’s trying to feel for Martin’s pulse. For a moment, they’re both silent, dwelling on thoughts they’re not ready to share, yet. Or maybe only Martin’s not ready to share, yet, because Jon concedes softly: “You’re right. So, if I were to share a matter that has been on my mind lately, would it be more encouraging or pressuring for you to hear about it?”

Martin weighs both options, partially occupied with the way Jon’s still holding onto his pulse. Then he concludes: “Both, probably? I mean, it could be both.”

“Do you want me to tell you anyway?” Jon asks, lifting his gaze and focusing on Martin’s face. (Jon has this incredibly unsettling habit of looking at people at precisely those moments it’s the most disconcerting, gaze unwavering and the only thing betraying his own nervousness is the way he fiddles with the hem of his sleeves or the jittery tapping of his fingers against the fabric of his trousers.)

And since Martin can’t refuse Jon anything, he nods.

“You know, this is probably ridiculous and you’re going to make fun of me, endlessly,” Jon says, a barely visible crinkle appearing between his brows, “but Georgie said that she doesn’t understand why we haven’t kissed, yet. And it’s been on my mind ever since. Should we be kissing, Martin?”

Martin almost chokes on air. “What?” He must have misheard. Or misunderstood. Because it’s absolutely impossible that Jon said this particular string of words without any hesitation.

“Well,” Jon says, obviously growing uncomfortable, “I told her that she should stop being presumptuous, because if you would want to kiss me you would say as much. But Georgie said she wouldn’t be surprised if you were to think that I’m kiss averse as some asexual people are and that you were ‘too bashful’ to ask for clarification.” Jon breathes in and out, once, then twice. Martin’s trying hard not to mcfucking lose it. “We’ve been dating for quite some time now and I hope you’d feel comfortable enough to ask me things like that instead of assuming my stance. However, I do see now that I should put my own house in order first rather than waiting for you to say something.” The crinkle between his brows smooths out. “So, the quintessence is that I would like to kiss you, Martin, and that I would like to know if you were amenable to this idea.”

Owlishly blinking, Martin tries to make sense of all the admittedly beautiful but absolutely impossible words that Jon has said just now. He’s not sure which part he should be concentrating on and his thoughts crash into each other, tumbling onto his tongue, only to get buried underneath a new load of thoughts just a nanosecond later.

The thing that actually makes it past Martin’s stupor is: “We’ve been what?”

Jon furrows his brows again and replies slowly: “Dating.”

“And you didn’t think I needed to know that??” Martin’s voice cracks, eyes wide and cheeks reddened. The pressure of Jon’s fingers around his wrist loosens and Martin wants nothing more than to hold on dearly, but at the moment he can’t do anything but stare at Jon’s face that shifts slowly into a look of embarrassment.

“Well, I thought– I didn’t,” he groans lowly. “I thought you knew.”

“How should I have known?” Martin doesn’t really want to argue about this, but the words tumble out of his mouth, absolutely unstoppable. “Did you send me a formal enquiry? Ask me to be your boyfriend while we were doing incredibly romantic things like shopping groceries? I would have said yes, don’t get me wrong, this is not a ‘I don’t want to be dating you’ because I do very much want to date you.”

Martin’s breath goes hard, and he attempts to focus on the blush that bloomed on Jon’s cheeks sometime around the mention of Martin calling himself Jon’s boyfriend and that deepened further when Martin stressed that he wanted to be Jon’s boyfriend as well. But then Jon’s smiling. Not a barely visible lift of the corners of his lips but a genuine smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes.

“I think,” Jon says, shifting the weight of Martin’s wrist again, so he can intertwine their fingers completely, “that everything we do together is inherently very romantic. Even grocery shopping.”

“Oh, my god,” Martin tries to hold back a giggle and fails, “you’re a sap! This is unbelievable. This should be illegal.” He wriggles his other hand out of the almost non-existing space between them and cups Jon’s hand in both of his. “You can’t just spring the fact on me that we’re dating, only to change your behaviour a hundred and eighty degrees and say things like, things like that!”

“I’m only adapting,” Jon replies, lifting Martin’s hands and pulling them in close. “I thought we were taking it slow because you never made a first move, and I didn’t want to be too much.”

“Then we’re in the same boat, huh,” Martin says while he’s watching Jon pressing small kisses on Martin’s knuckles. “So, what do we learn from this, Jon? Don’t talk to Georgie about those things, come talk to me.”

Jon snorts. “You’re one to talk. I can’t count the times Gerry told me to ‘go get my man he’s pining again.’ It was embarrassing.”

“Imagine how embarrassing that is for me?! I was literally gay on main while he thought we were already dating?!” Martin makes a suffering noise at the back of his throat, but Jon doesn’t stop pressing small kisses into his knuckles, so it’s not as bad as it could be. “We need to cut ties with Gerry but that shouldn’t be a problem, right?”

“No, that’s feasible,” Jon replies. “Very sensible.” He puts down their intertwined hands. “A thing that would be very sensible, too, is telling me about the reason you were distracted earlier.”

“It seems ridiculous now,” Martin says, but Jon nudges him with his shoulder to prompt him to go on. “I just thought about how hard it is to sit next to you and not kiss you.”

Jon lifts himself up on his elbow and murmurs: “That is a lie, Martin K. Blackwood.”

“Only half of it,” Martin replies softly, before he closes the gap between them and kisses Jon with as much care as he can conjure.

(The light shove Martin gets when he asks “so, we’re boyfriends now, huh?” is definitely deserved.)

#the magnus archives #fanfiction #jonmartin #jon sims x martin blackwood #wtgfs on the side #dating without knowing #softness #pure and unadultered softness #college au #schmok writes #i forgot to post this back in the day but since tma ends today #FLUFF for all of you!!

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ilguna · 4 years

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Metanoia - Chapter Eleven (f.o)

Summary: you will be crowned victor of the 75th hunger games.

Word Count; 4.2k

Warnings; swearing, mention of murder and torture

NOTES: i give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

You run your fingers over the white cotton sheet, trying to ignore the fact that you’re currently inside of the training center. You’d be able to recognize this place with your eyes closed. It’s made out of concrete with all the newest technologies. The people that are walking around here--especially the avoxes--have the same clothes and designs as the people inside of the training center.

Of course, the avoxes change clothes, but the things they wear are still outstanding and degrading to differentiate them from everyone else. They still look as best as they possibly can while also looking like a servant. That doesn’t mean that they can’t re-wear clothes though, which is exactly what’s happened.

The avox that stands in the corner of your room wears the same black and white plaid outfit that they wore during the night of the interviews. It’s a terrifying outfit, really. You absolutely hate it, which is another reason why you’re avoiding eye contact. You’d ask them to turn around if it weren’t for the fact that she has to keep an eye on you.

The doors to your “hospital room” are glass, you can see right through them. Which also means that you’re able to watch the doctors that come in and out of rooms. Some push carts, others don’t. It doesn’t really matter, all that does is that there’s brief moments where someone isn’t in the hallway.

They all look so rushed, as if they’re working on some sort of deadline. How fast they’ll move…

It’s almost as if there’s something going on out there. Or they don’t want you catching on to what’s happening.

“Huh.” you push yourself up from the bed, impatient at the lack of attention that you’re getting, compared to whatever is going on out there.

As soon as you get too close to the glass, the avox jerks forward and grabs a hold of your arm. It’s not a tight grasp, she just pulls you back a little, and then lets go. Hell, from what you can see, she’s fearful. Like you’ll blow up on her or something.

“Is someone coming, then? Soon?” you ask, and she nods.

You sigh, running a hand through your hair as you take a seat on the bed again. This time, you find something to occupy yourself. Firstly, there’s no cut on the back of your head anymore, it feels like. No bump, no dip, it might be completely healed. It really just means that you’ve been here for a couple of days.

As for everything else that has happened to you--it’s gone. No more scabs from the man-eating spiders. Your skin is smooth, but that doesn’t excuse every single little scar that it’s left behind.

Your heart twists, you hold your arms out in front of you, seeing the fresh scars. Next are your legs, which are even fresher. They’ve still got that bright color to them, not yet blending into your skin tone. And it’s probably because you didn’t pay as much attention to your legs as you did your upper body.

Which was because your upper body was being televised. For the rest of that day, you were only in a sports bra. There really wasn’t a point in your eyes to just strip down the bottom half of the suit to apply ointment that wouldn’t even stay put. No one would be seeing it anyway.

The scars are fixable, you think. It’ll cost money, but you can get clear skin again--’polished’ as they say. It would have to come before the rest of the tattoos, though… and the old tattoos would also have to be fixed in that case. A lot of money, and you’re not too fond of fixing those tattoos. They’re memories, keepsakes.

You could always just get the rest of your body fixed, and leave your arms alone to avoid all the fixing stuff. It’s your best bet.

