#'Paying forward or back.' <- Line against dwelling on when I make a mistake or am suffering some inner or external pain; | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rebeccccccaaa · 4 years

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🅐🅝🅣🅘-🅥🅐🅛🅔🅝🅣🅘🅝🅔

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🅝🅐🅣🅐🅢🅗🅐 🅡🅞🅜🅐🅝🅞🅕🅕 🅧 🅡🅔🅐🅓🅔🅡

🅢🅤🅜🅜🅐🅡🅨: fuck valentines day lol

🅦🅐🅡🅝🅘🅝🅖🅢: gxg, smut 18+, angst, friends with benefits (nat’s a huge giver in this)

🅐🅤🅣🅗🅞🅡'🅢 🅝🅞🅣🅔🅢 i know valentine’s day is long gone but it was also my birthday that day so i didn’t want to post anything and this idea came to me that night lmao hope this is still appropriate though :)

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“Well, it’s like the wage gap. It doesn’t exist,” he taunted.

“What?” you falsely chuckled because you couldn't believe your ears.

“Oh come on. You don’t actually believe that feminist bull shit,” he said snarkily.

“What's there to not believe; there’s literal facts, evidence, and statistics proving it’s a real thing. This isn’t like aliens where you can just form your own opinion based on the information you have. There is proof of a wage gap. Something you’ll never experience because you are a man,” you explained.

God this man is so dense. You went on a couple dates with this guy not really that interested but gave him the benefit of the doubt. Well, that was a mistake. He’s a misogynistic asshole who thinks he can have a say in women’s benefits and lives like he has a fucking uterus.

“I’m starting to see why you're still single,” he boasted.

“Oh as if you have women coming left and right begging for you to fuck them,” you threw back.

“You're a real bitch.”

“That’s your only comeback? Come on if you're gonna try to justify your misogynistic ways, at least be a little more clever with the comebacks.”

You stood up gathering your things and started to walk out when the big baby man called out again.

“You’re not gonna pay half?” he had the audacity to ask.

“Why don’t you pay like the ever so kind gentleman you are with your hard earned work money,” and with that you left and hailed a taxi.

There was only one place you had your mind on and you told the cab driver to drive you there as fast as possible. You quickly arrived at the avengers compound, seeing that Jarvis gave you access you went inside.

“She’s in her room,” Steve said when he saw you.

“Thanks,” you walked straight to her room.

“I give up,” you said, opening and immediately closing her door.

“What?” she responded surprisingly.

“I give up on men as a whole; there’s no hope for them,” you sighed flopping in her bed.

“Did you go on a date with that guy again?” she remembered you talked about him but you weren’t very fond of him.

“I don’t know what I was thinking. I guess I didn’t want to be alone today,” you said, lying on your side facing Nat.

“You could've come here sooner,” she said softly.

“Nat, we said we’d stop. We can’t do that anymore,” you said after a pause; you sat at the edge of her bed not being able to face her.

“I know, but come on,” Nat came up behind you.

“It’s Valentine’s Day,” she whispered in your ear and you shivered.

“Nat,” you warned.

“Don't you wanna feel good tonight? Feel desired? I can do that for you, remember?” her hands wandered around your body caressing your thighs, your hips, your waist.

“Nat, we can’t keep doing this,” you try your hardest no to give in…

...but it’s just too fucking hard to resist her.

“It’s just for tonight,” she nibbled on your ear.

Her hands came and cupped your breasts as she kissed and sucked on your neck right under your ear. You just relaxed against her chest and she kissed you softly. Slowly she unzipped the dress you were wearing and peeled from your shoulders. You let her take it off and stood up quickly to discard the piece of clothing. You were simply left in a pair of panties since the dress looked better with no bra.

As you kicked the dress off your feet, Nat sat up on her knees and kissed the skin between your shoulder blades. She pulled closer to her and kissed ear and neck ever so lightly wrapping her cold hand around your neck, tilting your head to give her more room and access.

She stripped her shirt and pants and crawled back on the bed, resting her back against the headboard of her bed. You crawled up with her smiling softly and kissed her properly this time. Her lips are soft and plump against your own. You ultimately pressed your back against her chest.

Her lips continued to press repeatedly against the hot skin of your neck and shoulder while her hands roamed along your body. Her fingers played with your nipples and your head fell back against her shoulder.

Her hands moved down your body and passed the lining of your underwear. You were wearing her favorite and she briefly wondered if maybe you had planned on coming to her all along. It didn’t matter when you lifted your hips so she could take them off.

Her fingers rubbed gently around and along your folds, before grazing her fingertips on your clit. You sighed pleasantly and closed your eyes while Nat continued to knead your breasts with her other hand.

She whispered in your ear but you couldn't understand too much because she inserted a finger passed your folds and you moaned softly. Her thumb rubbed small circles over your clit quickly bringing closer and closer to your orgasm. She inserted another finger deep inside you grazing your g-spot. You look down at her fingers moving quickly in and out of you and you moaned loudly. It was music to Nat’s ears and she smiled at the pleasure she was giving to you.

Her lips felt so velvety on your skin and for a moment that was all you could think of. Her fingers distracted you again almost instantly though and your hips squirmed and wiggled as she pumped her fingers in and out of you. Your head fell back once again, your release approaching incredibly fast.

“Fuck, Nat. I’m gonna cum,” you whimpered.

“Come, baby. Come all over my fingers, make a mess baby.”

You felt your hips jolt and you practically gushed over her fingers. Her thumb continued small and slow circles on your clit riding out your orgasm. Your body trembled and Nat’s whispered quiet praises in your ear.

“Such a good girl, baby.”

“Angel, you did so well.”

“You looked so pretty coming all over my fingers. Can you give me one more?”

She laid you gently on your back and discarded her undergarments crawling back on the bed to you again. She moved your legs and spread them as far as they could before licking her fingers and circling her own clit; she was already soaking wet from making you come before she didn’t really need much more lubrication.

Her leg came over one of yours and she settled her center over yours. Her hand came to your face and cupped your cheek lovingly and you saw in her eyes how dilated they were. You couldn’t dwell on the idea for long because Nat started grinding down stimulating your core again.

Her thumb from the hand that was resting on your cheek came down and traced your lips as she continued swiftly moving against you. She leaned down and kissed you hard and passionately and you wrapped your hands around her.

When she broke the kiss your hands came down to her hips guiding her down on you. Her head threw back and her brows furrowed as she moaned beautifully. You sat up as best as you could and she leaned down halfway to meet you. She pressed her forehead against yours; both of you panting hard as you chased each other's release.

You moaned and closed your eyes but she couldn’t let you.

“Keep your eyes open, baby. Keep them on me,” she panted.

“I can’t fuck, it feel so good,” you whined.

“Come on, I wanna see you fall apart under me,” she forced you to look at her.

“Ugh, Nat!” you opened your eyes.

“That’s it, baby; fuck!”

She thrusted faster and soon after you both came against each other with shouts of each other’s names. She fell forward catching herself with her hands careful not to collapse on you. She moved gracefully off of you and glided towards the bathroom as you admired her glowing skin from behind.

She came back with a towel and cleaned you up, tossing the towel to the side and climbed into bed with you. You sat up however feeling out of place almost. You wanted to stay but you two had promised each other that you wouldn’t let this keep happening.

“I should leave,” you whispered.

“Please, don’t. I don’t mind.”

“I know you don’t, that’s the problem,”

“Are you really that bothered by me? Afraid people are gonna have something to say about us?”

“Nat-”

“I’m serious; why won’t you give us a chance?”

You paused. You didnt want to tell her but she deserved an explanation; as dumb as it would've sounded.

“Can we go to sleep?” you asked.

Seeing as Nat didn’t want to push you further, she agreed and held you close as you two slept until the morning.

When you woke you hadn’t woken up with Natasha still in bed.

You grabbed a big t-shirt she had in her drawers, most likely taken from Steve or Bucky. You stepped outside and found the hallway empty. You slowly walked towards the kitchen hearing muffled voices unsure of what they were talking about.

You got closer but stayed behind a wall in the hallway so you could hear what they were talking about before you interrupt. You concluded that Nat was talking to the rest of the team.

“Why do you keep doing this?” it was Steve’s voice.

“You’d think I’d let it keep happening if I knew how to stop?” That was Nat’s voice.

“Leave the woman alone, she’s in love. Not many know how to control and resist. Especially from someone as beautiful as Y/n.” That sounded like Wanda’s voice. What do they mean?

“Can we stop talking about this, she's gonna be up any minute,” Nat said.

“Nat you gotta tell her,” Steve said.

“No,” she reciprocated.

“Nat-”

“No! If I-,” she stopped and huffed before continuing, “If I tell her that I’m in love with her, she's gonna run away. I would rather have this, whatever this is, than nothing at all,” she explained.

You were taken back. She loves you, like actually.

You knew you shouldn’t have but you could stop yourself from running. You went back to her room and changed into the dress you were wearing the night before and walked out, you had to leave as soon as possible. Unfortunately you had to walk past the kitchen to go to the front door and when you did Nat called after you.

“Where are you going? Don’t you wanna maybe eat before you leave? It’s your favorite,” she said softly.

“I should head home. Thanks uh, for letting me spend the night,” and with that you left and called a taxi to take you home.

“She fucking heard,” Nat said to the team who watched silently as you left.

“Thanks guys. Thanks for making me ruin the one good thing I had in my life,” Nat walked to her and slammed the door where she cried unsure of when she was going to see you again. If ever.

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@mathletemadison

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mrwinterr · 4 years

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Slippery, Smooth

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky gets a different kind of massage.

Warnings: Smut 18+ (consensual but still unprotected sex, vaginal penetration, oral [male receiving], thigh riding, titty fuck, cum play).

Disclaimer: I want to put it out there that while nuru massages aren’t legal in the vast majority of the U.S. or the world, I’m not condoning the underlying motive of selling sex and/or prostitution. I apologize if this may offend anyone or the culture. I did my best to read about the origins and some modern experiences. A girl just watched porn and wrote this – that’s it.

** Author’s Note (8/13/20): Read a snippet of Part 2! **

“We’ll just need you both to fill out the paperwork for some information. Please check any of the services we offer then sign the waiver on the back and when you’re both done, we’ll show you to your rooms,” the young female receptionist answered with a friendly smile on her face.

Sam returns the gesture with a smile of his own and grabs the two white clipboards with the paperwork attached to them, carefully balancing the pens placed on top so they don’t roll off. On his left, was Bucky sporting a resting bitch face, clearly showing he was dragged into this before heading to a pair of unoccupied seats. The woman unbothered by his sour demeanor pays no offense believing he’s come to the right place to relieve the stress he isn’t aware he’s been harboring.

Except Bucky really doesn’t want to be here at the spa. He just happened to be caught while walking by some of his colleagues and apparently, Sam had been asking around for someone to check out the raving massage parlor on the market with him, but mostly because it was much more of a discount to book for two than one.

With some convincing from his more levelheaded companions, suggesting Bucky continue to go out and experience more modern things while also participating in the act of self-care, he begrudgingly agreed.

“Man, hurry up. Did you forget how to spell your name?” Sam nudged at him seeing as Bucky hadn’t even filled out the first line before putting the cap back on his pen, signaling he had completed his paperwork.

“Shut up. I don’t even want to be here.” Bucky mumbled enough just for Sam to hear. It wasn’t the establishment’s fault that he felt bothered.

He let out a big sigh, filled out the basic information and skimmed at the options of the services provided. His face scrunched. There were all kinds of massages that he hadn’t heard of and some were even in different languages. Luckily, this place offered a brief description of each type.

“Barnes!” Sam, who was standing in front of the receptionist desk again, said with a now firmer tone and sending Bucky a hard look. He was getting impatient. Bucky shook his head and looked back down at the paper. Try something new. He reminded himself.

Feeling slight pressure and the practical idea of the sooner he got through with this part of the process the sooner he’d be out of this place, Bucky hastily checks off something near the middle, a different type of massage he thought sounded nice. They all sounded nice, but there were so many, he didn’t bother to finish reading through or retain any significant aspects on each of them as they all became a jumbled mess of terms in his brain. Afterall, a massage is designed to make one feel good anyways. How far south could the option he selected go?

A few more minutes went by until another woman from behind the desk emerges and calls for the two men. The receptionist bids them a good time and carries on with the next guest. To both of their relief, Bucky and Sam are placed in separate rooms.

Guess he picked a different massage. Bucky thought to himself and looked around the dim lit room. Its walls adorned with tasteful foreign artwork, different sized candles and infused with a refreshed yet soothing scent that began overtaking his senses. The place was pristine.

The employee who escorted him to this room sets the clipboard on the nearby table and instructs Bucky to prep himself with a shower that was located in the corner. Before he could ask why that was a significant part of the massage, she told him once he was done washing himself, to lie on the massage table with only his towel on and to wait for his actual masseuse, who would arrive shortly, then she left closing the door behind her.

Not wanting to think too much into it, believing perhaps it was part of the experience or this place was just super hygienic, Bucky doesn’t waste time. The masseuse could walk in any moment, so he proceeds to undress, open the clear shower door and step in.

A few months ago, aside from the people he worked with or the ones he fought against, no one would be caught alone with Bucky – especially in a vulnerable state such as being half naked and with his metal arm on display. It took a lot of self-therapy and confidence and just plain not giving a fuck anymore mindset, but now here he was letting a complete stranger touch him and take more than a peek and gander at his body. If the doctors could see him now. On top of that, there had to be a level of professionalism here anyways, he was in good hands.

Once he’s thoroughly clean, he wraps the white, fluffy towel around his waist before hopping onto the massage bed. It was big, almost like it was built for two. That was a strange thought, but nonetheless he chose to also not dwell on that and was grateful it was big enough for his burly body. He scoots around a bit to find the center and lies down, trying to relax.

He turned his head to the side, eyes wandering at the counter full of supplies – massage oils, rocks, towels, soap, a box of condoms, gloves, more towels…wait. A box of condoms? What the hell? Bucky thought now a little puzzled before turning his head back to stare at the ceiling in front of him. He closes his eyes and tries to calm his nerves once more.

Just before Bucky dozed off, as if on cue, he hears the door open and quietly close with an extra click. You finally arrived. He peeks an eye open to see the back of your figure, hair tied loosely and in a short white robe. It clung on your body different, it had to be of silk. He opens both eyes just as you turn around.

You quickly glance at his clipboard before finally fixing your eyes on your next client. His metal arm certainly didn’t go unnoticed, but that wouldn’t be a problem at all. It might sound mean, but it was one less limb to work on. All that shoved aside, he was athletically built and geez, was he a sight. Keep it together. You began telling yourself over and over. You’re a professional.