You look to your left wrist to see the soulmate words. You rub your thumb over them for a moment, and then scowl.

They left you behind. They left you with Johanna and Peeta, which was the worst thing that they could have done.

They didn’t even wait. Or even try with you standing there--it’s not like they couldn’t have seen you! You were standing right fucking there beneath their noses. And with how everything had gone down, you’re sure they could have afforded one more drop. There was more than enough time.

The glass doors slide open, making you look up.

You can’t help the amount of rage that shoots through your veins instantly.

“And so we meet again,” the words are bitter out of your mouth, you press your lips together in a thin line.

President Snow.

He motions the avox out of the room, and she listens without hesitance. With that, Snow sits in the chair--that you hadn’t even noticed was there--and crosses his legs.

“Yes we do.” he says.

You clench and unclench your teeth while you stare at him, trying not to have an attitude, since this man can kill you with the snap of his fingers and not even feel remorse for it. However, it all goes out the window because he’s sitting right in front of you with a smug look.

This motherfucker has ruined your life over and over and over.

Before your first games, you had it good. You had a big, loving family. You had two sisters and three brothers, and a pair of parents that would do anything to protect you all. Your grandparents, aunts, and uncles, and cousins were all alive. You had big gatherings during the summers, and cried when they had to go home.

And then you volunteered for the games, as you were instructed to do. You won your games, and at the end of your so-very-rich victory tour, he presents you with the worst fucking offer you’ve ever heard. Sell yourself for more money. Money, jewels, riches, clothes, love--adoration.

Except, it wasn’t an offer, he was telling you. But what he wasn’t telling you, was that he was picking off those cousins, those aunts, uncles and grandparents. Next were those siblings of yours, and when you said no for the final time, your parents. You came home to a fucking massacre in your childhood home.

Everyone looked like they were frozen in place. They were shot, beaten, bruised and bloody, but they were right where they had been when it had happened. Your father was still in his armchair, your mother face-down in dirty sink water, your siblings playing in their rooms, reading books, sleeping.

It was all the same for the rest of your family too.

And when the first fucking check with your victory money came through, you used it all to put them in the ground. You basically had your own fucking cemetary.

The worst part is that you agreed after all that. He had killed everyone, and yet you still went through with it, as if you had anything else to lose. Your family was the only thing that you had left. It wouldn’t be the same if he killed friends, because it’s not you who would be grieving anymore, it would be their family.

While you were touring the Capitol on President Snow’s order, you got the tattoos done. You had the flowers done first for your family, every name had a flower that reminded you of them, and at your wrist would be the soulmate tattoo. You had your left arm done first so that the Capitol people would think that you were being sweet.

Then you had the graveyard done. And along came the graveyard, came the nastiest fucking attitude any of them had seen. It only took a week before Snow basically packaged you up and sent you back to District Two. He has to admit that it was smart of you to do that. And for fucksake, you’d do it again.

The attitude is a defense mechanism to keep the people who are too weak-hearted and manipulative-looking away. Only the ones who don’t care, stick through it. And they tend to be the more understanding type on top of that.

The last time that you saw President Snow--other than on tv or in person as the tribute parade--was when he tried to convince you to allow Tanith to be sold around the same way you were.

You felt so fucking smart then, for picking her out specifically. You basically told Snow ‘good luck’ with trying to find anyone she cared about to kill off. She’s a fucking orphan, and back then she didn’t really like you very much. So, he couldn’t get to her by attacking you.

With Zavian, he just wasn’t desirable.

“Stop staring and get to it already.” you snap, lowering your chin a bit as you bite your cheek.

Snow laughs, “Never was one for small talk.” he pauses for a moment, his face becoming more serious, “What do you know about Katniss Everdeen and her plan?”

Well, this can be a very easy answer, or a very hard one.

Technically, you don’t know anything. You don’t know any part of the plan that they had going on, except for the fact that they had to keep an eye on Katniss and Peeta the entire time. Just to make sure that they wouldn’t get hurt, killed or ran off. The only thing you had the slightest clue on, was the fucking time on when you guys would get out. And even then, it seemed like that was unplanned.

But at the same time, you know a lot more than you’re supposed to, thanks to that talk with Finnick before the interviews. His question of whether or not you were a loyalist was an immediate click. You knew in that exact moment that he was planning something with the others.

You look over Snow’s face, he’s studying you, waiting patiently. It’s only been a couple of seconds.

You can’t play dumb, you can’t say anything stupid or he will know and be on your ass almost as quickly as you knew of the plan.

“You want the truth?” you ask him, he motions for you to get started, “I didn’t know anything, I wasn’t told a single thing--I put the pieces together myself, and it wasn’t very easy to do. Which means, I could be completely wrong.”

“Tell me what you think you know, then.”

“I thought that Finnick, Katniss, Peeta, and Johanna were in an alliance, and that they were all getting along.” you lean forward, “I was wrong. Katniss wanted to kill Finnick in the cornucopia until he showed her some dumb bracelet that belonged to Haymitch.

“I only stuck around them inside of the arena cause Finnick and I are soulmates.” you hold up your wrist for Snow to see, “I wouldn’t have dreamt of doing it otherwise.”

Snow squints at you, ignoring your arm, “What else?”

“Finnick and I had a conversation thirty minutes prior to the interviews.” you lift your chin a little now, trying to recall the entire conversation, “The basis was an alliance between him and I, at least. I chose to ask because of the scores that they had all gotten, thinking that it would be better to be on their good side. I didn’t want to be hunted.”

Snow watches you hesitate, and you know that there’s no way you can avoid this now.

The thing is, you’re trying to not get anyone in trouble, while also saving your own ass, and it’s hard to do. Because you don’t owe any of them a single thing, but there’s something in your chest telling you to do it anyway.

You feel… anxious. And it’s your own emotion.

Your voice is quieter, “Finnick had asked me a peculiar question just before the conversation was over, and I still don’t know what it means.” Snow won’t be able to tell if you’re being truthful or not, “He asked me if I was a loyalist.”

Snow hums, rubbing his white beard, “That’s not it.”

You shake your head, “That’s it. Finnick knew that I had wanted to be in their alliance to be able to kill him and the others. He said that he wouldn’t let me in because of that, and then he asked me if I was a loyalist. I told him I didn’t know what he’s getting at.” you draw your eyebrows together, “That’s when Haymitch came around the corner, must’ve heard us talking or something. He said that the interviews had started, and the conversation ended after that.”

“Which hallway?”

“The uh--first hallway to the left if you’re standing in the main corridor. In the direction of leaving the backstage area.”

Snow nods now, standing to leave.

“When do I get to go home?” you ask, sliding off the bed to get to your feet too. He’s not going to leave the room until he gives you an answer.

“Soon. I want to show you something first.” Snow says, “Get dressed.”

He takes a step out, leaving around the corner. The avox comes in with some clothes, nicely folded in her arms. The doors don’t offer much coverage, but it’s not really anything they haven’t seen before.

You strip, pulling on the new clothing carefully, afraid of hurting your newly healed skin. It’s a pair of black skinny jeans, and a pink shirt with a breast pocket. The avox then holds out a pair of black tennis shoes for you to slip on after that. And when you’re done, she leads the way out of the room.

You follow her down the hall, passing by everyone who’s moving so quickly. When you get a glance through the windows into the courtyard, you can see that you’re on the base floor, and the building towers over you.

The hallways wind confusingly, but the avox manages. She has this place memorized as if there’s a map in her mind. For a while, you’re confident and unaware of your surroundings, until you pass through a hallway with cages. Only then do you get apprehensive.

Snow is in the next room, which is a corridor of white. The avox backs off, standing in the corner, and you take it upon yourself to approach Snow by yourself. He’s in front of a particular door, staring through the window in the door.

“Katniss Everdeen, Finnick Odair and Beetee Latier have been taken to District Thirteen, did you know that?” Snow asks, he looks at you briefly, before back through the door.

There’s a sick feeling in your stomach.

“No, I didn’t.” You don’t want to see what’s through that window.

“But you knew that they were taken out of the arena.”

Just thinking about that night gives you a goddamn headache, especially with all that happened afterwards.

After the hovercraft had left, you stared for what felt like forever. Feeling dejected and betrayed, especially with all the time that had been left over. No one came for you, so it was up to you to decide what would happen next.

When you had finally gotten over your feelings, you went ahead and found Johanna, who was right next to a panicked Peeta. Screaming in her face about how all of that was her fault. Johanna took it like a champ, with her mouth sealed shut and everything. But the second that you were there, Peeta turned on you like a rabid dog.

You tried to take a page from Johanna’s book as you calmly explained to him that Katniss, Finnick and Beetee were taken by a hovercraft.

Peeta didn’t like that, and with him getting in your face, an anger was rising from your stomach to your throat. Like simmering grease, only you’re not supposed to let grease simmer. Because it gets dangerous, begins to pop and burn the skin, and that was exactly what had happened.

You tried to get Peeta to back off, because you didn’t want to make a huge mistake with Johanna standing two feet away. But he kept pushing, and pushing, and pushing so you swung. He fell, and when he tried to get back up, still running his fucking mouth, you lost it.

You hadn’t felt that angry since you found out that your entire family was dead. You did everything you could possibly imagine to harm Peeta in that moment. The first kick to his ribs was the weakest, but the second definitely left some sort of damage. Then Johanna tried to come over, and you knocked her out without a second swing.

Peeta would have gotten the absolute shit beaten out of him if it weren’t for the second hovercraft that had shown up. Only, this one dropped peacekeepers, and you knew instantly that you were in huge trouble. With the arena falling apart, the fire eating at the forest around you, the lack of Katniss, Beetee and Finnick due to an earlier hovercraft, and the fact that you were clearly grouped up with the two morons.

Johanna was an easy grab, Peeta fought relatively hard, and there was no struggle from you. The only thing you actually remember is getting a sedative inside of the hovercraft, and that was it.

“Yes, I knew that they were taken out of the arena.” you answer Snow, blinking a bit to refocus your eyes, “And that means that Peeta and Johanna are here.”

Snow moves aside for you to see inside, and with the pucker of your lips, you move over to see inside. You clench your teeth, expecting the worst, and when you do finally look in, it’s… you can’t put it into words.

Peeta is strapped to a chair, malnourished, purple eye bags that are see able even from this distance. He looks nothing like he did before, he looks gross. Like a…

Like a boy that would have to file for tesserae to eat for the next year. A kid from the Seam.

You swallow thickly, “What the fuck?”

“If I find out that you aren’t telling the truth--” His voice is measured, but there’s an underlying tone, anger, you think, “--then I will bring you back from District Two. And I will be getting the real answers.”

If this is what they’ve done to Peeta--sack of flour, absolutely harmless--you can’t imagine what loudmouth Johanna looks like.

“I’m telling the truth.” you tell him, your eyes flickering back to Peeta.

He’s spotted you now, and the two of you stare at each other, eyes locked and neither of you move. With the look of you, he relaxes. It’s strange that the sight of you gives him so much peace, even though you would have killed him if the peacekeepers hadn’t come. But he must see something in your face, because he draws his eyebrows together, like he’s asking a question.

“How long have I been here?” you ask Snow.

“A couple of weeks.”

You look at him now, “I’ve been in a coma?”

“Medically induced. Those spiders weren’t just flesh-eating, they were venomous too.”

Not to mention your head injury, and everything else that had occurred inside of there. You might as well be lucky to be alive.

“I want you to do something for me, when you do get back to District Two.” Snow says, you look at Peeta again to see that the glass is blocked.

“Which is?”

“Show them that you are a loyalist, and get the rebels to calm down.”

One word spirals up in your mind, strong and stubborn that you struggle to hold down; No.

They have Peeta strapped to that chair like he’s an animal. They’re starving him, they’re depriving him of sleep, and that window is blocked because they’re doing something to him.

“I’m not agreeing to that until I get to see Johanna and anyone else you have here.” you tell him, “Only then I will try to get two to settle down.”

Snow smiles a little, “You’ll have two weeks.”

You nearly laugh in his face right then, but manage to hold it back, “I don’t have much of a choice, I’ve already agreed, haven’t I?”

Snow nods approvingly, before leading you right next door. In this chair is Johanna. Her hair is shaved, she’s soaking wet, and she’s thrashing against the restraints without control. You take back what you said about Peeta, this is an animal. Doing this to Johanna is like putting an angry lion inside of a small cage. It’s only a matter of time before she gets out and explodes.

She looks just as hungry and tired as Peeta does. But Peeta isn’t getting nearly as bad as tortured as she is. She looks like she’s been through hell and back, as if she’s seen the devil himself and laughed in his face.

In this case, Snow would be the devil, and she would be the exact fool to do something like that.

Johanna spots you the same way that Peeta did, by the off chance that her eyes glance over the glass. The second that she has, she relaxes for a moment, and the window is covered almost immediately after.

The both of them had the same reaction upon seeing you. You can’t think of a reason why, until it hits you. They have to be thinking that you’re here to save them. You’re seeing the state that they’re in, and they’re hoping that you’ll relay the message to tell someone of their condition, you’re sure of it.

Snow grabs your arm, yanking you along to the door across from Johanna’s. When you look into this one, you’re a little more confused.

“Annie Cresta wasn’t inside of the hunger games.” you place your hand against the glass, “Why--”

“Leverage.” Snow says simply, “Who would she belong to, Miss Rosecelli? Who would tear the world apart to get to her?”

It dawns on you then, and you nod a little bit. Finnick, obviously. This is Finnick’s girlfriend, the one that you told him to keep.

“What’s the point of having her if you’re not starving her like the rest?” you ask.

“I do have morals.”

‘Not very high ones’, you think.

“I’m surprised,” you look at Snow, “Considering all the other shit you’ve done, you still have a heart.”

Annie is healthy, that’s all you have to say about her. She’s got rope to twirl and knot, she’s got books to read, food to eat and a nice bed. She’s not strapped to anything, it looks like she has medication, and she’s content. You can’t help but to wonder if she’s secretly going insane or plotting her escape, though.

“One more room.” Snow ignores your comment, ushering you to the door to the right of Annie’s.

You shuffle over, thinking that Snow couldn't have possibly taken anyone else that would matter. Beetee’s girlfriend--or whatever Wiress was to him--is long gone. There’s no leverage to have against her.

“Take a look inside.” he’s smug.

You stare for a moment, before following his directions.

Tanith.

Your hand flies up, going to grab the doorknob, but Snow stops you, a tight hand on your wrist, “Just in case you thought that it’s only your life on the line.”

He’s threatening to kill her.

You clench your teeth together, not removing your eyes from Tanith. She looks almost as bad as the other two do. Except, Tanith is a few days behind. Snow didn’t start the process on her until recently. It won’t take long until she catches up, because he could make that happen at the snap of his wrinkly fucking fingers.

“I understand.” you grind your teeth.

She’s not awake to see you, Snow was anticipating this visit. He had her knocked out so that she wouldn’t try and fight against the restraints. She’s smart enough to slip out of them, it makes you curious if Snow knows that too, or he just wanted to see your reaction to having her unconscious. Like he’s trying to trick you into thinking she’s dead.

“The avox will take you to the hovercraft.” he lets you go, “Two weeks.”

Snow has just made the biggest mistake in his life.

#ilguna #finnick odair #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair oneshot #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair metanoia #metanoia #metanoia chapter eleven

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el-gilliath · 4 years

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the way you make me feel (part 1)

On the 13th of June, a very special someone had their birthday and I promised to write a story for said birthday. And then I started working full time and got very swamped so I’m late as all hells. Because of this I decided to split it into two parts so here’s number one.

Happy (very late) birthday @lambourngb, I hope this breaks your heart just the way you wanted it to.

It should’ve started with a look. It should have ended with a kiss.

It didn’t.

Instead Alex is alone, watching as Michael’s body is taken away. Instead he watches as the love of his life is carried into a car, the grief of Isobel and Max heavy in his mind, the sound of Liz, Maria, and Kyle crying loud in his ear.

“I’m sorry, Alex.”

His eyes flicker to Flint for a second before he looks back at Michael. Flint actually looks sad. He doesn’t really understand why.

“You killed him, Flint. I don’t care how sorry you are.”

“I know,” Flint replies, his voice lowering. “But he’s not dead.”

“What?!” Alex turns towards his brother. Just as the doors to the car closes, just as it drives away into the night.

“Guerin’s not dead. But he will be in twenty four hours if you don’t find him and get him back.” Flint looks at him then, and for the first time in a long time Alex sees a hint of the brother he used to love. “Deep Sky will kill him when they find out, Alex. And I don’t know where they took him.”

“He’s my soulmate, Flint.”

“I know. I’ve always known. You’re the only one who can find him, now. Godspeed, little brother.”

With that Flint walks away while Isobel and Max start loudly asking questions, as does the human squad behind him. All except Maria.

He turns to look at her, watches her big eyes fill with shock and horror as she learns just who she’s been sleeping with. He doesn’t owe her any explanations, doesn’t owe her anything when it comes to Michael, really, just like he never blamed her for falling in love with Michael. He’s always understood how she could, and he will never begrudge her the happiness she found with him. The happiness she gave him. But he is sad she found out this way. Because as he sees the understanding enter her eyes, he knows just as well as her that whatever she had with Michael will now be over. She will never be with him again after this and when Alex finds Michael he’s claiming the bond, how can he not after losing him.

Everything changes now. So maybe it should've started with a look, should’ve ended with a kiss.