It wasn’t likely you did these kinds of massages, nor did you partake in paid sexual services just strictly intent on the art of touch and healing, but this type paid handsomely, and the lights didn’t have to be on all the way to let you see that handsome was indeed right in front of you too. You introduced yourself to the man on the massage bed but got no response.

A quiet one. You thought, but quickly shrugged it off and decided to get right to it by pulling at the end of a tassel in the knot tied around your waist to begin disrobing.

Bucky, not anticipating interacting or to be touched intimately by someone so pretty was gravely distracted, it wasn’t until he saw the skin of your cleavage that he snapped out of it.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Bucky exclaims sitting up, “what are you doing?”

With a confused expression, you simply replied, “disrobing?” Then wearily proceeded to part the material to the side, but before you could reveal anything else, you heard another plea to stop.

“Wh-why?” Bucky was having a hard time trying to formulate words with the swell of your breasts peeking from behind your robe now in his view.

You turned and cocked your head a bit, still perplexed by his questions, “because it’s part of the massage.”

“Wha…what? Isn’t the person getting the massage supposed to be the one that’s…naked?” His mind was in a frenzy and that was kind of annoying you.

“For a simple massage, yes.”

“What are we doing then?” He asked incredulously.

“A nuru massage.”

“Nuru massage?”

“Yes. A nuru massage is when one massages the other person’s body with their own.” You explained as calmly as you could. He was getting increasingly agitated and your job was to help others relax not add onto the stress.

Bucky shook his head frantically and looked away from you to stop his eyes from wandering too long on your body. He could tell you didn’t have anything else underneath. “This has to be a mistake. You must have the wrong room.”

You scoffed, covering yourself up again and snatching the clipboard on the nearby counter. “Aren’t you…James B. Barnes?” You skim over it before asking and turning the clipboard to prove to him that you were in the right room assigned to him.

He craned his neck forward to inspect the piece of paper he held not too long ago, his messy handwriting complete with his illegible signature staring right back at him.

“Well, yeah…”

“Then I have the right room and you checked off for a nuru massage.” You say crossing your arms as he took the clipboard from your hands to read more about what the massage actually entails.

“This-this can’t be legal though.” He said shaking his head and thinking about how it could even be acceptable for this kind of service without eliciting some sort of sexual stimulation from the other party. Bodies gliding against each other? It just couldn’t possibly go smooth or well…work.

“It’s not…” you replied like it’s a known fact but then were quick to respond seeing his eyes widening in overreaction, “in most areas of the world but it’s absolutely legal here!”

“But it’s basically pros-“ he didn’t even finish that last sentence catching himself when he saw your now offended expression.

Does this asshole really think he is going to just sit there and get away with downright calling you a prostitute?

“You don’t know shit about me,” you spat. Handsome or not, deciding he wasn’t as openminded as most people and harshly tied a new knot to the robe you were still wearing signaling you were about to walk out. He wasn’t worth the few extra digits to your paycheck.

“No! Wait!” He pleaded; guilt ridden. As he let out a deep sigh, you stayed put to hear him out, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that. You’re right! I don’t know shit about you, but I also don’t know what a nuru massage is. I came here with a friend to help him get a good deal and I clearly wasn’t paying attention to what I signed up for.”

You nodded and decided to be civil since he was owning up to his mistake. “Okay. Apology accepted. I see why you freaked out, but you’re clearly not comfortable with the idea of this,” you responded while your hands helped convey your words, “so I can see what I can do to get you a refund,” and walked over to him to retrieve the clipboard.

It would’ve taken a significant blow to your pay – losing a client for the day – but you weren’t going to put anyone in a situation they weren’t familiar or comfortable with.

“Well…” He spoke up, placing his right hand on top of yours causing you to look up at him.

Wow, his eyes. They held the same color that reminded you of the kind water in a pool could reflect. The soothing kind of blue. You felt like you were glued to the spot, almost hypnotized.

“I mean I’m already here. I don’t want to take any business away from you. Again, I’m sorry I overreacted. What’s life without experience, right?”

And that deep voice... Shit, snap out of it! Remember, you’re a professional.

You gave him a small smile for his change of heart and willingness to try something new.

“Right,” you said forcing yourself to look away. Fuck, I hope I wasn’t staring for too long, “but I’m letting you know now, this isn’t a normal massage,” daring to look back at him for reassurance, “if at any moment you’re uncomfortable, we can change things up. Afterall, I’m very good with my hands.” You hoped to regain your composure with that last line. It wasn’t a lie though.

Bucky sends you a smile of his own before letting you go to lie back down properly, waiting for the next move. You cautiously disrobed without any protest from him. You noticed Bucky visibly swallowed the thick lump in his throat now that you were completely nude in front of him.

“Are you okay?” You were going to have to be patient with this one. He wasn’t going to be like any other you treated. It was easy for you to just stand there naked and you weren’t bothered by nudity at all, but that doesn’t mean everyone else is.

With a nod of his head, you reached for the towel to untuck the bunched-up portion at the side of his waist, mindful to not expose him of the slightest to spare him some modesty, while asking him to move just enough to let it rest on his body and cover his lower half like a blanket would.

You decided to let him keep his towel on for the time being and focus on his upper body. Next, you instructed him to turn and lie on his stomach, you’d start with his back first. You lifted the towel in a modest manner like you would for anyone so he could maneuver with ease. Once he settled in a comfortable position, you began the treatment.

“The word nuru stems from the Japanese term for slippery or smooth.” Talking to your clients was a technique most in your line of profession use to help distract or relax them to get the job done – that and it’s just good customer service showing that you care and know just what the fuck you’re doing.

You expertly jumped up onto the small space left on the bed to get into a straddling position on your knees hovering just over the small of his back and covered ass. Judging by the hump, it kind of looked nice to sit on.

“I’m going to start by applying nuru gel all over your body and mine, but we’ll start small, alright.” You carefully poured a generous amount of the warm massage gel in the palm of your hand lathering up your arms, chest, torso, thighs and fortunately you were flexible enough to reach parts of your back, but for parts you couldn’t, would transfer off his body to yours later on.

Scooping up a bit more, you watched as the gel dropped in a fine line and pool onto his back before beginning to spread it all over the expanse of his toned body in soothing motions. You started to gently press with your knuckles on the surface his muscles.

“The gel is actually made out of natural Nori seaweed,” you started explaining the colorless and odorless substance while progressing lower on his back with both hands, digging your thumbs near the lumbar region and compressing some of your weight down. You paid attention to specific areas of the body that draws the most tension. His body became visibly lax and less strained the more you worked your magic; soon enough Bucky was sure he would be putty in your hands.

Still perched up on your knees and not wanting to slip, you took initiative and just plopped down onto his plush yet firm backside. Even if a towel remained as a barrier between you both, you felt his glutes tense up underneath you, most likely having startled him. Trying to find a way to help him relax again, you tried to comfort him with more facts.

“It has other healthful benefits such as providing great moisturization to the skin,” you leaned down on your forearms and started an up and down repetition.

Your hands then travelled to his sides and you hoped he wasn’t ticklish before they met at the back of his neck to perform the simplest of massages ever. However basic as it might’ve seemed, felt like Heaven’s touch on Bucky’s end as he couldn’t help but let out a moan of satisfaction.

You were so good at it, working out all the kinks in his neck using your skilled fingers, he had to let out an approving moan after moan with each touch that hit the spot. The elicited sound racked through his body that you felt it reverberate all the way down to your core. You were crossing over a forbidden line, but that wasn’t letting you up. You had wanted to hear and feel that again.

“You’re really tense aren’t, you?” You comment continuing your handy work into the knots around his lower neck, slowly adding more pressure and testing his limits. His response was an even louder and deeper moan. Unknowingly, it caused you to shift, more like ground, your hips against his lower body. You mentally patted yourself on the back for keeping the towel there to absorb your juices. He didn’t need to try and figure out if it was the nuru gel or the sudden wetness pooling in you that his skin was swimming in.

Then you lowered your entire body, your chest now pressed against his back. Your head was close to his, you could smell the scent of the soap the facility provided for the massage prep mixed with his own and you swore he smelled more relaxing than any stress-free candle or burning incense ever could.

Due to the close proximity, you spoke even softer right next to his ear, “the combination of the nuru gel and full body contact or the touch of another human help to release toxins from the body and boost the feelgood chemicals in the brain.”

You paired that piece of knowledge with sliding up and down his back, your hands trailing up his arms that were bent but sprawled above his hand, grasping at the front of his hands to briefly interlock them before letting them go to repeat the actions.

Deciding enough time was spent on the upper area, you carefully swung around, gathered a bit more gel and snuck your hands underneath the towel to glide up the hill of his ass. Without protest, you seized the moment and experimentally grabbed a handful of each cheek before releasing the flesh and sail further down to his muscular thighs. Oh, you wish you could see them, but reminded yourself to approach each step with caution with him.

The towel still restricted you from attending to his calves, so you pulled your hands back out and scooted up to pull the towel up from the other end and treat them with the same amount of attention. After that treatment was done, you had him revert to his original position on his back.

As he settled, you reached over to pour some more gel and help slicken his front half.

“Interesting fact, nuru massages originated in Japan as a disguise to pay for sexual services,” you say as your hands spanned across the planes of his pecs, “but nuru massages are much more than an erotic massage.”

“How so?” Bucky asked genuinely curious because he was having a hard time trying to strain his cock from hardening. Thankfully for him, you were seated on his lower abdomen and barely inches away from his member.

“Think of them as more so sensual than sexual.”

Accepting that outlook, Bucky had to ask, “how did you get into…this?”

You knew he meant performing nuru massages and not your career in general, “I took a trip to Japan during a break from studying,” you replied and now tracing the lines of his abs. That sort of action, so close to his dick, created a ghostly tingle to run down Bucky’s lower region.

Counting each one of his abs to help distract you from the twitch of his cock that he thought you probably didn’t feel hit you, you continued your story, “like you, I also didn’t know what I signed up for either.”

With your breasts out in front of him squished between your upper arms as you continued to rub him and all slick from the gel, your skin seemed ever so inviting for him to touch, but he refrained from doing so. There was really no way to avoid getting aroused with this kind of massage. He was about to give up the fight. He needed to relax, right?

“Um, how-how was…he?” He asked trying to not ask awkwardly. You smiled noting he was having a hard time trying to look at your face and not your boobs. A guy like this at your fingertips? What woman’s ego wouldn’t be boosted? You had control.

Keeping in mind he is new to this, but also that the vitality of full body contact in this massage, you treated his front half to the same tactic you used on his back by laying your body flat on his.

“She was amazing,” you answered, your face now close to his you could feel the warmth of his breath puff out as he tried to regulate his breathing. The close proximity allowing you to feel the beat of his heart. You noticed the bob of his throat to that reveal, two women all oiled up.

“She taught me a lot of moves actually.” An innocent anecdote produced a whine from Bucky that he felt ashamed of slip out. Okay, maybe you got to bring it back down. “The first time I ever performed a nuru massage, I almost slipped off the massage table!”

What you hoped for was to lighten the mood, you didn’t expect was for him to bust out laughing at you. The sudden outburst took you by surprise that you almost reenacted the shared memory, but Bucky was quick to catch you with his left arm before you fell. His arms encased around you as he turned on his back with you now lying parallel, legs between his now parted ones underneath the towel that still managed to stay on.

“Oh my God,” you said burying your face into the crook of his neck, not giving a damn that the massage gel would get on your face. That first fall from your past was one of the most embarrassing moments of your career and here you were about to relive it or perhaps create one that would top it.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Bucky said tucking you in his arms as his flesh hand ran up and down the curves of your slick back, the metal one resting just above the curve of your ass. “I’m sorry I scared you. I didn’t mean to laugh. It’s just that you’re so poised and professional, having to imagine you being that clumsy took me off guard.”

Your eyes drifted down and noticed the scarred tissue of his skin that divided the metal from him. He probably ached there sometimes. You made a mental note to fit his arm somewhere in your routine.

“I’ve never told anyone that story before,” you admitted looking at him. Your eyes lingering at his pink lips that were parted. He brushed a strand of your hair away and cupped your face. You leaned into his hand and if he didn’t know it, you were the one that was putty in his hands.

Earning yourself another beautiful smile from him you got back into position. “Do you mind?” You ask referring to the towel. Having spent some time with you and seeing a more vulnerable side, he shook his head and let you rip the towel from beneath you and drop it to the floor.

“It’s okay to get hard,” you said trying to address the elephant in the room. You watched him stammer with his words, “it’s perfectly natural. Remember, this massage is designed to tease your senses and bring your body to full ecstasy.” Your now pressed against him again, rubbing your body up and down, hands trailing upwards to let your fingers intertwine with his again.

Feeling your breasts glide up just enough to stop under his chin, he kept tilting his head back as if he was neck deep in water, but if he was being honest, he would rather just drown in them at this point. Bucky tries to remain calm even if you assured him that getting aroused during a massage was a common occurrence.

“Relax, James,” you said releasing one of his hands to cradle his head and set it in a regular position. You just made it a point to not practically motorboat the poor guy.

“It’s Bucky,” he said, “please just call me Bucky. James is too formal.”

“Okay, Bucky,” you confirm by pressing your forehead against his.

Not taking your eyes off each other, you glided down a few inches so you’re face-to-face with the junction of the skin and metal and began leaving light feather kisses to the sensitive area. Adding a little squeeze to the flesh hand that was still in your grasp, Bucky felt his heart soar a bit. You, so unperturbed by the once traitorous appendage, were so gentle and the level of intimacy you carried, he wondered if you were like this to your other clients. He felt like a damn fool for falling for your every move.

“Are most of your clients men?” Bucky wondered.

“No. I don’t limit my services to just men. Most times, my favorite are the women. Nuru is open for anyone of any gender or sexual orientation.”

You slithered down again until you trapped one of his thighs between your legs. Lord, give me the strength to not cum. You prayed and begun rocking your hips almost sinfully.

Fuck, was this part of her normal routine? Bucky asked himself but wouldn’t deny the combination of her wet pussy and its soft lips gliding along his thighs felt good. Not to mention the way your hands grip at the grooves of his Adonis belt, nails slightly digging into his skin, watching your hips move. He didn’t miss the look on your face, eyebrows knitted in concentration and your plump bottom lip trapped between your teeth.

“Do you enjoy this too?”