Instead, it starts with a soulbond. And a pissed off Air Force Captain looking for his alien soulmate.

———

It starts with a bomb. And a kidnapping. It starts with waking up in Jesse’s basement, and being taken from there by Flint.

It starts with him being collateral for Michael so he’ll build them the bomb.

It ends in death. And pain.

But before the ending, Alex is locked to a radiator, sans prosthetic, with a raging headache.

He knows the headache isn’t actually his, but it still hurts. He knows the headache isn’t his like he knows Michael is feeling phantom pains. At least he’s feeling them in a foot that’s actually there.

If he concentrates he can see it, the bomb Michael is building. He can see the intricate mechanics, the details that make up the bomb, the canister that holds the bio weapon that will kill Michael. But he’s still building it, still carefully putting it all together based on a schematic. All for Alex. Because he was stupid enough to get taken.

His soulmate is an idiot.

He feels Michael swallow a smile as Alex’s indignation hits him. He swallows a smile at the amusement sent back. Even if that indignation and amusement is a front for a much deeper feeling. Fear has always been a powerful emotion in both of them. Sometimes too powerful, at times not powerful enough.

He tries not to let it color their back and forth of emotions, he would rather keep those positive. Especially now that he gets to have a back and forth again. It’s been lonely in his head for a long time, he doesn’t want it to become lonely again. Even though he knows it will be, when this is over and Michael goes back to Maria.

He feels a thrill of curiosity, Michael probably picking up on his negative emotions but not knowing what’s the cause of them. He sends reassurance back, aborting his thinking about the entire situation. What matters is both of them getting out of this alive, the rest he doesn’t care about. And as long as Michael is out there building a bomb he really should not be building, Alex will do his very best to help with that.

He continues being with Michael through their bond, watching him work, looking down at the bomb through his eyes. He can feel Michael’s gratitude so clearly, so crisply in a way he hasn’t since they were 22. The last time he was home and things were truly good between them.

He does feel a slight sting when Michael calls him a complicated friend but he buries it deep inside. Though he can feel the uncertainty in Michael’s words, he’s uncertain about them himself. Friend still doesn’t feel right, he suspects it never will. He’s fairly sure it won’t feel right for Michael either regardless of what happens.

He still watches, still keeps Michael company, giving him comfort as he finishes the bomb. He feels Michael’s fear as he does, knowing that he just made something that could kill him, Max, and Isobel, possibly even Maria. But something overshadows the fear quickly, something that Alex doesn’t know how to identify. It’s warmer, more inviting. Comforting.

Alex startles when he realizes the feeling is love. It’s not a feeling he knows well, and one he’s rarely felt from Michael.

It’s one he shouldn’t be feeling right now, with Maria out there probably worried sick about her boyfriend. But it feels good, the way he remembers from the first time they touched and the bond bloomed between them. He needs to remember how much it hurt the first time the bond closed between them so he doesn’t get used to this feeling.

Still, he watches as Helena talks to Michael though her words are muddled. Probably because Michael isn’t really listening. Though he perks up when Helena asks him something, shooting out of his seat. Alex knows Helena is taking him to the room where he is.

He’s still surprised when Michael barges through the door, falls on his knees and kisses him. The bond soars, more than it has in a very long time, the red bloom of love, the green bloom of safety, the blue bloom of comfort, the yellow bloom of happiness. The white bloom of complete, of cosmic, of yes, him.

He breaks away, wrenching himself off Michael as he looks at him with wide eyes. He’s breathing hard, as hard as Michael, both of them looking at each other in shock. It’s obvious by the turmoil between them that Michael didn’t mean to kiss him. He probably didn’t even want to.

“How’s the bomb?” he asks, breaking the silence after a few minutes. He can’t deal with silence while his lips still tingle.

“It’s done,” Michael replies, swallowing harshly. “The only thing they need to do is deploy it.”

“Shit.”

“Alex. There’s two bombs. One kills me.” Michael takes a break, his hand moving to curl into Alex’s. “The other kills you. Helena wants to kill your dad, and she wants him to do it himself.”

“Shooting him would be easier,” Alex mumbles, making Michael snort.

“Yeah well Helena Ortecho is nothing if not dramatic.”

“Will it work?”

Michael looks at him and Alex doesn’t need him to say the words to know. Maybe Michael didn’t want to be someone that made destruction, he distinctly remember Michael talking about agricultural engineering when they were 17, happy and full of life, but that doesn’t mean he’s not good at what he does. He made the bomb, of course it’ll work.

“What happened to the prosthetic?”

“Just noticed that did you? Too busy kissing me?” Alex asks, regretting it a second later. But Michael just smiles ruefully, a hand (weirdly enough sans bandana) coming up to scratch the back of his neck in the way he does when nervous.

“Yeah. I’m-“

“No,” Alex interrupts. “Don’t apologize for something you don’t regret. You don’t have to apologize to me.”

“Yeah, I do,” Michael says. “But after CrashCon. When things aren’t so complicated.”

“Things are always complicated with us, Michael. CrashCon doesn’t change that.”

“Alex-“

“No,” he interrupts once again. “The only thing that uncomplicates us is a talk we should’ve had long ago. About everything.”

“That’s not just on me, Alex.”

“I’m not saying it is. But we’re soulmates, Michael. I’ve been with you in your mind for the last three days, watching you work, watching you create something just to keep me safe.” Alex takes a deep breath, “I’m your soulmate, and you just got down on your knees and kissed me.”

“I know.” Michael leans his forehead against his, their hands tangled in between them. Alex hadn't noticed that their hands are still tangled, but it feels good. “After CrashCon, okay? It’s not fair for me to do anything before then.”

“It might not be fair even then. She’s my best friend, Michael. Does she even know?”

Michael sighs, closing his eyes. They both know what the answer to that is, both of them too afraid to let the important woman they share know. Alex knows he should’ve told her years ago, when they were 17. Or when he came back at 28. Regardless, she doesn’t deserve to be in the middle of this big secret.

“I have to go, Helena won’t let me stay with you for much longer,” Michael says, opening his eyes and moving away from Alex.

“Get me out of this chain then,” Alex says, rattling the chain he has around his wrist.

“No powers, and you’re safer here.”

“You are not leaving me in this house while there's a bomb out there that can kill me and you.”

“Alex, please,” Michael pleads.

“No. You’re not leaving me here. And that’s final.”

Michael scoffs, shaking his head and opening his mouth to speak before he obviously reconsiders. Alex watches him sigh, feeling the turmoil and uncertainty in his head. A determination comes through the bond not long after. Alex is not surprised, Michael had always been stubborn.

“I’m-“

The door opens before Michael can say more than a word, Helena entering the room with Alex’s prosthetic in her hands.

“Time to go. You too, Alex,” she says, walking over and opening the lock on the chain and giving him the leg. She’s been weirdly motherly, something Alex doesn’t really understand. Helena hasn’t been motherly in her entire life.

“You’re letting me go?” he asks. He still puts the prosthetic on.

“Yes. Mr. Guerin here held up his end of the bargain.” Helena looks at him, a frown on her face. “Your brother is on his way back, you should leave.”

With that she walks out of the room, leaving Alex to stare after her. He turns his gaze to Michael, raising an eyebrow in question. Michael just shrugs, getting up on his feet. He extends his hand to Alex, who smiles as he gets up, carefully putting pressure on the prosthetic to make sure his balance is steady.

“Guess I’m not leaving you here then,” Michael says, a wry smile on his face. The worry is back between them, but Alex knows that can’t be helped.

“Guess not,” he replies. They both know shit is about to go down.

———

He doesn’t want to separate from Michael, doesn’t want to walk away again now that they know what’s going on. But Michael has to check in with everyone at the Pony, tell them what’s going on. Alex has to find his dad. Regardless of how he might feel about him, he knows Greg was planning on taking his kids to CrashCon, and Flint will probably appear sooner rather than later, especially now that he’s free and back on two feet.

Flint had been patient with a hint of brotherly concern when he made Alex remove it, but that had disappeared when Alex tried to hit him with the leg afterwards. It’s always the way it is with them, a catch and pull created from years under the same roof as their psychotic father who pushed them against each other for his own sick pleasure. Alex loves his brothers, always have and always will, but they all know they won’t always be on the same side. Jesse taught them too well for them to not protect their own interests. Even when that means going against each other.

He still walks into CrashCon with trepidation, breathing calmly as he looks for his father. From what Michael told him as they were leaving the house, Jesse already has the Manes bomb, a switch made by Helena herself. It scares him that Jesse could just use it without knowing. He could potentially walk into a situation where Jesse’s already dead. Though Alex does doubt that, he would want to wait until he’s absolutely sure the aliens are there.

He finds him easily enough, standing at the edge of the crowd in his uniform, carrying a briefcase.

“Hello, dad.”

Jesse turns, scoffing as he sees his youngest son. “I thought you were kidnapped?”

“You mean secondary kidnapped, after Flint took me from your house.”

“Yes, well, your brother caught me off guard. Didn’t think he had it in him.”

“Of course he has it in him, you taught us to supersede any expectations no matter the cost,” Alex answers. He knows there’s a slight bitterness to his tone because he did not like the lessons. But in some ways that have helped in more ways than he wants to admit.

“And yet you all grew up to be disappointments,” Jesse says. Alex only snorts, too tired to deal with him. “Why are you here, Alex? Trying to tell me not to kill the aliens?”

“We both know you wouldn’t listen if I did. But that bomb doesn’t kill aliens, it kills the Manes family line.” Alex meets his father's eye. “The DNA in that bomb is yours.”

“Even for you that’s a stretch.”

“It’s not a-” Alex takes a deep breath, holding his rising anger. “Dad, would you really take the chance? Greg is here, Flint is probably here now too, and I know you hate all that I am but I’m your blood!”

“You would say anything to protect that alien of yours,” Jesse says. His voice is cold and devoid of emotion. “He’s corrupted you so completely by now that you’ll believe anything he says.”

“So you won’t listen when I tell you that the bomb you have in that suitcase will kill us.”

“Why ask a question you already know the answer to?”

“Because I was hoping that for once the love for your sons would be enough to change your mind.”

“If my sons were worthy, it would have. But as I already told you, my sons are disappointments.” Jesse puts the briefcase down and opens it. “The alien threat needs to be eradicated, and none of you will stand in the way of that.”

And with that Alex’s resolve breaks. No matter what happens he will never be able to convince his dad otherwise and it breaks his heart in a way he didn’t think his heart could break since he was 14 and came out, since he was 17 and a hand was shattered in his safe space.

“I can't let you kill them, dad. And I can’t let you kill us.”

“And how do you plan to stop me?” Jesse asks, rising with the bomb in his hand. He freezes as he hears a gun being cocked.

“By shooting you if I have to,” Alex replies. His hand is trembling slightly, he feels nauseous and scared. But the gun is pointed at his dad and he knows his aim is true. He won’t. He never misses.

“So you would kill me to make me stop?” Jesse laughs, low and creepy. “You don’t have the stones.”

“I’d do what it takes to save my brothers. And you, dad. You might detest me but you are still my father. And that means something. At least it does to me.”

Jesse watches him with hatred in his eyes, with disgust, disbelief and something akin to dishonor. Alex isn’t surprised. His dad has always watched him that way, always filled with all the bad emotions that no kid should ever have to see from a loved one but that he’s seen for his entire life.

“I’m not going to let you stop me, I will protect Earth from the alien threat,” Jesse says, lifting the bomb and putting his finger on the trigger. “So if you really want to stop me. Shoot.”

Alex wavers. He knows he does. Knows that even though he wants to so bad and in many ways Jesse deserves it, he is his father and shooting someone you love is never going to be easy, shouldn’t be easy.

Unfortunately he gets lost in his mind for a second.

He refocuses to see the numbers counting down, Jesse’s smug smile taking over his entire face.

“You can’t save the aliens now, son.”

“No,” Alex replies. “I can’t save us.”

He makes a desperate move, calling out as loud as he can to Michael to get his brothers the hell away from CrashCon as he can, getting close and pistol whipping his dad over the head as he does, taking the bomb from him. He feels Michael’s alarm, sees him telling the rest of them the same thing before he starts running. Towards Alex.

“What are you doing?” Alex asks, sending the question and fear hurling towards Michael through their bond.

“You need to get away from that bomb too!” Michael replies, running at full speed. Alex looks down at the bomb, there’s only a minute left.

“It’s too late, Michael,” Alex says. He knows he won’t get far enough away from it.

“The hell it is!” Alex hears Michael yell, watches him burst through the crowds close to him now, his hand stretched out.

“No!” Alex yells, but it’s too late. The bomb rips out of his hand, hurtling towards Michael and smacking into his palm. “Michael, you have to stop!”

“I won’t die from this, you will.” Michael takes off, changing the direction he’s running in so he goes away from Alex. He’s running fast, his legs and speed probably powered by the excellent control he has over his powers as well, eating up distance as he moves farther and farther away from Alex while the timer ticks down. “I won’t watch you die, Alex.”

Alex doesn’t answer, watching Michael throw the bomb with his powers as far as he can after the slight beep that probably signals the timer hitting zero. He watches the bomb through Michael’s eyes as it sails away, waits to see if anything will happen. He can’t feel a thing, so he’s probably safe.

He feels elation, for a second. And then he realizes.

He might not feel anything. But Michael does.

“No!” He takes off running, following the path Michael took. He can feel Michael getting weaker, can sense the blood dripping from his eyes and nose, can feel his breath stutter and shake.

He runs faster than he’s ever run before, faster than they ran at Caulfield, his prosthetic protesting his every move as he pushes onwards.

He already knows he’s going to be too late.

“Michael!” he yells, both out loud and through the bond. He’s scared, so very scared. But he needs to get to Michael. He needs him to know that he’s there.

He starts crying when he feels Michael fall to his knees, almost stumbles as he feels Michael’s heart stutter. He runs impossibly faster as Michael’s breath stops.

He falls to his knees besides Michael only a minute later, but Michael is already dead. His last thoughts of ‘I love you’ rattling around Alex’s brain.

#roswell new mexico #michael guerin #alex manes #malex #malex fic #my fic #michael is not dead!#angst #happy birthday babe #i hope you enjoy #and i'm sorry #except not really #soulmate au

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earsofducks · 4 years

Text

Day 3 - Mechanic

This is so much longer than I meant for it to be. Also, the wives are making an appearance. Also, there are no words for how much I love Anathema.

@ineffablehusbandsweek

I can’t think of any warnings. Unedited? Ridiculous? Very long? Aziraphale being smitten and Crowley struggling?

“Oh, dear,” says Aziraphale, well aware that she’s fretting and not helping matters but unable to help herself. “What can we do?”

“Not a lot,” says Newt glumly, looking nearly as worried as Aziraphale feels.

They’re in the middle of nowhere, and Newton’s antiquated car (He affectionately calls it ‘Dick Turpin.’ Aziraphale calls it ‘wretched thing.’) has finally decided to give up the ghost. The clock is ticking ever closer to midnight, and all because they went to watch the latest Greta Gerwig movie. (Which was, admittedly, worth it.)

“Oh, you’re both ridiculous,” huffs Anathema, pulling out her phone. “We can just call a tow service. Didn’t this occur to the two of you?”

Aziraphale and Newt are quiet. This option had not, in fact, occurred to either of them. (This is probably because neither of them are very intuitive about technology. Newton has single-handedly destroyed every mobile phone he’s ever had, and Aziraphale hasn’t even bothered getting one. The landline at her shop works just fine, thank you.)

“Honestly,” says Anathema, rolling her eyes and dialing a number. She explains their predicament to whoever’s on the other end of the line, listens, nods, says “see you soon,” and hangs up. “Now,” she says to Aziraphale and Newton, “that was a two-minute conversation, and it means that we’re going to be home in, like, a couple of hours, tops. Surely that’s enough to convince you that phones are good, Aziraphale?”

Aziraphale tries to look like she’s considering it. “Well, I suppose that it would be frightfully convenient to be able to call someone at any time,” she says, trying to sound placating.

“Yes!” says Anathema.

“But isn’t it a bit concerning, the fact that it could run out of battery at any time?” says Aziraphale, and Anathema looks like she might cry.

“I give up,” she says, and Aziraphale tries not to feel smug. It’ll take a lot more than that for her to cave and buy a mobile.

They wait for twenty minutes, during which time Aziraphale and Newt grow more and more skeptical and Anathema becomes more and more insistent. And impatient.

“Honestly,” she says for the umpteenth time. “Just because the mechanic owns a tow truck doesn’t mean she can break the sound barrier. She’s still beholden to the laws of physics like the rest of us.”

And that intrigues Aziraphale. Old-fashioned, she knows, to be intrigued by a female mechanic, but here she is. Blame it on her sheltered, shuttered upbringing. She wonders what the mechanic will look like. She wonders what prompted the mechanic to pursue a career in mechanicking.

And then she doesn’t have to wonder anymore, because there are headlights shining in her face and she feels nervous, of all things. Don’t be silly! she scolds her foolish, hopeful heart. As if she’d be interested in you.

Anathema gets out of the car, and so does Newt, so Aziraphale does, too, because it’d be weird to stay in the vehicle when no one else is, right? The mechanic swings her door open and slides down to the ground. Aziraphale’s breath catches in her throat.