You knew what he was going for. Did you get a rise out of this? You regained control of your body and shrugged, “I mean, touch is therapeutic in some cases, but if you’re wondering, most places or depending on the masseuse have modified nuru massages.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Not everyone gets a happy ending.” You were a masseuse specialist and not in a line of sex. It was the most misconstrued thing about it. Noticing the look on his face, you concluded that he must’ve not known the term “happy ending.”

“Sex. A happy ending is what usually culminates from a nuru massage,” you cleared the air. It was adorable to see the surprised look on his face. Yet, underneath the sheen line of sweat that had built up on his forehead, Bucky was internally relieved to hear that you didn’t actually partake in any sexual penetration or acts from this type of massage.

Okay, maybe that number on his thigh wasn’t part of your routine. You’d never been that needy. Before you could fly off the edge, you didn’t even peg yourself to be a sadist and actually edge yourself. You wondered if you could fully set ethical standards aside and go through it.

You set that same leg between your breasts and strategically slid from up his thigh before stopping just below the waist to keep his rather endowed member confined.

“You know, it’s a shame the reputation that nuru massages have,” you started, pushing your boobs together with your hands. You felt his cock jolt at the contact, “the first thing that comes to people’s minds in terms of nuru is fucking porn, but nuru has its benefits.”

“Like what?” Bucky asks breathily as you started practically titty fucking him. Is she serious? Are we in a porno? He thought seeing as there’s no way he was going to not cum any second.

“Yeah. Believe it or not, it’s proven to help couples spice up their love lives and even repair them.”

“H-how?” He tried to keep up with conversation, but it was so hard, he was so hard, as he watched his cock disappear and reappear from between the depths of your breasts. He hoped you hadn’t noticed that his pre-cum had been aiding in the slickness as it mixed in with the nuru gel. You were warm and soft and slick…and he wasn’t even buried deep in your pussy.

“I think you can guess one of the factors, but it’s more than just a physical connection, really,” you explain and release him. You move back up, body once more parallel to his, your hands smearing more of the gel around his chest, “it allows for one to feel more comfortable in their own skin and even create new sensations.”

“Almost sounds like a spiritual journey,” he said with seriousness his eyes meeting yours.

“It can be,” you responded with. You were so close to his face again. Not sure how long you sat there staring at him, but as ironic as it was, the setting in a massage parlor, one with a purpose to help the other, you both seemed to create a new kind of tension. A tension that was almost too thick you feared it wasn’t something your hands could resolve.

You stared down at his enchanting features, soft, pink lips that were parted, cute nose, the half-lidded eyes but that still shone from the blue that managed to peek out. Your hands trailed up to touch his face. He was so tempting.

Fuck it. All caution thrown out the window, your lips crashed against his. It wasn’t bruising nor soft, but enough to cut the tension that had built up in the room. To your astonishment, he didn’t object to your advances and pressed his lips back to yours and opening up wider to let you slip your tongue in. He caught your tongue in his mouth with his lips and enclosed around the muscle, sucking on it, causing you to gasp and pull away breathlessly.

You push yourself up just enough to get a full look at him with your hands on his chest. A slight nod of his head was all you needed to dive back in. Your lips massaged against his as you both kissed with such fervor, your hands threading into the short locks of his hair slightly pulling at what you could grasp in your fingers. The echoes of his moans and the light tap of his cock that had twitched in response against your lower abdomen was a dead giveaway sign that he liked that.

However, the continue rocking of your body against his, wasn’t going to help alleviate his raging hard on. It was pressed so hard in between you, it almost felt embedded into your skin. You slithered back down, leaving a trail of kisses from the column of his neck, chest – even managing to teeth at one of his nipples tauntingly – the line between his abs until you were met with the tip of his cock, which was unashamedly leaking.

You jeered around his head, placing lightweight kisses down the side of his cock, purposely avoiding the large vein on the underside, to his balls. Your eyes never leaving Bucky’s, who had his head propped under his flesh arm to watch you. Your hands still slick with the gel, you started to fondle him before taking them, one at a time, in your warm, wet mouth to gently suck on.

You weren’t sure who lost the staring contest this time between you two, but his head lulled back at the sensation and yours closed shut, full of him and savoring the taste of his skin. Pulling away with a pop, you wrapped a hand around his shaft to let his cock stand at full attention.

Bucky finally opened his eyes and picked his head back up to look at you just in time to watch you smear his pre-cum all over your lips and swallow him. You downed as much of his cock as you could before hollowing your cheeks and coming back up with your tongue dragging across the underside of him, bobbing up and down.

Without a warning, you pull away for a brief moment, a string of mixed fluids leave a web trail from him to you, “It’s okay to touch me, Bucky,” you say stroking his cock but also noticing his hands had been gripping onto the edge of the bed and hoping to encourage him to fully give in to his desires.

Bucky didn’t need to be told twice as his hands found purchase in your hair pushing you back down his cock. He let out a loud groan when he felt the tip of your nose bury in the soft hairs of his happy trail. You weren’t expecting that kind of aggression from him, it caused you to involuntarily gag around him. Your throat constricting around his cock only caused him more indisputable pleasure he jut his hips up, lodging himself even further.

When you pulled away again, this time with your own saliva and his cum dribbling down your chin, your eyes were slightly red and tearstained. Your ragged breathing, lips glistening and swollen, hair matted against your face. You looked so fucked, so raw.

He pulled you up to him once more, your legs instinctively setting on either side of him, your dripping cunt hovering just over his cock that lied resting on his stomach. He wiped at your chin before kissing you, his tongue darting all around the wet cavern of your mouth and tasting himself. Something about that was so filthy yet so erotic.

Your legs spread further apart, and you pressed yourself against his cock. The contact causing you both to draw out loud moans. You did your best to drag your sopping folds along his stiff member, but the bed had become so slippery, you were finding it hard to pull yourself back up on your knees. Bucky must’ve picked up on the small struggle as he grabbed handfuls of your ass to help aid you in sliding your pussy up and down his cock.

You could feel just how hard he was and the underside and ridges of the head of his cock scraping against your clit, pulled all sorts of tremors from your body. You were a whimpering mess, clinging onto Bucky’s body trying to find your footing, but your senses were on overdrive.

“I know, it’s your job to make me feel good,” he said continuing to rut up against you, “but go ahead…just let go.” Oh, how he would love to watch you unravel and you weren’t one to deny him. You wildly came undone, from the buildup of riding his thigh and now this, you gushed all over his cock.

Wrecked, you knew this was far from over. Once you reclaimed control of your senses, Bucky at your full attention, you snaked a hand between your bodies and lifted yourself up to position his eager cock at your entrance.

“Tell me, Bucky,” you said trying your best to dominate the situation and started teasing yourself, “…do you want a happy ending,” you asked seductively, licking his lips and your eyes never leaving his.

His heartbeat accelerated with each running pass of the tip of his cock made through your folds. If his ending was right here on this massage bed, he’d take it because you were a fucking tease. The string of curses that flowed out his mouth caused a smirk to form on your lips.

You felt his metal hand grab yours shoving it away, enough of your teasing, he repositioned himself at your hole, gripped your hips and slid right in you with ease. You internally applauded the designers of the building for making each room soundproof because let’s face it, no one wants to hear how good the person next door is feeling – especially not like this, not the sounds you and Bucky were producing.

Each slide up and down his thick length, Bucky found himself almost fully engulfed by your breasts again. He stopped you for a moment so he could finally get his mouth on them, but you weren’t about to catch a break. No. Bucky instead planted his feet on the bed and began thrusting up into you almost too vigorously, but you sucked it up. Letting him use you to work out his frustrations.

Then you sat up, hands sprawled on his chest and started grounding your hips. The way his cock swiveled with each rotation you made, had you reeling as the tip just barely kept hitting that spot.

Bucky straightened out his legs from behind you and managed to sit up, cradling the small of your back and gently laying you down.

“Slow down, baby,” he says trying to contain the relentlessness drive you had on fucking him by keeping your hips at bay, so he pulled out resulting in a displeased noise to come out of you.

He just needed to get into a new position, on his knees, your right leg hoisted up on his shoulder while he pushed down on the other to spread your legs further apart, just for him to easily plunge back into your wet heat and drawing out long and satisfied moans from you both.

“Fuck, it feels so good. You’re so good, Bucky,” you whined.

“I’m supposed to be saying that to you,” he chuckled almost breathlessly, coming down and placing his lips on yours with a kiss that had your head swimming. He pulled back to take a look down, loving the sight of him snug inside your warm walls. With his flesh hand, he pressed his fingers onto your clit, rubbing harsh circles, you grabbed and clawed at his forearm at the immense pleasure, eyes widening because it was proving to be too much.

The twisting coil that was settling in you suddenly snapped. With a loud rough moan, you were uncontrollably quaking beneath him, you knew Bucky couldn’t be far away from you. His bruising grip on your thighs and the faltering thrusts of his hips from your walls squeezing at him repetitively, he finally let go, emptying himself until he was sure he was completely spent. Fuck, and you loved feeling his cum shoot deep in you.

Watching his abdominal muscles contract with every breath, he pulled out and tried to regain his breathing, but before he could collapse, he used his last remaining ounce of strength to pull you up and back down with him on the other end of the massage bed.

“Are you okay?” Bucky asks you this time short of breath. You managed to let out a tiresome laugh and pathetically slapped his chest, but knew it was to no avail with what little energy you had left.

Several moments later, you both had calmed down and were prolonging the inevitable end. Bucky watched as you absentmindedly traced the outline of his metal arm. He longed for someone that was raw in nature, confident and there you were – walking into his life by mistake. He wasn’t sure where you stood aside from a physical standpoint, but he strangely craved for more.

You managed to stand back up on your own feet and drag Bucky back into the shower to clean off. You helped each other wash off the gel and mixed juices, with a few kisses shared here and there riddled along with soft sweet praises.

After helping you wipe down the bed and tidy up the room, Bucky couldn’t help but realize he felt good. Gone was the grumpy man that came against his own will. He definitely felt refreshed and his body felt great. This place really was all that it cracked up to be and he was just lucky enough to be assigned to you.

“What?” You asked catching him starting just as you slipped your robe back on.

“I want to see you again,” he says getting up from the bed.

You smiled at that. No one has ever made you feel that good. Your bodies seemed to be in sync with one another. Plus, during that last shower, you deduced that he could be a big softie when he wanted to be.

You wanted to see him again too and you would let him.

Once Bucky stepped back into the lobby, his peace of mind was shattered when he heard Sam yell. “Finally!” He watched as his friend threw the magazine he wasn’t really reading aside and stand up with a loose smile on his face. “How do you feel, man?”

“Amazing.” Bucky’s tone was audibly smoother and calm as opposed to earlier.

“Good! You were in there for a long time. I don’t know what massage you chose, but whatever they did on you...I’m glad it knocked out that attitude of yours,” he says as if he didn’t have one before his massage.

“Whatever. You’re exaggerating.”

“I even left to get something to eat and you were still in there!”

Shit. Were you both really that long? Was that normal? To Bucky it didn’t seem so. In fact, he wanted more time with you.

They both approach the same receptionist from earlier, who now donned a subtle smug disposition seeing the change in complexion on Bucky.

“Would you like to leave a tip?” She asked Bucky politely and just before he could say yes, he was interrupted.

“Oh, he’s good! He’s all taken care of,” you quickly interjected, popping out of nowhere and effectively grabbing Bucky’s attention one more time with a sweet smile. You wanted to be the last thing he saw when he walked out that door. Bucky didn’t even hear Sam ask how in the world he got you as his masseuse.

Your co-worker nodded understandingly before turning to Sam to ask if he’d like to book another visit.

“Yeah…when is she next available?” Sam asks the receptionist while looking at you. You hadn’t managed to only grab Bucky’s attention, but also his friend.

How Bucky hadn’t noticed it before everything was beyond him. You had a certain glow that was very alluring. He wondered if it was possible for anyone to look away from you or not smile in your presence.

Something Bucky failed to conceal was the rising discomfort he was feeling hearing the suggestive tone in Sam’s voice when speaking about you mixed with a small bubble of anxiety on if there was a possibility that he’d get to be alone in a room with you.

Before Sam could get a definite answer, you looked to your co-worker at the front desk, grinned at each other and then back over at the two men.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I’m booked,” sending a wink towards Bucky and disappearing to the back.

A/N: I work in digital marketing and what with all the searching I did I’m now paranoid that I’ll be targeted for a massage…even though I could use one. I did my best to proofread. Let me know if you liked it!

#mrwinterr writes #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfic #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan fanfic #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan smut #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan x y/n #marvel fic #marvel fanfic #slippery smooth

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thefatedthoughtofyou · 3 years

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Ok what a story where Sambucky are arguing as usual and there’s a moment! Bucky just puts everything on the line and asks Sam if he wants to be with him and it makes Sam face his insecurities about how he doesn’t think he’s good enough for Bucky. He thinks Bucky can literally get anyone why does he want him?

(((( THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! I think i may have strayed a little from the prompt, this is just what came out!!! but i hope it's okay love!!!!! Thanks again for sending one in!!!! ))))

Ao3

The One Where Sam Is An Open Book

He'd gone from arguing with Sarah on the phone to arguing with Bucky. He'd really been arguing at Bucky. Bucky couldn't get a word in edgeways, and had stopped trying a few attempts in. Sam kept going. Just talking and talking and talking. Grumbling about everything from Bucky's staring to his outdated taste in music. He wasn't even looking at Bucky, he was just... ranting. But Bucky was looking at Sam.

He watched his face scrunch up as he made a comment about Bucky never paying for lunch. Bucky smiled and looked away for a moment, remembering all the times Sam had refused to let him pay for lunch. When he looked back Sam was making a face as he continued, the gap in his teeth in perfect view. Bucky licked his lips and tried to concentrate and keep up with Sam's rant. He shook his head a little and cleared his throat, bringing himself back to the conversation.

Sam seemed to remember he was there suddenly and raised his eyebrows at Bucky.

"Oh did you have something to say?" He asked, head cocked to the side. Bucky sighed and shook his head.

"Nope. Just... listening. Making mental notes." Bucky said, giving Sam a small smile.

"You are so smug, you know that? Look at that face. That one right there, yes that one!" He pointed his finger in Bucky's face when Bucky widened his eyes at him.

"That face! It's so... insufferable. Look at you! See this is why I'm stressed all the time. Dealin with your ass constantly giving me looks and-"

"Do you wanna go to dinner with me?" Bucky asked, bluntly, cutting into what was ramping up to be a monumental Sam meltdown.

"You- what?" Sam asked, his head snapping in Bucky's direction, his whole body moving backwards, making him take a step back.