She’s not sure if it’s the purply-pink light of the setting sun or the fact that she’s had a little bit of time to convince herself that the ‘she’ mechanic might be her soulmate, but the woman striding towards them is stunning. She’s tall and slender and her hair is fiery and Aziraphale isn’t sure how she’s supposed to act like a normal person when faced with such a magnificent woman.

“Hello, folks,” says the mechanic, offering them all a lopsided grin that makes Aziraphale’s heart speed up. (Down, girl, she thinks.) “What seems to be the trouble with your lovely vehicle, here?”

She gives Dick Turpin a glance that is decidedly amicable, and Aziraphale thinks that she really needs to get her heart under control. She could never date someone that liked the wretched thing.

Newt details the wretched thing’s ailments and Aziraphale busies herself with trying (and failing, mostly) not to stare. Oh, but there are so many things to stare at. The long, elegant fingers with which the mechanic is pointing at Dick Turpin. The twist of her torso as she looks back towards her truck. The curve of her mouth and the flash of her teeth as she smiles at something Newt said.

“You could be a little less obvious with the drooling, you know,” Anathema says into Aziraphale’s ear. Aziraphale jumps.

“I’m not - It’s not - I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says guiltily.

Anathema is grinning like the cat that got the canary.

“Oh, yes you do,” she says gleefully.

“I do not, and I’ll thank you kindly to leave it alone,” says Aziraphale, flustered.

The mechanic, who hasn’t introduced herself, looks over at them and smiles. That smile, turned in her direction, is overwhelming. And then Newt says something and she turns back to him and Aziraphale feels like she can breathe again.

“Yep,” says Anathema, who is smiling so widely that Aziraphale is surprised that her face hasn’t cracked, “You’ve got it bad.”

Aziraphale would protest, except that now the mechanic is walking towards them and any and all words are catching in her throat.

“Hi,” says the mechanic, flashing them another grin. (They seem to come far too easily for such devastating things.) “The two of us haven’t met yet, have we? Anthea J. Crowley, at your service.” And she proffers a hand which is far more attractive than any hand has the right to be, topped with black, glossy fingernails. Aziraphale thinks distantly that mechanics should not have manicures.

Her voice is stuck somewhere in her stomach, but Anathema’s elbow nudges her ribs again and dislodges it.

“Hello,” says Aziraphale, taking Anthea’s hand and trying not to think about how strong and slim and wonderful it feels in hers. Her voice is a little rough but no one comments on it. “Aziraphale Malak.”

“Ah, an angel,” says Anthea, eyes twinkling. “Makes sense - you look like one.”

Aziraphale feels herself blushing and splutters a little, trying to figure out how to say “how absurd” and “thank you” and “how do you know anglicized Arabic?” and ends up saying none of them.

“She does, doesn’t she?” says Anathema, who hasn’t stopped smirking since Anthea sauntered towards them.

Aziraphale finds her voice, and it says, “You’re ridiculous,” and Anthea smiles again.

“Ah, friendship,” she says.

“Indeed,” says Aziraphale, and Anthea meets her eyes, still smiling, and Aziraphale is mesmerized by how very like gold they are. She has never seen eyes that colour, and she never wants to again, because she wants to lose herself in Anthea’s forever and always.

“So!” says Anathema. “Enough space in your rig for all of us?”

“Oh, yes,” Anthea says. “Bentley can handle anything.”

“You’ve named your truck?” asks Aziraphale, feeling amused and still incredibly disoriented due to Anthea’s amazing eyes.

“‘Have I named my truck?’” parrots Anthea, rolling her eyes. “Of course I’ve named my truck! Haven’t you named your vehicle, angel?”

“Aziraphale doesn’t have one,” says Anathema. “They’re too modern an invention for her.”

Anthea gapes. “No car?” she echoes. “How do you get around?”

“Mostly I find charitable people that are willing to take me somewhere in return for a small payment,” sniffs Aziraphale, feeling (irrationally, probably) attacked. “Otherwise, I take the bus or walk.”

Anthea holds up her hands placatingly, clearly picking up on the defensive tone. “I meant no offense,” she says, “I was just surprised. This may come as a shock, but I love cars.”

Aziraphale, feeling foolish but amused, says, “Trucks, too, apparently.” Anthea grins again (she has to stop doing that) and nods.

“Trucks, too. And vans. Oh, and motorbikes! Speedy little machines.”

She looks off dreamily. Aziraphale doesn’t have to fake a little shudder.

“Heaven help us,” she mutters, and Anthea throws back her head and laughs.

“They won’t need to,” she says, “I’m not taking you home in a motorbike. I’m taking you in Bentley. She doesn’t move very quickly.”

“About that,” says Anathema quickly, “you don’t have to take us home - ”

“Nonsense!” says Anthea cheerfully. “You’re paying me enough, and I haven’t got anything else on for the evening. Now,” and she jogs back to ‘Bentley’ and opens the passenger door, “hop in!”

Aziraphale isn’t sure what Crowley’s (she prefers Crowley, it turns out) definition of ‘very quickly’ is, and she’s very sure that she has absolutely no interest in finding out. The truck zooms along the motorway, with Crowley cheerfully answering the questions that Newt and Anathema are asking her. (Aziraphale still can’t quite seem to find her voice. Something about the curve of Crowley’s neck, the grip of her hands on the steering wheel, steals it away.

“Didn’t grow up thinking I was gonna be a mechanic,” Crowley says, changing lanes so abruptly that Newton lets out a little shriek. “Got kicked out when I was sixteen, dropped out of school, and didn’t have anything better to do.”

Aziraphale would dearly love to know why she got kicked out but is also aware that that’s not an appropriate thing to ask someone you’ve only just met.

“And do you have a partner?” asks Anathema, steering the conversation. “Kids?”

“Nah,” says Crowley. “Got a godson, though. Adam.”

”“How old is your godson?” Aziraphale asks, surprising herself.

“Four,” says Anthea, smiling a little. She has a lot of smiles, Aziraphale is starting to realize. This one is soft and fond and makes Aziraphale’s tummy perform some impressive acrobatics. “He’s adorable, and also a menace. Little hellspawn needs to be doing something at every hour of the day. You know how kids are.”

“Of course,” says Aziraphale, who has not seen a child younger than the age of eighteen since she was one. Anathema smirks audibly.

“What about you, angel?” asks Crowley, glancing at Aziraphale and then back at the road. Aziraphale tries to pretend that a little tingle doesn’t go through her every time Crowley calls her ‘angel.’ “Got a family?”

“No,” says Aziraphale. “I am currently unattached.” But I could be attached. I’m not averse to attachment. I -

“We’re right down this street,” says Anathema, and Aziraphale forces herself to focus.

Crowley drops her off at her flat, and Aziraphale is overwhelmed with panic at the thought of never seeing her again, but she needn’t have worried.

“It was good to meet you, angel,” says Crowley, rolling down her window so she can speak to Aziraphale, who is on the pavement. For some reason that Aziraphale would very much like to know Crowley is blushing. “If you ever - uh, I know you don’t have a car but if you have a friend that - yeah. Um. Here’s my card.”

And she all but throws a piece of paper out the window in Aziraphale’s direction, and Aziraphale doesn’t have time to respond to her hasty “bye!” before she takes off down the street.

Aziraphale stands outside for longer than she’ll ever admit, clutching the card to her chest and feeling butterflies.

They text a little bit, after Aziraphale works up the courage to send a ‘thank you again for the ride,’ and then they call each other once or twice, and then Crowley, amidst quite a bit of stammering, suggests that they go out for lunch.

Aziraphale spends the morning fluctuating between telling herself that it doesn’t matter what she wears, that if Crowley doesn’t like her as she is then she isn’t worth her time anyway, and changing in and out of five different outfits.

“Heya!” says Crowley, when she opens the door to a brisk knock. She’s showing no sign of the nervousness she displayed on the phone, which makes Aziraphale jealous, because her nerves are on full display.

“Hello,” says Aziraphale nervously.

Crowley immediately switches tactics.

“Hey, angel, you know it’s just lunch, right? There’s no, uh, no pressure. I have no expectations. Zero expectations. Less than zero. Negative expectations. Not that they’re negative! But, you know - ”

“I do,” says Aziraphale, because she thinks she does and she can’t seem to stop smiling. “Thank you, Crowley.”

Crowley turns a vibrant shade of vermillion but smiles back at her.

“Where to?” asks Aziraphale, once they’ve settled into their respective seats. (Crowley is not driving the truck today. She’s driving a black convertible, which she has also referred to as Bentley. Aziraphale has decided not to ask.)

“Wherever you want, angel,” she says, flipping on a turning signal, and Aziraphale looks out the window, hating how hot her face is. Crowley misinterprets it.

“Oh, no,” she says, and then says something that is a lot of consonants. Aziraphale is very impressed with how suddenly Crowley’s composure seems to have fallen apart. “‘M really sorry a - Aziraphale. That - sorry. I never even asked - and I’ve been saying it all this time - ’

“Don’t worry,” says Aziraphale, incredibly endeared. “I don’t mind.”

Crowley visibly relaxes and risks a glance over at her. “Thank goodness,” she says. They ride along in silence for awhile, and then, “So, where to?”

They end up at Crowley’s auto shop, because after a lot of wheedling on Crowley’s part Aziraphale finally admits to being curious. She has, after all, never been to one.

She’s struck by how glorious Crowley is in the place she’s made for herself, how incredibly well the sleek black lines of the garage and the minimalist design of the waiting area suit her.

“And these are my plants,” says Crowley with a flourish, indicating a wall that is nearly entirely lined with shelves, upon which is a veritable garden of plants.

“Oh, they’re lovely!” says Aziraphale, darting towards them and stroking a leaf with her hand. “Absolutely beautiful!”

She turns around to beam at Crowley and then gets distracted, because Crowley is staring at her with a look in her eyes that sets Aziraphale’s heart quivering. She licks her lips, and watches Crowley’s gaze drop to follow the motion. She feels entirely too warm.

“Do you grow them yourself?” she asks in little more than a whisper.

Crowley seems to come back to herself, shake something off. She clears her throat and offers Aziraphale yet another smile, but this one seems shaky, like its foundations aren’t solid.

“Yep,” she says, shoving her hands in her pockets.

“Well, you’re quite the find,” says Aziraphale. “You own a garage and a garden.”

“Well, what can I say?” says Crowley, shrugging, blushing again. Aziraphale is entranced by the way she can watch the pink flush spread across her face. “I do my best.”

Aziraphale thinks of a lot of things to say, but says none of them, just turns back to the plants and strokes another leaf. Her heart is pounding.

Crowley clears her throat again. “Well,” she says, “I promised you lunch.”

“That you did,” agrees Aziraphale, stepping through the door to the garage that Crowley’s holding open.

“Did you have a place in mind?” asks Crowley, and when Aziraphale looks back at her she’s still holding the door, watching Aziraphale, something very soft and warm and thrilling in her eyes.

“Not particularly,” murmurs Aziraphale, and then Crowley is stepping towards her, hands in her pockets, looking incredibly nervous. Aziraphale’s heart seems to have relocated to her throat.

“Look,” says Crowley, “I don’t - I’m not - aghck. Can’t believe I’m doing this. But you - and I - you’re gorgeous, Aziraphale, you must know that, must hear it all the time, and I know I’m just a scrawny awkward car enthusiast but you’re beautiful, good Lord are you ever beautiful, and if you say no then of course I’ll respect that and no hard feelings, obviously, and I hope we can still be friends - or friendly acquaintances - or just acquaintances, at least - and of course we can still go to lunch after, of course, if you want, and if this is too - well, I just wanted to know if you’d - um - would you maybe - ”

And then Aziraphale, driven by impulsiveness for perhaps the first time in her life, does what she’s wanted to do since Crowley sauntered towards Dick Turpin, backlit by the setting sun. She reaches out and tugs Crowley’s face towards herself and kisses her like her life depends on it.

Crowley stiffens, and for one horrifying moment Aziraphale thinks she’s read it all wrong, and then Crowley makes a small, desperate sound and wraps both hands around Aziraphale’s waist and melts into her and Aziraphale is tingly everywhere and extra warm in a few places and she’s kissing Crowley, she’s kissing Crowley, and it is wonderful.

Crowley pulls back after awhile, looking dazed, and keeps one hand on Aziraphale’s waist but brings the other up to cup her cheek.

“You’re perfect,” she says softly.

Aziraphale hides her face in her shoulder, and Crowley wraps her arms around her tightly.

“I mean it,” she insists. “Blush and deflect all you like, but you’re perfection. You’re amazing. You’re - ” she makes a frustrated noise and Aziraphale squeezes her and she relaxes. “You’re everything, angel.”

“Oh, my,” whispers Aziraphale, a little overwhelmed.

Crowley promptly (predictably) starts to panic.

“But I don’t - that’s too much, too soon, isn’t it? Why can’t I say the right - I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I mean it, I really do, but I shouldn’t have said it until later, and - ”

“Oh, hush,” says Aziraphale gently. Crowley discreetly wipes her eyes. “You’re quite an exceptional woman yourself.”

“Well,” says Crowley, pulling away and sniffling. “Thank you.”

“Any time,” says Aziraphale, and means it.

“Well,” says Crowley again, clapping her hands and effectively shattering the moment. “Shall we?”

“We shall,” says Aziraphale, and they go to lunch.

#ineffable husbands au week #ineffable wives #aziraphale #crowley #mechanic au #cars #trucks #Bentley #anathema #newt #we love them all very much #fanfic #how to tag #please love me

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tonystarkbingo · 4 years

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Presenting, for your entertainment and amusement, a Titles Game from the TSB Discord!

Aim of the game: a title is suggested, and everyone pitches in their idea of what kind of fic they would write for that title.

“Hot Chocolate Kisses” - suggested by @rebelmeg

@lbibliophile-mcu - Tony and Bruce are undertaking a very serious series of experiments to determine the optimal ratio of hershey kisses to milk in hot chocolate. And taste-testing the results. (actually, that would be fun to do as Tony and Morgan)

@summerpipedream - Natasha/Pepper - Natasha hates hot chocolate. It's always been too sweet, too sticky and if she could drink any other winter holiday drink, she would. Figuring out how to tell her girlfriend Pepper that, the biggest chocoholic in the world (Tony literally bought her a chocolate fountain for her birthday one year), well...it was a problem.

@rebelmeg - Iron Family winter tradition that comes about the first day they get a big snow. everyone wears their coziest sweaters, fuzziest socks, and wooliest winter hats, and they all drink hot chocolate out on the porch swing as they watch snow fall

@somesortofitalianroast - Hot chocolate kisses: Bucky teaches Russian History at Appalachian State University. Steve Rogers is the new World War II teacher. It always amuses Bucky that the UNC System decided that they needed an entire 3-credit hour class on World War II, and why AppState was chosen as the university, since Fayetteville is, like, right next to Fort Bragg. Or something. At least Steve’s easy on the eyes. Even if he’s not into guys. Except he is. Into guys that is. They’ve just started dating, Steve’s coming over to Bucky’s house for the first time, and a snowstorm hits. Featuring hot chocolate, declarations of love, only one bed, and enough pining to repopulate the pine barrens.

@darthbloodorange - Captain America is meant to be the paragon of virtue, the pinnacle of perfection. Or so Tony thought until catches Steve stuffing his face full of chocolate in the middle of the night. He demands Steve share the chocolate, but he's eaten it all ready. The only way Tony's get some, it seems it, is to kiss it from Steve's hot, chocolate covered lips.

(Keep reading for more amazing ideas!)

“to love and only love” - suggested by @somesortofitalianroast

@rebelmeg - giving me tony and maria vibes for some reason. can't decide if it's angsty, about how maria loves her son more from a distance, or if it's fluffy, and she loves him more than enough to make up for the ways howard doesn't.

@summerpipedream - Tony/Bucky - "To love and only love" is what the world always said about soulmates. His mother always said that when he'd meet his soulmate, he'd know. But what did that say about him when his soulmate kept running away?

@somesortofitalianroast - To love and only love: Cap!Steve/oblivious mechanic, Tony. Snarky identity porn. (changed it because, now that i think about it, it's tony/steve, that fic. lol)

@jamesbuckystark - to love and only love - Angst - Tony falls in love way too easily and quickly. Even when the ones he loves hurt him time and time again, he cannot find it in his heart to hate them

@jacarandabanyan - To love and only love: Tony hates soulmates and destiny deciding who he’s supposed to love and all the cultural adoration around the whole concept of soulmate marks. But nothing beats how much he hates that he loves his soulmate, despite himself. Steve clearly hasn’t seen their matching marks, and even more clearly doesn’t like, let alone love Tony. Tony can’t stop himself from living Steve- another thing to add to the list of things he hates, his stupid, insuppressible love for Steve- but he can avoid letting Steve know about their matching marks. He can love Steve and do nothing about it.

@lbibliophile-mcu - The vibe I'm getting from this title is subverted love triangle. The set-up is all there for angst and jealousy, but the characters all decide to focus on the positives instead. Whether this is one character deciding that (close) friendship is enough, or some degree of poly. Just everyone deciding that the important thing is that everyone is happy and together.

@trashcanakin - I get arranged marriage, enemies to real lovers vibes from it. Winteriron of course if I wrote it xD

To love and only love: Why does Tony have to marry him of all people. It's bad enough he's being forced into marriage because it's what the "kingdom" needs, what about what he needs? Or wants for that matter. And Bucky doesn't even like him, always silently glaring at him. It will never work, they just can't pretend to love each other when it takes all their strength just to like each other. But things change with the seasons. Could one terrible accident move the tide and show the true feelings hidden below?