"Dinner. With me. I'd offer to cook for you but i don't have a kitchen table... and i just have the one chair." He said simply. Sam just stared at him.

"What? I can cook. I used to cook for Steve, and my mom and my sister. I'm good at it. Or i used to be anyway." He shrugged. Sam stayed silent, still staring. Bucky stared back, moving his tongue over his teeth as they sat in silence.

"Sooo..."

"Dinner." Sam finally said.

"Dinner." Bucky nodded.

"Dinner like- like dinner dinner?" Sam asked, his brow furrowing, head tilting to the side as he looked at Bucky, suspicion in his eyes.

"Like a date, yes." Bucky said, he was really trying to be as blunt as possible here. Sam was making it kinda difficult.

"A date. With you." Sam said, slowly. Bucky nodded back, also slowly.

"Yes. A date with me." Bucky nodded again.

"And now that we've established the question. Is there an answer?" Bucky asked. Sam blinked at him, and said nothing.

"You'd- You'd be the one with the answer Sam." Bucky said, calmly, trying not to push him. Sam startled anyway, took another step back.

"You- you wanna go on a date with me?" Sam asked.

"Yes. I definitely do. Kinda why i asked." He said, winking at Sam and almost immediately regretting it. Sam looked away, took another step, moving further away.

"Why?" He asked, looking at his feet. Bucky furrowed his brow, shoved his hands in his pockets. He was starting to think maybe he'd made a mistake.

"Why...? Do i wanna go on a date with you?" Bucky asked, for clarification more than anything else.

"Yeah. I mean... why me? You could have anyone." Sam said, shrugging as he glanced at Bucky. And that's when he understood, Sam wasn't hesitating because he didn't want to go on a date, he was hesitating because he did.

"Well i mean why does anyone ask someone on a date? Cuz they like them. I like you, Sam." He shrugged, moving his hands out of his pockets, speading his palms wide at his sides. Sam looked at him, finally.

"Yeah but you could-"

"I don't want anyone else Sam." Bucky said.

"I want you. Because i like you." He took a step toward Sam.

"I enjoy being with you. Even when we argue. Which yes, is most of the time. But i like it. The arguing. Because you don't look at me the way other people do Sam." He takes another step.

"You don't look at me like I'm a weapon. Or... or a means to an end... Or an asset." He feels his lip curl a little at the word, but sees the same look on Sam's face and doesn't dwell. He takes another step.

"You just see some asshole." Bucky smiles when Sam huffs out a laugh.

"Yeah. And i am an asshole. But so are you. It's why we work so well together. But it's not just that." He takes another step. Sam looks at him, his eyes moving over Bucky's face.

"You're kind. You have a good heart Sam. You're good with people. And you care. So much. And i somehow ended up being on the right end of that care." He moved closer still, just a few steps between them now. And Sam was staring.

"I haven't been very lucky, in my life Sam. And i don't say that dramatically, or for pity or whatever, it's just true." He shrugged, taking another step.

"But somehow, after every shitty thing that's happened. I ended up with you. I ended up being partners, or coworkers, or whatever the fuck you wanna call it... with you." He took another step, putting him maybe an inch away from Sam's side now. He could see Sam's pulse pounding on his neck, he swallowed hard and kept staring at Bucky. He held back the urge to make a comment.

"Sam all my life, I've just been thrown into fights i didn't wanna be fighting. But when I'm with you, even when we're fighting, other people or each other," he smiled, Sam smiled back, blinking rapidly.

"I don't mind it. Sam," he moves his hand to Sam's shoulder, Sam leaned into the touch, swaying where he stood.

"Sam when I'm fighting with you all i feel is peace." He moved his hand to Sam's cheek, his thumb moving over the corner of his mouth.

"Buck-"

"What? You don't think that's cuz of you?" He asked, moving his other hand to Sam's hand. Sam shook his head, sniffed, and cleared his throat.

"I don't know. That seems like a lot, just cuz of me." Sam said, one shoulder bouncing up and down once.

"Yeah, well, you are pretty good." Bucky narrowed his eyes playfully, Sam smiled and looked down at his feet.

"I guess."

"You are. Sam," Bucky cupped Sam's other cheek, holding Sam in his hands.

"You are." He looked at him, stared really, and, after a moment, he moved forward, pressed his lips to Sam's forhead, and then moved back, resting his own head against Sam's.

"You're the best." He whispered, smiling when Sam's hands moved up to grab at his back, pulling him close. Bucky moved where Sam pulled him. Bucky felt a tear drip down his neck and pulled Sam closer, holding him tight.

"Hey, it's okay." Bucky breathed, his lips moving against Sam's shoulder. He felt Sam nod and pulled back to look at him.

"How'd you know?" Sam asked, his hands staying firmly around Bucky's waist. Bucky shrugged.

"You're easy to read." He said.

"Oh right. All that spy shit, people are just open books huh?" Sam said, giving Bucky a squeeze.

"Not really." Bucky shook his head.

"I'm actually not very good at it. People are... confusing. You just, you tend to get more verbal, like you push things out when things are happening inside." He said, a strained smile stretching his lips. Sam looked at him, a small smile on his own lips.

"You get quiet." He said.

"Oh i know." Bucky laughed, pressing his fingers into Sam's shoulders.

"I don't like when you get quiet ya know? Despite any evidence to the contrary, i like you chatty and annoying." Sam said, smiling again. Bucky nodded, and then shook his head.

"Well that's good. I plan on being as annoying as possible on our date. Assuming you do wanna go on a-"

"I do. I want to." Sam cut in.

"You do what?" Bucky asked, moving a bit closer, pressing his hips against Sam. Sam rolled his eyes, his fingers curling into Bucky's hips.

"I do want to go a date with you." Sam huffed.

"There it is." Bucky said, as he leaned closer, pressing his lips to Sam's.

Sam pulled him close, arms wrapping around Bucky's shoulders, their teeth clicking together as they laughed into the kiss.

#sambucky #my writing #winter falcon #sambucky fic #winter falcon fic #sambucky ficlet #ficlet

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shadowhuntering · 4 years

Text

Matthew & Alastair comparison

I’ve been re-reading Chain of Gold in prep for Chain of Iron and I've noticed that Matthew and Alastair are a foil of each other.

I’ve also been re-reading Cast Long Shadows for investigative purposes and it furthers my realization.

Matthew and Alastair have been through similar issues, but are the opposite (if that makes sense) in some ways. eg. Alastair had to pick up after Elias who is a drunk; Matthew is also a drunk. How they responded to these issues tells you a lot about their nature.

This is my observations, purely for analytical purposes so if I sound particularly harsh towards a character, I do not mean to be.

1. Personalities are the opposite to the other.

Matthew’s personality is literally meant to "blind people" because he's sunny, outgoing and is meant to be the life of the party (or his mask).

Alastair on the other hand is literally "dark" he is broody, not very forth coming and can be very prickly

Ironically though, both have the façade of being conceited when they are the opposite. Though you could argue that Matthew’s alcoholism is a result of being selfish. However, he has little regard for himself which is the danger.

Definition of selfish: Concerned chiefly or excessively with oneself, and having little regard for others.

2. They share a similar notion of love not being real, or won't last.

Alastair just having a very pessimistic view in general, but Matthew says it about himself. He has full faith that other people will have happiness, where he doesn’t see it happening for himself.

3. Alastair is unapologetically himself, whereas with Matthew he hasn’t been himself for a while, and even back before the events of Cast Long Shadows he was trying to fulfill what people needed at the time.

Matthew cares too much about the people around him to think about himself, but also tries not to care as he fulfills the bad reputation people have of him. He has a mask/façade(s) to help liven or distract, yet he also openly degrades himself. He keeps people at arms length so that they will not be disappointed by him, but also forms close bonds with people. He so badly wants someone to love him, but he doesn't want to help himself or be vulnerable to other people. He’s a walking contradiction.

Alastair does regret the things he did, but he doesn't think less of himself because of them. He did all those things to protect himself from hurt. Alastair also doesn’t care for his attitude. It’s not his problem if people don’t like it basically 😂 He clearly has people he cares about like Sona and Cordelia and prioritises them also. He is also actively trying to right his wrongs on not dwell on his past. He wants to move on with his life.

4. Matthew doesn't want to help himself, Alastair does want to help himself and become a better person.

Matthew openly degrades himself yet keeps his own secrets and thoughts of himself. He self-destructs as he feels he deserves it, even when people reach out and try to care for his well-being and that of others they also love (eg. Lucie’s confrontation). He doesn't see that he is hurting the people around him and also himself because of his attitude towards his own life really. He doesn’t have much of a quality for life. He is clearly depressed. He fails to let anyone in because he doesn’t want to help himself and also thinks too much about what people think of him when honestly the perception they have of him now is probably much lower now because 1. how he has chosen to deal with his mistake 2. how he has kept it to himself therefore making it look like the people who care about him would cast him out.

Alastair knows what he did wrong and is trying to improve himself for the betterment of himself. It was evident that at the time of Cordelia finding out about Charles, he wanted to break free, but once he got over being mad at Cordelia for snooping (rightfully so tbh) he understood that she loves him and would give him the support he needed; he had the inspiration from her to commit to moving forward and make amends for himself. Sure, he kept people at arms length in order to protect himself but inherently he does make himself vulnerable for other people. He still let in Charles, made himself vulnerable to love. Then with Thomas... he let Thomas see his guard down in Paris (and before that Thomas just saw right through him) and he ended up allowing Cordelia in, taking heed of her advice and love. He knew that Charles was hurting him and other people, so he stood up to him. He is much more open and vulnerable which is ironic really.

To me, the progression Alastair has already made makes me believe that the same will come for Matthew. However, the bottom line here is that Matthew self-destructs and doesn’t want to help himself whereas Alastair wants to be a better person and look after himself. Alastair has self-love which is what Matthew severely lacks.

5. Both had to grow up fast due to responsibilities of looking after their father...

Matthew arguably has "Mommy issues". This is not me making excuses for Matthew, or even criticizing Charlotte in any way, this is just my interpretation of Cast Long Shadows...

Matthew seems to have low self-esteem and love for himself due to abandonment issues it seems. He probably felt abandoned as a child by Charlotte. It's not that he was unsupportive of her or holds anything against her, but when you look at it objectively, his upbringing shaped his reaction to Alastair and to himself. She literally left him crying at 6 years old and told him to "look after your father" as she had to go off with Charles. Cast Long Shadows is a huge emphasis of how the feeling of abandonment from Charlotte, leading to how he instantly believed that Charlotte had an affair with Gideon and took drastic action. This I feel is because he never felt comfortable to openly discuss to her about himself really. He also didn't trust her...

I do not wish to insult Charlotte as her job is serious and I'm so proud of her, but unfortunately, due to it, it made an impact on who Matthew is now. He didn't trust, nor feel comfortable enough to sit down and talk to Charlotte because he never really got to know her properly or wanted to burden her. It probably also felt like she had favoritism over Charles, and Matthew didn't want to step on her toes. She also never noticed the little things he did like make her favourite scones and he just went feeling unloved or unappreciated (though he should have said something?). She would ask of him to be sensible, didn't really engage much in his humor which probably contributed to how he viewed himself as well as he already was so self-conscious and was vying for her attention. No offense to Henry but his immersion into his science probably left Matthew feeling abandoned as well as he was the one caring for him, then Christopher is the one who understands and engages. Matthew was his carer, effectively, making sure he ate, drank, slept and wheeled him about. He did love his father though, so he didn’t mind. Though Henry does praise him when he breaks the news about them expecting which just made Matthew feel more guilty of his accidental poisoning.

It’s like Matthew wants all of the attention, but he never voices what he wants aloud. This results with no one paying him much heed. In Cast Long Shadows there is also a comparison to James and Lucie’s relationship with Tessa and Will. James and Lucie have communication with their parents, along with known support and trust. Matthew does not seem to have this as he seems too afraid to voice it, not because he is scared of Charlotte and Henry, but because he is too considerate of them. I also find it Ironic that the next story in GotSM is Every Exquisite Thing where there is a huge emphasis of Anna and Cecily’s relationship with each other. Anna being too scared that Cecily would be critical and not understand her, but when Cecily comes to Anna at her worst, she completely understood Anna and supported her, making her feel better. To me this is another stark contrast to Matthew where his parents are too busy to build a good relationship with him, and when there is a heart to heart (Henry talking with Matthew) it is too late and doesn’t ease his mind. Anna also points out how no one would approach Matthew because “he did not do well under confinement”- it makes sense, he doesn’t like confrontation.

(I can go into further detail about Cast Long Shadows with Matthew’s upbringing being detrimental to his view of himself)

Alastair however has "Daddy issues". Alastair has a similar case of looking after his father, but he came to resent his father because he never got himself better or was so drunk to even remember or acknowledge Alastair and his help or I suppose confront his problem. Alastair knows what it can do and simply does not want to re-live it, and as Cordelia is now friends with Matthew, he doesn't want Cordelia being hurt by Matthew either or having to pick up after him as he did for Elias. That is also where they butt heads. It is too coincidental that Matthew is also drinking to forget, and is not wanting to make himself be better and deal with it. Alastair is trying to protect Cordelia, but he is also allowing her to make decisions for herself.

In ChoG Alastair says he was 10 when he learnt to fill the brandy bottles with water to mask the levels that had been drunk. He was probably picking up his father and "looking after him" well before that. Alastair tried to protect Cordelia from this because he was being more considerate for her sake. He wanted her to have a childhood he was robbed of. He is also being a foil here of Charles. Charles was so self-involved that he never decided to even think about his younger brother, Matthew. Alastair was compassionate; Charles was not. Alastair is a good older brother; Charles was not and was even accusatory that Matthew being parabatai with James and being in London is what caused Charlotte to be ill... he just has so much resentment...

I also believe that Alastair wanted the burden off of his mother, and I'm wondering if he knows more about Sona and her feelings towards Elias being sour and terrified (This is I feel what is indicated in the teaser of when Elias appears where Sona seems to go pale) despite rushing to him and hugging him etc.

“Sona went white and laid a hand against the wall to steady herself. "Elias?"”

Alastair was bitter and twisted and he never wanted people to know because he knew it was a weak spot for him. It is what sparked him telling Matthew the rumor in the first place.

“ "I wish I could say the same for you," said Matthew. "Has no kind soul thought to inform you that your hairstyle is, to use the gentlest words available to me, ill-advised? A friend? Your papa? Does nobody care enough to prevent you from making a spectacle of yourself? Or are you simply too busy perpetrating acts of evil upon the innocent to bother about your unfortunate appearance?" “

...

“Instead Alastair said: "Who are you to play the moralist, talking about tricks and papas, considering the circumstances of your birth?" “

He ultimately had inherited his father's shame which was wrong. It's what Cordelia has told him as well. Alastair shouldn't have to think of the mess of Elias; it is his shame to deal with, not Alastair’s.

Though arguably, as a result of Alastair giving Cordelia an innocent childhood, it opened the doors for Cordelia to want to reach out for him, due to her optimism and love, and as he loves his sister dearly, he takes what she has to say to heart. They will now face things together as a support network and hopefully they also have communication with their mother. Although their family may be "broken" they arguably have more communication and togetherness than Matthew does with his family.

(Sorry, that bit was long)

6. Result of their nature after childhood being robbed

Matthew seems to act more of a "child" anyways, being more “frivolous”. He is being reckless, he is a little petty as well. Whereas Alastair decided to grow up too fast and is more mature and relatively grounded. It did harden him to begin with, but he doesn’t want to completely isolate himself. He’s just simply more rational. This I feel is in their nature though, not nurture.

7. Matthew is slowly driving everyone away, this is kind of what Alastair tried to achieve

Alastair at the Academy decided that he would be the bully in order not to be the one being ridiculed, thinking that he would be better off and retain a hard skin, but all it did was make him regret and never allowed him to create good bonds with people. Then when he came back from the Academy, he distanced himself from Cordelia. I interpreted this as him dealing with his guilt and regret and tried to not get Cordelia too close to him because of it, but Cordelia cared about him too much. Though it could’ve just been that he got too used to having a hard skin, not letting anyone close. Throughout ChoG he builds his bond with Cordelia, and we also see James coming around to Alastair. Thomas as always was curious and saw his better side and Christopher was seemed ready to give him a second chance. Though due to Matthew’s spew at the end, there is distance between him and Thomas and others (save Jordelia).

Matthew is driving everyone away, simply because he is being so reckless. He had originally established good relationships with people. Then, when Lucie confronts him he literally avoids it, no matter how realistic she was being and how much he cared for her, but that was it; he cared too much for her to tell her. We see that even James will snap at him in COI

Teaser #41: "There is no point to it," said Matthew. "If you will never see reason or good sense—"

"Because you're a bastion of reason and good sense?" James snapped. He knew he had a temper, just like his father; his anger spilled past everything else, tasting of copper and fury. "Matthew, you are drunk. For all I know, you mean nothing you are saying."

"I mean all of it," Matthew protested. "In vino veritas—"

"Don't you quote Latin at me," said James. "Even if you were sober, you've never taken love seriously enough to lecture me. Your passions have been a series of dalliances and ill-conceived attachments. Look at me and tell me there is something you love more than that bottle in your hand."

Matthew also decides to move out and get his own place to force independence and probably drive even more of a wedge between himself and Charlotte. We also knows he has an argument with Charlotte; his apartment and car is undoubtedly a result of that, escaping the conflict and confrontation.

Anna had wanted to talk to him (Every Exquisite Thing), Magnus also wanted to help him. Lucie has always wanted to help for the sake of James and James has always known something was off. They just know that he wouldn’t say anything, and I think most were in the hopes that he would eventually say something. We know that Cordelia is most likely the one he tells thankfully! It is ironic that it is Cordelia for both Alastair and Matthew as well. So it already looks like Chain of Iron will provide the break and repair of relationships for Matthew, similar to Alastair’s progression of self-love.

8. Matthew is very open about his sexuality. Alastair does try and keep it hidden, however it’s more complicated. This is a reflection of their concern of judgement.

Although Matthew keeps things to himself, he admittedly is not afraid of what people think of him as his expectations of himself are so low. However, he is also ruled by the expectations of others, all through his life people had low expectations of him (again, another thing that influenced his actions in general) and he feels to fulfill that obscure one in spite?? The reputation the he has, has always been obscured because in everyone's eyes it will and always has been Charles who will inherit and uphold the good reputation as Consul as they don’t see Matthew as smart or responsible. However, the latter there he doesn’t help prove them wrong...

Alastair keeps his sexuality secret, that is until Cordelia finds out and he eventually warms up to her. Plus he was dependent of Charles as well, but committed himself that he wouldn’t be the side-dish. He wants to love himself for himself, not be hidden as a secret.

There is also a "reputation" element of the family that he still wants to uphold. He is learning though that he has to put himself first and should make amends for his reputation and not have to be burdened by others. Though I would argue that Cordelia is the one who is more concerned about it, but now she knows the truth she is wavering. It’s more complex.

To conclude:

I feel like their stories will either reflect the other, or will be intertwined somehow. As Alastair has dealt with a drunk and looks down upon alcoholism in general because of his experience makes me believe that Matthew might need Alastair's perspective to grow up. Once he understands Alastair I feel it may pave the way for forgiving and loving himself.

Alastair was the "spark" of making him spiral, but he was well on his way of questioning his family's loyalty and love of him before that (hence why we were given so much background) and it played into his weakness. Matthew I think wants to take it out on Alastair (he says he didn't blame Alastair or the Faerie. Alastair is just easy to take his frustration out on) as he is not prepared to come to terms with himself or even his family for that matter for his grievance. He loves his family very much and that’s why he feels so guilty, but it's wrong for him to believe so easily and hide his guilt away and that has to be due to his upbringing...

tldr; Alastair and Matthew have stark comparisons to each other that it’s probable that they are detrimental to each other’s character arcs.

@sparkofsummer

#tsc #matthew fairchild #alastair carstairs #coi #tlh #chog #cog2 #chain of iron #chain of gold #the last hours #shadowhunters #the shadowhunter chronicles

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unholyobsessions · 4 years

Text

And life goes on (though not always in the right direction)

Spencer Reid AU

Description: Spencer Reid has lived a horrible life, and every time he thinks it’s getting better, it somehow gets worse.

Warnings: Bullying, Self harm, Suicide, Kidnapping/blood, Rape/Sexual assault, Depression, Death, Cussing, Drug use (if there are any others please message me and I will gladly add them. There is no warning too small.)

Word Count: 5.4k

The first time Spencer gets beat up it is his eight birthday. He doesn’t celebrate. His dad gets “stuck at work” (in reality he is out cheating on his wife with his assistant) and his mom forgets. He goes to the park with a book knowing that would be the best way to spend his birthday. A group of neighborhood kids walks up to him and asks him if he wants to hang out. He, of course, says yes.

Oh stupid and naive little boy.

They guide him to the bleachers and push him to the ground. Spencer looks up at them through teary eyes and they laugh. The first punch breaks his glasses and the second breaks his nose. The kicks against his abdomen bruise his ribs and cause him to throw up his breakfast. They all keep laughing. It isn’t until an hour later when they finally get tired and leave. Spencer curls himself into a fetal position and tries not to swallow the blood gushing from his nose.

He walks alone to the hospital. His mother doesn’t notice he’s gone until the doctor calls her and asks her to pick up her son. His dad shows up with her. Spencer thinks he looks embarrassed. He refuses to meet his eyes. At first he thinks it’s because of his now crooked nose that will certainly need surgery but he later realizes that he is embarrassed of him. He is ashamed of who his son is. That is the first time that he cries himself to sleep. He gets beat up regularly after that.

. . .

Spencer is ten when his father leaves. He tries to convince him to stay. He keeps reciting statistics about how a divorce could affect a child but all his father does is look at him with disgust and walk out the door. His mother has one of her episodes later that same night. Spencer can’t bring himself to calm her down so he locks his door and picks up his physics text book. Half way through the chapter he feels tears falling down his cheeks. He does his best to wipe them away but it’s no use. He allows himself to cry as he thinks about what his father leaving will inevitably cause. His mother is in no condition to hold down a job and he has no way of making money to pay for food and electricity. He’s glad that their medical insurance takes care of all of his mother’s medication. He eventually settles down and brings his blankets over his body, the distant sounds of his mother practicing for a lecture that will never come lulling him to sleep.

The next day he goes straight to the local newspaper station and asks if he could have a job delivering the papers to the local neighborhoods. The owner is apprehensive at first until Spencer explains his situation. The man sighs and hands him a bag filled to the brim with the day’s news. Spencer rushes out of the building and jumps on his bike. He delivers newspapers everyday at six in the morning for the next two years.

He becomes used to hunger. He can’t buy books anymore as he is barely scraping together enough money to have a decent meal everyday. He never complains though. He forces the tears away and keeps moving forward. Things will get better.

. . .

When he’s thirteen when he leaves for university. Cal-Tech. It’s the start of a new life. He enjoys his classes and regularly converses with his professors. Every time he gets the chance he takes the trip down to Las Vegas to check on his mom. She always assures him that she is perfectly fine (even though she isn’t) and he needs to stop worrying so much.

He gets a job at the library. He puts the books back in their respective shelves and his eidetic memory certainly makes it easier. It isn’t fun, not in the slightest, but it pays better than selling newspapers and he’s in desperate need of money. He stays at the library between shifts and works on his homework. He uses the library’s computer since he can’t afford his own.

He excels in all of his classes and makes extra money out of tutoring. The older students don’t take offense to a fourteen year old correcting them on their mistakes, for that he is extremely thankful. Still, it doesn’t mean he has friends. Most twenty-year-olds don’t want to spend their free time hanging it out with a know it all pre-teen.

. . .

He slides a razor blade against his arm for the first time when he is fourteen. He doesn’t know exactly what makes him do it. The stress of college at such a young age or maybe the fact that he is completely alone in California. He considers the fact that it may be from the bruise forming on his lower abdomen, courtesy of a group of Frat guys. Maybe it’s all of the above.

The only thing he knows for sure is that he relishes in the pain it gives him. It isn’t the same type of pain he feels whenever he gets beat up, no this feels better. He gives himself two cuts before hiding the blade and cleaning himself off. He wraps a bandage over his forearm and goes to class.

The next day he sits in the bathroom and debates whether he should do it again. He knows he shouldn’t. He is aware that this is not good for him. He thinks about going to the campus therapist but quickly shuts down the idea. He can’t talk about what he is going through. He has no right to feel the way he does. He is going to a prestigious college on a full ride scholarship. He is passing all of his classes, he finds them easy. But he can’t help the way he feels. He looks at himself in the mirror and feels disgusted with what he sees.

He has no one. No one to take care of him. No one to talk to. No one to ask him how his day went. He understands why his father left. He wouldn’t want to have himself as a son either.

He slides the blade three times.

Two weeks later he is up to six cuts per day. The scars are ugly but Spencer can’t bring himself to care. He avoids looking in the mirror, it only makes the desire to feel the cold blade on his skin worse. No, he isn’t suicidal, at least he doesn’t think so, but he can’t help but throw his head back as blood gushes down his arm.

. . .

He is sixteen when his mother dies. He has just finished his first PhD and comes home to visit and celebrate. At one point he goes out to the store and comes back to find his mother on the floor.

She isn’t breathing.

He eyes the bottle of pills on the floor and then looks to the counter to see another one.

They’re both empty.

He cries. He cries for over an hour before he gets up and starts packing his stuff. He takes all of his money as well as some clothes and other necessities. He calls the paramedics on his way out the door. He takes the first bus out of Las Vegas and never looks back.

He doesn’t return to Cal-Tech. Social Services finding him will be too easy if he does. He’s a minor and his guardian is dead. He has two options. He can either find a way to contact his dad (which social services probably does) and go live with him. He doesn’t dwell on the thought long. Option two is to allow himself to be turned over to the state and be inevitably placed in an overcrowded foster home that only takes children in for money. He dismisses the thought quickly. He ends up choosing option number three.

He runs away. He ends up in Arizona. He doesn’t remember how many buses it takes him to get there. He stays at a cheap motel and has to resist the urge to walk to the bathroom and open old scars. It’s been months, he tells himself, you have to be strong. He makes a call to the University of Oxford. They had offered him a scholarship when he had originally applied when he was thirteen. He declined their offer, obviously, and decided to stay closer to home. Closer to his mom. Who is dead now. He shakes his head and forces himself to stop thinking about it. He requests to talk to the Dean. He gives his name and he is quickly transferred to his office.

Yes, they do have a place for him in school. Of course, they would be honored to have him complete his studies there.

Spencer hangs up the phone and calls the airline. One way ticket to England please. The next day he lugs his belongings all the way to the airport, not having enough money for a cab. He boards the plane and stares out the window officially saying goodbye to his life in the states.

. . .

Maeve is dead. He is twenty years old and he is tied to a chair staring at his dead fiancée. He sees the blood pooling around her body and his throat feels raw from all the screaming. This isn’t supposed to happen. His life was finally good, stable. The first real glimpse of happiness he’s had since he was ten. Life can’t have gotten this bad.

They have both been held captive for four days. Spencer being forced to watch as the man who took them repeatedly raped the woman he is in love with. Forced to endure having the shit beat out of him. Having to endure the feeling of the needle piercing his skin and ultimately enjoying the high that came afterward.

The man smirks at him, the gun still in his hand.

“YOU SON OF A BITCH!” His voice comes out hoarse, not even he can recognize it. The man simply laughs and walks over to him. He holds the gun to his head and Spencer closes his eyes. He’s going to die. He wants to die. He craves the feeling of vast emptiness that came with death. He doesn’t think that he can deal with any more pain.

The pressure of the gun leaves his head. He looks up and the man smiles at him, but there is no sincerity in his eyes. He hears the man saying something along the lines of “death is too easy” before plunging another needle in his vain. Spencer’s eyes roll back as a feeling of ecstasy overcomes his body. He hears the man walk away before he passes out. He wakes up to see officers untying him. He sees paramedics close the black bag over Maeve’s face. He feels tears fall down his face.

“No,” he repeats over and over. He hears paramedics ask him his name. Does he remember how he got here? Can he tell them where he lives? Their questions fall on deaf ears. All Spencer can think about is how when he eventually gets out of the hospital he will have to go back to an empty apartment. He will have to pack up Maeve’s stuff. He will have to face her parents and tell them what happened. He will have to tell her dad that he will never get to walk his little girl down the aisle and her mom that she would never take her dress shopping. Spencer would never meet the eyes of the woman he loves as she reaches the altar. He will never get to say ‘I do’ and call her Mrs. Reid.

He finds a dealer as soon as he gets home.

. . .

He’s twenty two when he gets his fifth PhD. He has been clean for a little under a year and it is all thanks to his boss. He’s been living with him since he moved out of his apartment. He works at the local police station. He gives profiles on serial criminals. No one is ever going to have to go through what he went through. Not if he can help it.

He based the past two years of his schooling solely on his new career choice. He gets an internship two months after the incident.