@darthbloodorange - To love and only love (Stony): It's been years since anyone one has come by Tony's lair, leaving the dragon alone to tinker and work with his tech hoard. That's how he likes it: no knights, no paladins, no trouble. Just him and his bots. One day a werewolf (Steve) makes his way into his lair. He does everything he can to get rid of him, but the werewolf always returns. Before long Tony realises he likes having Steve around, likes how happy Steve is when he returns to Tony. Before long any frustration Tony feels for the werewolf is worn away, and all there is left is for him to love him. But would it ever work out between a dragon and a werewolf?

“Falling off the edge of the world with you” - @summerpipedream

@rebelmeg - pepperony, tony is teaching pepper how to work the rescue armor. they've been at it long enough that she's got the hang of it, and they celebrate by taking a thrilling flight together, far enough up that there's nothing but them, the edge of the world, and the stars

@summerpipedream - Tony & Rhodey - Whenever he got angry or tired at the world, Rhodey always used to drive him to their favourite lookout. Told him to yell and scream when things got too much and the world would fade away. Through the years, this never changed.

@jamesbuckystark - falling off the edge of the world with you - Rhodey knows it's unhealthy, following Tony to the ends of the earth. He also knows that Tony would understand if he said no. But there's something about the rush he gets when he's with Tony

@lronhusbands - falling off the edge of the world with you - ironhusbands. Idk like soft and fluffy boys who are just flying in their suits just to fly and playing games with each other and like total au where Rhodey doesn’t fall like he does so like they’re total idiots who cut their jets and plummet to earth and laugh bc they think they're invincible

@somesortofitalianroast - Falling off the edge of the world with you: 70 years ago, Steve Fell. Capital “F” Fell. There’s only one term for it, anyway. He might have survived, barely, yes, but he survived. But the thing about a Fall is that you never fly again. Even if you recover. Steve had resigned himself to never see the world from the air again. Until Tony.

@lbibliophile-mcu - Something different: Extremis!Tony (technopath version). Jarvis has been helping him get used to his new skills and senses. Because as much as Tony prefers to run rather than walk, he can also feel the very real risk of losing himself in this world of information and connections. The climax has Jarvis 'standing' beside him (acting as his guide and tether) as he takes his first dive into the internet.

@darthbloodorange - Falling off the edge of the world with you (Stony): Tony thought he would be the last person Steve would turn to for flying lessons. He didn't even have real wings anymore, not since Afghanistan. He doesn't fly like he used to. He didn't even think that Steve wouldn't know how to fly. With the broad, strong wings the serum had given him, Steve should be the best flier out. But as Steve stands before him, shyly stammering out his request for help, Tony could only find in him to say "yes" Tony schedules in time every week to help teach Steve how to fly. It soon becomes their thing.

@jacarandabanyan - Falling off the edge of the world with you: Space AU- Tony has always dreamed of exploring out beyond the edge of the known universe, and Rhodey has always known that he would follow Tony anywhere, no matter where. Even if current mathematical models of the edges of the known universe indicate that the two of them are more likely to end up falling into the void of nothingness than discover another universe or whatever it is Tony thinks he’s going to find.

“My heart beets for you (Mint to be)” - @darthbloodorange

@rebelmeg - the avengers have transformed the roof of the tower into a garden. and it's going pretty well. they've all got their own spots for their own stuff, and a section they do together, it's a good team bonding activity. at least... it is until tony's mint ("it's peppermint, get it?!") starts taking over clint's beets ("they're purple!"). then it's all-out war, and the one with the greenest thumb wins (pun not intended, hulk.)

@trashcanakin - My Heart Beets For You (Mint to Be): (No powers AU) Bucky runs a little cafe in a nice quiet town. They specialize in pastries, some say that their mint pies are the best around. Then some loud, rowdy, asshole buys the lot across the street and puts in a music store. Oh, it is on! This Tony guy wants a war, he's got one. And toss in soulmate AU on top because it would be funny xD

@jamesbuckystark - My heart beets for you (Mint to be) - Bucky is a garden sprite. No one sees him, and he bestows his loving touch to those who deserve it. Tony tries to be a plant dad... but fails miserably, due to the lack of sun and his forgetting to tend to his plants. Bucky takes one look at the man and falls in love. Imagine Tony's surprise when his dead plants are now alive and blooming!

(addition by @trashcanakin ) Tony's apartment is full of plants, flowers, and greenery because every time Bucky looks at him and blushes it makes more plants grow xD

And he's like "IDK WHAT'S HAPPENING!"

@summerpipedream - My heart beets for you (Mint to be) - Tony/Sam - Maria's last instructions in her will to Tony, along with the keys to her old family manor, were "Be Happy". It didn't take long for Tony to decide to quit his job, pack up his things and move out in the middle of nowhere to turn his mother's old home into a bed and breakfast. Of course, he never expected to run into Farmer Sam, who insists on sharing his extra fresh produce with him, dropping by 'just to see him smile'.

@darthbloodorange - My heart beets for you (Mint to be) (Stony) Steve and Tony retire from saving the world after the defeat of Thanos. Steve takes up gardening, wanting somewhere calming to do his art, somewhere he can relax. He needed something sedate, something peaceful that he could manage. He starts small, only a handful of flower beds, and learns as he goes. Slowly he starts expanding his garden, growing new sorts of flowers, and food. Herbs for Bruce. Flowers for Nat. A mediation/sensory garden for Sam. Pumpkins for Clint and his kids. A coffee tree for Tony. Soon he has a huge garden at the Compound with something for all of the Avengers. With a little work he manages to convince Tony to help him out in his garden (even if it is mainly to ogle Steve).

“If You Only Knew” - @jamesbuckystark

@rebelmeg - welp. okay. angst. tony ruminating about all the ways the people he loves don't understand the way he loves them. the way he shows them, tells them with different words. all he wants is to be loved back, and he can't understand why he's so unlovable.

@trashcanakin - Bucky would do anything for Tony, anything. Tony's the reason he's free, has a roof over his head, food, has his life back... Tony and Shuri even gave him his mind back, too. But Tony thinks Bucky hates him... Of course, why wouldn't he. Bucky keeps tryin' to show Tony how much he actually cares, but things keep gettin' in the damn way! A story full of misunderstandings, hurt/comfort, and eventual romance. Ayye. Could easily turn that into humor and crack as well, 'cause it's my brand xD

@summerpipedream - If You Only Knew - Steve/Tony "Do you know how long it took me to get home?" scowled Tony, "Every werewolf I ran into on the street told me congratulations, or took him long enough. Did you have something to tell me Steve?" Werewolf Steve is a little too enthusiastic with scenting his human mate. Whoops.

@jamesbuckystark - If You Only Knew - Tony talks in his sleep... a lot. Rhodey has experienced hearing some weird-ass stuff that he's said ever since college. Now Bucky gets woken up by Tony shaking him then saying something like "I farted by a hairy man yesterday" or "who grabbed my cheese in the ocean?" before zonking back out. Tony knows he talks in his sleep and often asks what he said when he wakes up. Bucky can't tell him due to laughing so hard so he ends up wheezing out "oh if you only knew what you said."

@jacarandabanyan - If only you knew: Tony loses his memories after a magical head injury. Nothing should be more important than getting his memories back so he can get back into the field and fight the good fight with these hero-types that claim to be his teammates. But one teammate in particular keeps distracting him from this vital work. For some reason, Bucky Barnes is both eager to help him in any way he can and totally unwilling to be alone with him. If only Tony knew why.

@celtic7irish - It would be a story of one-upmanship of the craziest stunts the Avengers have ever pulled. "If Only You Knew" the TRUE story behind some of those missions. If Only You Knew what really happened in Budapest. If Only You Knew what really happened during that one summer at MIT. Lol.

@jamesbuckystark - Also, angst version. If You Only Knew: Tony Stark, the control freak. Tony Stark, who thinks he knows best and screws stuff up. Tony Stark, the creator of Ultron. All these things, Tony has heard and will agree with. Rhodey does not. The others don't know what he does to keep shady government agencies off their backs. They don't realize what Tony sees at night. He wants to tell them, but Tony won't let him

@darthbloodorange - If You Only Knew: (Stony) Steve locks himself away in his room as Tony brings back another Omega to the tower, not wanting the Alpha to see the tears it brings to his eyes. It wasn't fair, he had no right to be hurt or jealous, Tony wasn't his Alpha. Tony would never be interested in him. Tony was only interested in soft, pretty Omegas. As far as the world cared he was an Alpha. But he wasn't. He was an Omega. If only Tony knew... maybe he would pick him. ...Maybe he would love him.

#tonystarkbingomarkiv #tsbmiv #tsb discord party #title prompt game #party game

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