He’s high most of the time.

He still passes all of his classes with flying colors but his new boss knows that something is up with him, even if he has only known the kid for a month. The police chief approaches him one day when Spencer is sitting on his desk going over a cold case file. He invites him to dinner at his house and Spencer is both relieved and worried. Relieved that he wouldn’t have to go back to his god forsaken apartment for a few more hours and worried because he doesn’t know how bad his craving will get. He has developed a routine. Shoot up, go to school, go to work, come home at five, shoot up again.

An hour into dinner and his boss asks him the question. Are you okay? It’s a loaded question, they’re both aware but Spencer notes that the man is genuinely concerned for his well being. He breaks down. He tells him everything. He doesn’t know why he is sobbing in front of a man who he has only known for a short while. Why he is telling him all of his problems. Why he rolls up both of his sleeves and shows him the scars that graze his inner elbow, and the ones that have healed over his forearm.

From a psychological perspective he knows why he is doing it, why he allows himself to be so vulnerable in front of the man. He longs for a father figure. For a man to comfort him and care for him. He wants what his father never gave him as a child, what he never gave him as a teenager, what he never gave him as an adult.

“I’m sorry sir,” Spencer sniffles. He is being unprofessional.

“You don’t have to call me sir, you know? You can call me Roger.” Spencer nods, not having the strength to speak up again. “You’re staying the night and then tomorrow we’ll go to your apartment to pack up your stuff and you’re moving in. I’m going to help you get clean.”

Spencer is shocked but can’t bring himself to argue. He is exhausted. The next day they do just what Roger said they would do. It is a long journey. He will stay clean for about three weeks before something happens that makes him fall back to his disgusting habit. Roger will sometimes come home to see Spencer sobbing in the bathroom, a syringe lying next to him. He immediately pulls him close and assures him that it’s okay.

He beats it though. It will be a year next month since the last time he had any drug in his system. He’s proud of himself.

Roger walks over to him as he closes his phone. They are in one of their co-worker’s backyard. They all insisted that they needed to celebrate his new achievement. Spencer had rolled his eyes but accepted their kind gesture and is now sipping his drink and making conversation when Roger calls his name.

Roger takes a second to mull over the progress Spencer made. He’s proud of him. He loves the kid like his own but the future of their father-son relationship will be determined what he is about to say.

“Hey, what’s up?” Spencer asks casually, pushing a hand through his long hair.

“I just got a call from Interpol,” he pauses, Spencer freezes. “They have offered me a position.” He waits for Spencer’s reaction.

“You’re leaving.” Spencer can’t believe this is happening. Not again. He starts to wonder if life will ever allow him to have even a sliver of happiness.

“I am.” Spencer avoids looking at him. “But I want you to come with me.” That catches his attention.

“What?”

“I told them that if they want me then they will also have to offer a position to the smartest and most hard working man I know. I made it clear that I am not going to take the position unless they put you on my team. So what do you say? Want to work at Interpol with me?”

Spencer is shocked to say the least. It’s a great opportunity. Tears well up in his eyes as he looks at the man who cares for him like a son. The man who encouraged him to beat his addiction, who makes him feel like he is worth something. He nods his head and hugs him. He hears their co-workers cheering behind them and he lets out a laugh. Maybe life will allow him to be happy.

. . .

Wrong. Life always likes to give Spencer a nice kick in the ass. He has been working at Interpol with Roger for about a year and a half and at the ripe age of twenty-four he is one of their most valued members. He is seated quietly at his desk, nursing a horrible migraine when a file is dropped in front of him. He looks up at Roger and sees the sympathy in his eyes. He furrows his eyebrows in confusion before picking up the file.

His breath hitches in his throat.

Couple kidnapped and held for four days. Woman shot execution style with evidence of repeated sexual assault. Male beaten brutally with traces of narcotics in his system.

He can’t breath. He tries but he can’t seem to make his lungs work. He starts to hyperventilate. He can hear Roger saying his name but he can’t focus enough to respond. He’s back. It’s been four years and there has been no cases with even a similar M.O. He is aware that he is having a panic attack but he can’t bring himself to even try and match Roger’s breathing. His inner elbow itches.

No.

It would make things easier. No dealing with the pain.

No. No. No. I won’t do it. Not again.

It’s only once. You want to. You’re weak.

No. I’ve come so far, I will not give it up.

Then how about the blade? Just like when you were fourteen. Weak little Spencer Reid. You’re pathetic.

NO!

He doesn’t remember passing out.

He wakes up with Roger standing over him. He apologizes and Spencer reassures him that he is fine. He wants to work the case. No, not wants, needs to work the case. Roger refuses. But he knows the case better than anyone. They argue for a while. In the end Spencer wins (he always wins).

Roger informs him that a team of profilers from the FBI is coming to help solve the case. The killer wasn’t dormant, he went to the United States and continued killing there. Same M.O. Only last week did he return to the U.K.

“The FBI has worked this case and they want to continue working it,” Roger explains.

Spencer nods and walks back to his desk. He starts going over the file and victims. He realizes that his name isn’t listed. The victims start with his first kill in the U.S. He feels relief at the fact. He studies the file for a few more hours before Roger tells him to call it a night. They walk to the car together and head home.

The next day the FBI team arrives. The Behavioral Analysis Unit. Spencer has heard of them, he even studied some of their cases when he first started profiling. They walk in and go straight to Roger, completely ignoring Spencer. He’s not surprised. Strangers never seem to realize that he actually works here. He doesn’t exactly have a sign over his head that reads “I have an IQ of 187 and have five PhDs. I also have an eidetic memory and can read 20,000 words per minute.”

Roger greets them and introduces them to Spencer.

“This is Dr. Spencer Reid, he’s my lead on the case and my second in command. If I’m not available, anything he says goes.” The team all wears various expressions of shock.

A white male with dark hair, who Spencer assumes is the leader, breaks first and introduces himself and the rest of them. “I’m Agent Hotchner, these are SSAs Rossi, Morgan, Jareau, Greenaway, and Prentiss and our technical analyst Penelope Garcia.” He holds out his hand and Spencer hesitates.

“Oh uh I don’t shake hands.” Roger snorts fondly while the team all assumes the Dr. to be a pretentious asshole (he isn’t) (most of the time). They were all led to the conference room which Spencer has already set up. There are two maps on the walls, one of England and the other of the U.S. There are tacks placed at the places where all the victims were held.

The FBI has been here for three weeks and are no closer to catching the killer. Two other couples have been taken. Spencer never goes to the crime scene. He is barely holding it together, the itch on his arm getting stronger as he clutches his sobriety coin, he can’t bear to look at the scene that is almost identical to the one he found himself in four years ago. Of course the team doesn’t know this. They all think that he doesn’t have the guts to do the job. They often find themselves discussing the young man’s incompetence and how if he can’t handle the case then he shouldn’t work it. They always stop the conversation when he walks in though. One day however, they don’t hear his approaching footsteps as they make fun of him.

“How old is he? 15? The kid is too damn young to be working a job like this.” Morgan pops a peanut in his mouth after speaking.

“He probably fucked his way into his position,” JJ says.

“I mean the way he handles the files. He can’t even look at the pictures. He looks like a baby watching a horror movie,” Prentiss laughs.

“I still don’t understand. Who let him in here? This isn’t a daycare or a kindergarten.” All three agents laugh at JJ’s comment before a voice shuts them up.

“You don’t know me.” Their heads snap up to see the man in question standing in the doorway. “You have no right to judge me.” The glare he is giving them is scarier than Hotch’s.

“Kid we-” That draws the line.

“I’m not a kid Agent Morgan. The only people acting like children in this building are you three. You have no idea what I have been through. I’m sure you wouldn’t even be able to handle a fraction of the shit show that is my life.” His breathing is heavy and his voice is rising along with his temper.

“We’re sorry it’s just that you’re so young. We didn’t think-” Spencer cuts Prentiss off.

“Exactly. You didn’t think did you? Well let me enlighten you. I was brutally bullied since I was eight. My father left me and my paranoid schizophrenic mother when I was ten. I had to work to pay the bills and to be able to have a meal at least once a day. Then I went to college and things got better right? Not really since I still had no friends so I decided self harm was the way to go. Oh and my mother died when I was sixteen. The only person who ever gave a shit about me, killed herself. I came home one day and she was lying on the ground with an empty bottle of pills next to her. I packed up and left because I refused to go with my father or go into foster care. Do you think my life got better after that?” He waits to see if they will answer. They don’t.

“Well for a while it did. I met the love of my life and we were going to get married. And then we were kidnapped. I was tied to a chair and drugged regularly as I watched my fiancée get raped. Then the psychopath put a gun to her head and shot her in front of me. I watched as the blood pooled around her body and I kept wishing that he had killed me as well. I kept doing drugs. Believe it or not, four days of getting shot up with dilaudid made me an addict. It took me a year to be able to get clean. And when I finally thought it was over a file got dropped on my desk. He was back. The reason for my nightmares, the man my therapist keeps trying to make me forget, was back,” he paused and took a deep breath. “So I’m sorry agents if I can’t go and examine the scene. I’m sorry that I get a little jittery when looking at the case files. But don’t you ever accuse me of not being able to do my job. I’m damn well good at what I do, despite my age. Yes I am only twenty-four but you three have made it quite clear that I am much more mature and capable of doing this job than you are.” With that he turns around, only to come face to face with Roger. He nods at him, a sign that he can leave. Spencer walks out of the conference room and toward the elevator. He gets in, waits for the doors to close and bursts into tears.

Back in the conference room Morgan, Jareau, and Prentiss are faced with an angry Unit Chief and a fuming Director.

“I want you out of here,” Roger looks at the three agents before turning back to Hotch. “I will not allow you to continue working this case with us unless they leave right now. They should get suspended for the trouble they have caused. Dr. Reid is one of Interpol’s greatest assets and I will not tolerate three strangers who got here three weeks ago to stand here and insult him. So Agent Hotchner unless they are sent home, your team is no longer welcomed here. And I will make sure to report this to your Section Chief and the FBI Director.” Roger walks out of the room and goes after his son.

Hotch turns back to his team and none of them think they have ever seen him look as angry as he does that very moment. “Prentiss, Morgan, Jareau, pack your bags, you're leaving. You’re suspended two weeks without pay, effective immediately. After your suspension is over you’ll have a meeting with the director to discuss your future at the Bureau. If it were up to me the three of you would be fired, but sadly it isn’t. You have shamed and dishonored the reputation of the Bureau and frankly I wouldn’t be surprised if Interpol severed ties with us. Now I am going to apologize to Dr. Reid and Roger and I hope to see you gone by the time I come back. I do not want to hear another word out of you unless it is an apology.” Hotch leaves the room but not before sending them one last glare. Rossi, Elle, and Garcia all look at them and follow after Hotch. To say they are disgusted by their teammates’ behavior is an understatement.

Spencer is inside his car, sniffling and trying to get himself together. He doesn’t know what came over him inside the conference room but all the stress from the past three weeks took a toll on him and he found the perfect outlet to release it. A knock on his window startles him. Roger smiles before opening the door and sitting in the passenger seat. They sit in silence for a while, neither of them sure how to approach the conversation.

“You’re not in any trouble,” Roger starts. “If you hadn’t yelled at them son, I was going to and we both know how that would have ended up.” They both chuckle and fall into a comfortable silence.

“Do you think we’ll catch him?” Spencer speaks up.

“With you working the case? There is no doubt in my mind.”

They do catch him. Two weeks later Spencer is standing in an abandoned warehouse in front of the unsub with his revolver raised. The man, Tommy Montgomery, had his gun at the woman’s head, a sick smile on his lips.

“I remember you,” Montgomery exclaimed. “I killed your fiancée four years ago, didn’t I?”

Spencer could kill him right now. “Put the gun down. You don’t have to do this. We can help you if you just put the gun down.” Spencer recites the speech that he has said dozens of times to dozens of criminals.

“Help me?” the man laughed. “You don’t want to help me. You want me to rot in a cell for the rest of my life. We both know there is only one way this can end.” Montgomery raises his gun at Spencer but he isn’t fast enough.

Spencer unloads three rounds straight to his heart. He lowers his weapon and rushes over to him. He places two fingers above his collarbone--he will never admit that nothing brought him greater joy than realizing that he had no pulse. He goes to untie the male victim as paramedics rush inside. Roger walks over to Spencer once they are outside and pulls him into a hug.

“It’s over son.”

Spencer cries and clings onto him as sobs rack his body. He separates himself and takes a few calming breaths. He walks over to the BAU team, which now only consists of three members and their tech analyst. He thanks them profusely and the three of them reassure him that he has nothing to thank them for. Hotch looks at the young genius for a second before making an offer.

“You know we have three spots open on our team now. If you want to, you are always welcomed at the FBI.”

“Oh,” he doesn’t know what to think. He hasn’t gone back since he was sixteen. Was he ready? “Thank you really. I’m not sure I’m ready to go back to the states at this moment but maybe in a few months or years, if you’ll still have me, I’ll gladly join you.” Spencer holds out his hand and Hotch laughs before taking it and giving it a firm shake.

“Good luck Dr. Reid.”

“You too.”

. . .

Five months later Spencer goes back to Oxford. He’s doing better. His cravings don't come as often and when he looks in the mirror, he isn’t ashamed or disgusted at what he sees. His therapist only requests to see him once a week now and Roger doesn’t hover over him at work.

He stands in the cemetery next to the church he was going to be wed at. He walks across the wet grass, scrunching his face at the squishing noises his shoes make. He faces Maeve’s grave and a shaky breath leaves his lips. He sits down next to the tombstone and starts talking. He tells her about everything that happened in the past months and how he finally avenged her death. He tells her about his progress and how his mental health has improved so much since he last talked to her. He sits there for hours during the day and well into the night until he runs out of things to say.

“You would be so proud of me sweetheart. But now to what I actually came here to say. I came to say goodbye.” He takes a deep breath as a few tears roll down his cheeks. “I will love you forever and I will keep missing you every single day. But it is time that I move on. I need to find happiness and maybe that happiness isn’t here. I ran away when I was sixteen and I don’t want to run away anymore. So this may be the last time in a while that I come and talk to you. I love you Maeve Reid, to the moon and back.” Spencer stands up and places the ring he was going to wear for the rest of his life on top of the tombstone. He walks away as he takes out his phone and dials a number he never thought he would actually call. It rings for a few seconds before a familiar voice comes through the receiver.

“Hotchner.”

“Does the offer still stand?”

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mindingmyownbusiness · 4 years

Text

Rescue (5/?)

Pairing - Bucky x Reader Soulmate AU Summary - You’ve always believed your soulmate was out there somewhere, Bucky not so much. What happens when he finally takes a leap of faith and reaches out to you? Warnings - some canon-typical violence in later chapters, the occasional curse word, but I promise to make up for it with loads of fluffiness Chapter Word Count - 1798 Notes - Posting has gone from once a week to super sporadic lol (sorry everyone!). My goal is currently to have it finished before school starts in a few weeks. Inspired by Rescue by Lauren Daigle and by a lot of the concepts in Sense8.

Series Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4

...a few weeks later...

“Dogs or cats?” Bucky was leaning back against his headboard, idly flipping a knife as he listened for your answer.

“Hmmm… that’s a tough one. I’m gonna say cats for right now, dogs later when I have a bigger place. I’d feel bad leaving a pupper cooped up in here while I’m at work.” You rinsed your plate and set it in the drying rack, moving to drain the sink and reaching for a dishtowel.

“I get that. Been thinking of getting a cat myself. It’d be nice to have around but would also drive Sam crazy, win-win. Your turn, Y/N.”

“Any broken bones?” You asked as you hung the dishtowel up and headed to get ready for bed.

Bucky barely stifled a laugh. “More than I care to count, doll, ribs and fingers mostly. Comes with the job.”

You try to picture him shrugging his shoulders like what he said was no big deal as you finish washing your face, shaking your head as the image fails you. “Wow… I forget how dangerous your job is sometimes…” you whispered the last bit to yourself but you knew he had to have heard you.

Not willing to let you dwell on that thought, Bucky presses forward, “How ‘bout you, hmm? Break an arm maybe? Collarbone...?”

“Nope, not a single one actually. I did have to get stitches once but I was so young I don’t remember it. Busted my face on the corner of a table when I was a toddler. Still have the scar.” You peer closer into your bathroom mirror, gently running a finger over the thin white line.

“Ouch… maybe we’ll compare scars one day..”

Bucky sheaths his knife, turning out his bedside lamp and slipping under his sheets, staring up at the ceiling with his hands behind his head. Meanwhile you’ve slipped into your pjs and climbed into bed as well, a comfortable silence enveloping you both as you tuck into a ball under your covers. Your mind begins to wander, the dark and the quiet opening doors to thoughts and questions that typically remain dormant during the light of day.

“Hey Bucky?”

“Yeah, doll?”

“Can I ask you a hard question?”

“Sure…” His heartbeat picked up, suddenly wary of what you were about to ask.

“Did um… w-were you one of the ones that got dusted?”

He let out a slow breath, the memories of that terrible day playing back in his mind. “Yeah… not the most comfortable feeling.”

“Same. I remember… I remember being so confused and then… nothing. Until we all blipped back that is. Adjusting to a world that went on without you for five years hasn’t exactly been a walk in the park.”

“Tell me about it…” he murmurs, his thoughts going much further back than the five short years you both lost, the statement ringing with more truth than he was ready to admit yet.

You clear your throat, “Well, I certainly ruined the mood.” Laughing nervously you forge on. “Time for a new topic, I think it’s your turn...?”

“Sure, let’s see… how are things at work?”

“It’s alright, nothing exciting really. It’s not my dream job or anything, but it pays the bills and the girls I work with are pretty nice so there’s that. How about you? I’m sure your job and the people you work with are a thousand times more interesting than what I’ve got going on.”

Bucky smiles fondly, “Well you already know Sam, can’t live with him, can’t work without him. He’s fun to mess with but I couldn’t ask for a better friend or partner… not since my last one anyway... But Sam’s not nearly as reckless as Steve. Steve was a handful in the best of times, always looking for a fight but in a good way, never backed down when he knew it was the right thing to do… Feels like I’ve been watching his back my whole life…”

“Sounds like you two were close? Did he… did something happen...?”

“Oh yeah he ah.. he sorta retired..? Just decided he was tired of putting his life on hold for the next mission. I supported him but it was still hard to see him go.”

“That’s very noble of you Bucky. You are an amazing friend and partner. He was so lucky to have you.” The admiration and pride in your voice is unmistakable.

Not one for taking compliments well, a flustered Bucky attempts to lighten the situation. “Life goes on right? The world may be getting weirder every day, especially since everyone came back, but I think I’ve found my place in it.”

“That’s so good to hear… I still feel a bit out of place, most of my friends survived the blip and are just in completely different places in their lives than I am. We still talk but I don’t think it’ll ever be the same…” You pulled your blanket tighter around yourself, snuggling deeper into your nest and shaking off the negative thoughts clouding your mind. “So, tell me more about Sam, what makes him so fun to mess with?”

Bucky can’t help but laugh, “Literally everything. He’s so dramatic and it’s way too easy to push his buttons. Just the other day, we were training and he was working on throwing his shie---umm I mean this new sort of weapon and I mayyyy have been telling him the wrong thing just so it would knock him on his ass. Laughed about that for days.”

You found yourself laughing right along with him, eventually ending with a sweet sigh. “What I wouldn’t give to see you smile...”

Bucky stops laughing abruptly and you immediately know you’re the cause of the sudden tension between you. Unlike previous times however you resolve not to cave or opt for the awkward smooth-over. Time to face your fears, Y/N.

“Bucky, part of me desperately wants to apologize for saying that but honestly, the rest of me isn’t sorry at all. I really do want you to be totally comfortable with me and I know I promised not to push you but… I need you to know that seeing you, eventually touching and being with you is something I genuinely want. I mean how could I not want that with the man that I lo--” the words stuck in your throat as you caught yourself, “...th-that I’m meant to be with? You’re my soulmate Bucky, you have to know what that means to me, to us.”

Bucky felt like he was torn in two, reluctant to admit that the thought of letting you all the way in was getting to be as stressful as keeping you out but then again he was the stubborn type. “It’s not just about you seeing me doll, it’s about what seeing me will mean, it’s about my whole life and all the crazy that it entails.”

“You know… you know you can be honest with me right? I can handle it, I promise. There is literally nothing that you could tell me that would drive me away from you, okay? Nothing.”

“How can you promise me that?. You can’t possibly mean it. You don’t know… you don’t know my whole story. It’s not a pretty one.” You can feel his walls going up but you can’t hold it in any longer. It’s now or never...

“What if…” you swallow nervously, “w-what if I told you I did know. That I know you better than you think I do...”

Your words flowed like ice through his veins. “What are you saying Y/N?”

“I-I started to put two and two together almost immediately, as soon as you told me your name. It’s not that common you know....” He’s so quiet you wonder if he has stopped breathing. Knowing there’s no turning back you continue, “And there were so many little things that kept adding up: that you were so reluctant to let me see you, how you told me you used to be military but now you work in security... that you live and train with Sam, Sam Wilson right? Or that time you were out of contact for a week and the story broke about the Falcon and the Winter Soldier taking down that terrorist cell? I know that was you Bucky, I’m not crazy.”

You took a deep breath, calming down a bit. “Did you really think your soulmate would be that clueless? That the person meant to be with you. a literal Avenger, wouldn't be able to figure it out? I’m not upset with you, I promise. It's not like you lied to me, everything you said was ‘technically’ the truth. But... the more I learned about you the more I confirmed my hunch and the more I felt like I was lying to you, and that just didn’t sit well with me.”

Silence was all you could hear on Bucky’s end but you knew he was still there. You gnawed at your lower lip worried that you had made a horrible mistake. “I wanted to come out and just tell you, so many times, but at the same time I had promised not to push you. I was waiting for you to be ready to tell me but I was also starting to worry that it was never going to happen. Bucky I’m so sorry, I--”

Bucky blurted out, “Why are you still here then?! You should have shut me out already. How could finding out not change how you felt about me? Y/N, I’m not just some guy with a military past and a job that takes me away for days, weeks, sometimes months at a time, that’s enough to put a strain on any relationship. But I’m also over a hundred years old, I deal with literal alien threats, and a-and I’ve killed so many people… those memories, the things they did to me, that part of my life is a literal hellhole, and it doesn’t go away, ever. It’s always with me… all those years without memories and now I’d give anything to forget…” You could hear his labored breathing, the anguish in his voice. Tears welled up in your eyes for him, ashamed that you’d hurt him but also desperate to be the one to comfort him. “Y/N I’m-- I’m sorry, I have to go. I need some space right now.”

“Wait Bucky, don’t---” and just like that the connection severs. Not completely thank goodness, you can still sense your bond deep down, but you feel as though a chasm has formed between the two of you.

“I’m not going anywhere Bucky… I love you...” you whisper into the silence, hoping somewhere, somehow that he can still hear you.

Part 6

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@marie-is-in-the-dark @lorilane33 @igothroughphasesalot

#bucky barnes x reader #soulmate au #marvel fanfiction #sebastian stan

65 notes · View notes

jimlingss · 5 years

Text

The Colour of Our Voices [9]

Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10

➜ Words: 3.3k

➜ Genres: 98% Fluff, 2% Angst, Slice of Life, Broadway!AU

➜ Summary: He wasn’t supposed to hear. He wasn't supposed to know. But the instant Jimin came into your life and pulled the curtains back, you couldn't hide backstage anymore. You were no longer merely a phantom of the opera.

➜ Warning: Intoxication.

cr.

The phone rings. It wakes you, deafeningly loud. It shakes you in the middle of your slumber. Usually, you’re the one dialing, but you don’t dwell. With one eye open, you grab your phone off the nightstand. “Hello?” “Hello?” The voice on the other line is unmistakable. “Hi, is this Ms. Y/N?” “Yes, it is.” You clear your throat, trying to rid of the grogginess. “How may I help you?” “I’m the casting director for the original production of When Summer Meets Winter here in New York. We were wondering if you were still interested and willing to set up a convenient date to meet and audition for a main role.” “W-what?” You sit up, hauling the rest of your limbs that are still asleep. Your mouth opens and closes, brows furrowing, wondering if this is a dream. “I mean….I would love to!” “Great, I look forward to meeting you soon.” “I just—” You rub your swollen eyes, utterly confused. The opportunity fell straight into your lap out of nowhere. “I didn’t even put in an application. I didn’t sign up, so I’m just wondering how you got in touch with me….” It’s not possible that the director would actually give you a referral. But why would someone reach out to you like this? It’s never happened before. It’s never happened to anyone before. No one like you without any fame or recognition. “Well, aren’t you the voice of Erik, the Phantom in Phantom of the Opera?” The line goes silent. Your mind is reeling. “Pardon?” // “The Phantom of the Opera production proved to be a lackluster performance and has an even more uninspired director—” Seokjin looks away from his phone, jaw dropped to the ground. He’s offended to no end. “Lackluster?! Lackluster?! She complimented me! What the hell is this?!” Taeyeon takes away the phone from his hand and continues to read for herself. Her eyes skim along the blog post to pick up where he stopped. “The casting was severely shortsighted and purely on appearance alone without consideration for talent. They were unable to cast a sufficient troupe and failed to see that it is talent that makes audiences stay.” “Oh my god. This is ridiculous!” Seokjin slaps his palm against his forehead, turning around in complete disbelief. He is stunned to silence. “Now I am able to understand how one of the most popular musicals known to the mainstream could do so poorly in Broadway theater here in New York. But the production...doesn’t go without surprises.” Taeyeon pauses and everyone around is on the edge of their seats, breaths held in their throat. She inhales and continues to read, articulating carefully. “The only redeeming quality of the production was the wonderful and rather charming singing. But all the credit is not due to the dull actors or stale taste of the director. It is credited to the ghost singer, Y/N…” Heads turn. Eyes pinpoint to you. You hold the spotlight that’s coloured red — painting you into a demon that’s crawled from out of hell, someone worthy of their hatred and disgust. This is the attention you never desired. They regard you with spite, animosity, malice. Director Kang swipes the phone out of Taeyeon’s grasp. He looks at it and continues reading silently. A muscle in his cheek twitches. There’s murmuring amongst the crowd. He swallows hard and decides to repeat it out loud, as if to let the simmering anger purposely over-boil. “The real singer of Phantom is disguised as an innocent intern who sweeps the floor and does coffee runs. It was revealed to me after the show while I was still recovering from the physical torture of being seated in such a corny performance. Y/N approached me out on the street when I was caught unaware. While I was unable to make further contact with the ghost singer afterwards, the claim was indeed confirmed by inside sources I was able to obtain.” All of it is exposed — how Seokjin has a speaker within his clothes, how the pitch is turned down, how you’re the one behind the curtain. The secret is out. It’s been revealed to the world. The curtain’s been pulled while you’re in the middle of a lyric, and now you’re suddenly center stage with the red spotlight and the faceless audience watching. Director Kang scrolls to the end of the critic’s article. His voice is quiet, a murmur, slow to read like he wants everyone to hear. He wants you to hear. “I found myself constantly wondering when it would be over. Ultimately, even the tender singing of the ghost singer could not make up for the empty performance. However, it is spectacular how they could turn such a beloved, well known musical into a boring travesty. I would recommend it to anyone who would like an inauthentic experience and who suffers from insomnia as it would certainly put them to sleep…” The director suddenly slaps the phone to Seokjin’s chest. The actor winces and takes it back. You flinch as well. The pointed glare is narrowed in on you. His jaw is clenched, teeth gritted. It’s a mistake — you can fix this. You didn’t mean what you said. It came out when you were furious and not thinking. Maybe you can go see Min Yoonji, tell her it was all a misunderstanding and she’ll take down the blog post! Yet, you can’t utter these things. You can’t beg your way out of it. It was chaos when you came, people staring, murmuring. It’s been spread everywhere already, not just contained within this production. Everyone knows now — the entire community of Broadway. You’ve single-handedly ruined this production with your recklessness. You’ve illegitimized their production, and with the anger in their stares, you know you’ve destroyed their livelihood. You’ve wrecked it all. But there’s no noise of the destruction. There is deafening silence in the studio. “Clean out your stuff.” “Director—” “Enough. Get out.” He points to the door. “Don’t make me repeat myself.” It’s the worst. There’s no yelling, screaming. He doesn’t even throw a chair like he once did to an actor with a supporting role who failed to show up during dress rehearsal. There’s nothing. You’ve always envisioned yourself leaving this job with a role in hand, having a secure future, knowing you’d make it on Broadway like they did. You’d be able to walk with your head held up high. You’d hear people’s reluctant praises, grumbling about how you actually did it. The director would nod his head in approval. Seokjin and Taeyeon would offer a small smile. It was your dream — what you imagined on hard days. It’s what Jimin had accomplished. But the reality is that you’re cleaning out your belongings while crying. You empty the locker you were once so excited to have. There’s no acknowledgment, no pitiful stares or goodbyes of the people you’ve worked with for the past year. Twelve months. Three hundred sixty five days. Eight thousand sixty hours. Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes. Thirty-one million five hundred forty thousand seconds. It was the job that you hated. The one that you loved. The one you were so happy to get. You’re fired just like that, gripping your cardboard box, absolutely humiliated. Even as you leave the studio, up the stairs and into the lobby, you can hear the whispers. You can feel people’s eyes following your backside. In the snap of a finger, the span of one morning, you are fired. // The rosette wine tastes disgusting. It sits heavy on your tongue, bitter on your lips and dries out your mouth to the back of your throat. It’s a taste you have yet to acquire, but maybe you’ll find at the bottom of the bottle. You grip the neck, taking another swig. It’s a disgusting mouthful as if you’re downing mouthwash after making out with a stranger at a club and you’re still able to feel their bad breath on your own. But instead of making those reckless decisions in an attempt to find instant gratification, you’re sitting on the floor of your bathroom in the dark. It’s comforting. You can’t see anything. Hopefully, if you drink enough, you won’t feel anything either. “Bitch, who do you think you are?” you ask yourself, and respond to yourself. It’s a one woman show. A one way conversation. “You’re talentless, poor, and now jobless. Congratulations to a new low.” You toast yourself with another swig. This wine is probably the last thing you’ll buy in a while. It’s your final purchase, one you shouldn’t have gotten, but that you desperately needed. What you have saved isn’t even enough to pay the rent at the end of this month. You should go home. “Home? Fuck.” The back of your head hits against the wall and you sigh. “They don’t want me there.” But if you don’t go home, what are you supposed to do here? Oh yeah...you have that one audition. They called you this morning. But they don’t want you for you. You didn’t earn it through merit. It’s because you’re popular news, a scandal they can capitalize on and use as a method of publicity. You didn’t get it because of your own talent or skill. You start sniffling. “Oh shit…” Quickly, you take another drink before you can burst into tears. You swallow past the thick lump forming in your throat, letting your eyes sting. You won’t cry — you already did enough of that earlier. You don’t want something like that. To go to an audition where they won’t take you seriously, where their sole purpose is to satisfy their own curiosity. Where you’re Y/N, the ghost singer. Not Y/N, the aspiring actress. Fuck — you take another sip — you have no job, no real auditions, no work. If you stay, you’ll have to give up on Broadway. Maybe you’d find work elsewhere, at some company, an office job at a cubicle. It doesn’t sound so bad halfway through the rosette. A nine to five job would be stable. You’d hate it. But at least you’d have some income. You take another drink with a sigh, and another, and another. Until you come up empty. Until the bitter liquid doesn’t meet your lips anymore. You tip the bottle over your lap with a giggle, and when nothing is spilled, you realize that it’s all finished. Perhaps you could go to the convenience store and find something else to drink….. But your train of thought is suddenly interrupted. It’s perfect timing. You can hear the sound of water running between the walls of your apartment, trickling down the pipes in steady streams. But the noise is joined with someone’s muffled voice. It’s faint, but audible, a sweet tone leaking past the walls. Jimin’s singing in the shower. His bathroom is placed right next to yours, both a coincidence and a rather big invasion of privacy. The wall between your apartment seems to be especially thin here too despite it being a place where pipes should run. But it’s echoing, his singing melody quiet, though still discernible. “In my life, she has burst like the music of angels, the light of the sun. And my life seems to stop as if something is over and something has scarcely begun.” You gather your knees together, listening carefully. It’s nice. But Jimin’s voice has always been pleasant to the ears. “In my life. There is someone who touches my life. Waiting near.” “Waiting here…” you finish singing the phrase, closing your eyes to savour the melody. “A heart full of love. A heart full of song.” You murmur after him, a duet that he’s unaware of. “I'm doing everything all wrong…” You hate that you hate him. You hate that it turned out this way. You hate yourself for hating Jimin. And with that hatred, you find the strength to get on your feet again, stumbling upwards. He once came pounding at your door when he heard your voice. Now it’s you who’s coming after hearing his voice. It’s close to midnight, but you knock on Jimin’s door like a crazed man. “Jimin! Jimin, come out!” You drum against the surface of his door with your closed fist. You miss him. You miss him so much that it hurts. “Right now!” Jimin opens the door and finds you staring at him. “Y/N?” You reach over to hug him, wasting no time to envelop his torso in a tight embrace. Your arms wrap around his body, uncaring that the dark strands of his hair continues to drip — he’s always toweled off his head haphazardly; you often worried he’d get sick from it. He’s shirtless, just in his pajama pants, but you don’t care about that either. It’s actually kind of nice to see him without his shirt, but you don’t want to admit that out loud. Instead, your cheek unabashedly squishes against the skin of his chest. He smells of shampoo and orange soap. And he’s as warm as you remember. Toasty like a sizzled out campfire that just had a roaring flame. You’ve been wanting to hold him again ever since he held you in the backseat of that taxi. He’s caught off guard, stiffening automatically. But his senses pick up the scent of something familiar radiating off of you. Alcohol. “Are you drunk?” Oh yeah. You’re supposed to be pissed at him. “What’s the matter with you, huh?” “What?” You let go, stepping back and pointing your finger right at his face. It’s hard to point when he keeps swaying back and forth, or rather it’s you who’s swaying, balance completely off. But you manage to bring your index finger right between his eyebrows where that knot usually forms when he frowns. You hate that knot. “The hell’s wrong with you, Park?” Your voice is slurring. You’re tipping from side to side. Jimin is utterly confused. You lower your arm with an exasperated sigh. You wish he just got it — that he could read your mind. You hate having to explain. “Why’d you stay with me when I got this removed, huh?” You point to your stomach, finger circling the general area of where your stupid appendix used to be. “You’re not making any sense.” Jimin cringes at how loud you’re being and looks down the hall to see if there’s anyone there. He takes a sigh of relief when there’s no one angry enough to make a noise complaint and his hand reaches out to take you inside his apartment. “Y/N—” But you flinch back and wag your finger at him. “Nuh-uh. Don’t touch!” “Okay, okay, I’m sorry.” “Don’t wanna get confused,” you scold him. He was such a sly dog. “Naught, naught, Minnie. Wanna make my head more of a mess than it already is...” “Can you at least come inside?” he coaxes gently after realizing you’re completely barefoot in your pajamas, your toes sticking out from the end of your pants. It looks cold, and he quickly steps back to give you space. You oblige, but enter only enough to shut the door. You wanna be able to escape if you need to….though you’re not sure where the door knob is. He could probably stop you if he wanted to. “Were you drinking by yourself?” he asks, searching your expression. “Why?” Your head quirks and your lips pout. “Why’d you care about me?” He swallows hard and scratches the back of his neck. “I’ll always care about you, Y/N.” “You oughta hate me.” Jimin holds your stare, completely calm. His brown eyes are gorgeous. They remind you of a puppy’s. And you kind of want to ruffle his damp hair with your fingers. “I don’t hate you.” “But, but,” you blubber. He still doesn’t get it. “You’re supposed to! It’s only natural.” He smiles softly, eyes lit with mirth and amusement. “Why is it natural?” “Cause I’m so mean!” you cry out. It’s official. Park Jimin is dumb and needs you to spell everything out for him. “Told you I hate you. That you were annoying and bothersome and, and irritating, and that I regret teaching you, and how we’re not even friends, and we’re strangers, and that you’re annoying, and bothersome, and irritating—” “Okay, okay. I get it.” He laughs tenderly, like he’s having fun watching you, and that’s annoying. “Does that not bother you?” “It does.” Jimin locks his eyes with yours again. His voice softens. “It does…” “But you don’t hate me?” He shakes his head. He didn’t even need to think about it. But you already knew his answer. Automatically, you burst out into tears. Jimin’s alarmed at once, eyes wide, nearly falling out of their sockets. His palms lift, but he remembers your warning of not wanting to be touched, so he doesn’t lay a finger on you. But he’s still at a loss, not knowing what to do, reduced to awkwardly fumbling the air. “Y/N, a-are you okay? W-What’s wrong? Are you hurt?!” You hiccup, numb to the feeling of patheticness. But then you feel a sudden urgency. “T-There’s something I wanna tell you. It’s really, really, really important!” Jimin nods slowly and puts down his hands as you wipe your eyes with the long sleeve of your pajama shirt. “What is it?” “I!” You point to yourself and then point to him. “Love! Your! Voice!” Jimin blinks. You continue like it’s something you must get off your mind before you forget, “I never got to say — you have such a good tone. It’s sweet. Like sponge cake. And it’s natural. I’m jealous.” Your sniffle and sigh, lolling your head to the side. You think about it for a moment and then hum, once again confirming your own opinion. There’s no way in this world that you can be wrong. You’ll stand with your beliefs until the end of time. “Your tenor is so nice. It’s purple.” “Purple?” The corner of Jimin’s mouth curls, brow lifted. “Purple!” you tell him quickly, as if you’re afraid of dying and fearful that no one gets to hear this secret. “The colour of your voice is purple.” You pop the ‘p’s with your lips and giggle tearfully. It bubbles out like the fizz of the wine and instantly, Jimin smiles. “You have beautiful voice colour.” “What’s your colour?” he asks quietly, all too curious. “Orange, obviously.” You can’t believe he doesn’t know. This wasn’t new news. “Duh.” Jimin plays along with a heartfelt laugh. “Duh!” you repeat after him with an enormous grin. “But I don’t like it as much.” “Why not?” “Cause I love purple!” Your finger peeks out of your sleeve again. This time, it isn’t to point at his face but to jut at his chest, poke right over where his heart is. You smile up at him and Jimin notices how moist your eyes are, glassy almost. He can see each of your lashes when you’re this close, and he can’t help letting his eyes run over the slope of your nose to your cupid’s bow. Your lips look soft. A bit stained from the wine. You have an intoxicating scent that isn’t from the alcohol alone. He has an urge to pull you in close by the waist, the small of your back, to breathe in deeply, and to kiss you. Jimin wants to kiss you. He has since the first time he heard you sing and wanted to hear your voice muffled between his lips. He hasn’t — only yearned to. But it’s difficult to push away the longing at this moment. Though he swallows hard and dispels the thoughts away. He won’t kiss you. Not tonight at least. For now, he’ll hang onto how your voice calls his name, the slurred sound of you telling him you love his voice, the way your lips form when you say that his voice is purple — and the noise you make when you giggle and confess how much you love that colour.

#bts fanfic #bts scenario #jimin fanfic #jimin fluff #jimin scenario #OOOOF Y'ALLLLLLLLLL

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callboxkat · 4 years

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A Little Nightmare (part 9)

Author’s note: Thank you to everyone who’s stuck with this story! I hope you enjoy its conclusion!

Warnings: Illness and injury, fear, arguing, fear of being kept against your will, dog mention, food mention, near-drowning mention

Word count: 6416

A Little Nightmare Masterpost!

Writing Masterpost!

...

It turned out that sleeping was a lot easier when Remy wasn’t afraid of a gigantic bloodthirsty beast barging in and devouring her alive. Joan’s goofy looking corgi, Marco, didn’t exactly inspire the same paranoid insomnia. He was still a dog, but he was nowhere near what she had been imagining.

Maybe it was actually too easy to sleep, if the fact that she didn’t wake up until well past noon was anything to go by. She didn’t have a clock at her disposal in the room; but she could tell she had slept late as soon as she woke up. The placement of the shadows in the room only confirmed this feeling.

On the one hand, Remy was both a bit embarrassed and annoyed to have slept for so long. On the other, there were only a few hours left in the deal she had made with Joan, where she had agreed to stay with them for two days to recover in exchange for being brought back to the place where this had all begun. The place where Joan obviously believed she had family waiting for her; but which in fact only gave her an opportunity to retrieve her lost supplies and continue on her dangerous mission to find a home. The place where she had very nearly died, in the very undignified manner of drowning in a bucket.

She’d be lying if she tried to say that returning to that lifestyle, especially given her recent brush with death, didn’t fill her with a mixture of dread, anxiety, and profound exhaustion. But she knew she had to go. There were no other options. Or at least, no good ones.

Remy sighed, pushing away the blanket, sniffling. She slowly got to her feet, rubbing sleep from her eyes, and walked to the small shot glass of water that Joan had left behind for her. She picked up the aluminum cup that sat beside it, which she had refolded—Joan should really stick to things their size. This, she used to scoop up some water. She settled herself down beside the shot glass to drink it.

A few minutes later, there was a soft knock at the door, which slowly opened.

“Hey, Nunya, sorry to wake you, but I need to let Marco… oh, hi.” Joan seemed surprised to see her already up.

Remy sipped her water.

“Good morning. Or, I guess it’s technically afternoon. Anyway, I wanted to let you know that I’m taking Marco out of my room. He needs outside.” They leaned on the door frame. “Want some food when I get back?”

“Coffee?”

Joan snorted. “Yeah, I’ll get you coffee. But what about food? I’d assume you’re hungry.”

Remy wasn’t incredibly hungry, since she’d just woken up, but littles were not ones to turn down food. “I mean, like, yeah.”

“Cool. Breakfast or lunch?”

Remy furrowed her brows, tilting her head as she stared at them. “…Yeeessss?” Was there a difference? Food was food.

Joan frowned slightly at her reaction, seeming confused. “Well. Okay. I’m gonna go take Marco out now. I’m probably going to let him hang out in the kitchen while I cook, too, so you know.”

Remy appreciated that Joan had kept their word about giving her a heads up, so she just said, “Don’t forget my coffee.”

Joan saluted and ducked out of the room, shutting the door behind them. There was an odd look in their eyes as they did it, but Remy decided not to dwell on it.

…

“So… how long until 3:30?”

Joan paused, their fork hovering over their own bowl of noodles. They swallowed. “A little under three hours,” they admitted, tapping their fork on the side of their dish before scooping up another forkful of food.

Remy shifted. “You’re still taking me back, right?”

Joan quickly chewed and swallowed. “’Course. I promised, didn’t I?”

“You did.”

Joan watched her for a moment, making Remy feel self-conscious. She pretended not to notice, just eating her own meal.

“Can I ask you something?”

“You just did, girl.”

Joan rolled their eyes, then looked at her with a more serious expression. “It’s just that you always say, “take me back”. Never “take me home”.”

Remy forced herself not to react too strongly. Instead, she folded her arms, and raised an eyebrow. “So?”

“So, I just… I don’t know. You do have a home, right?”

“Girl, like what are you even talking about? Of course I have a home! What do you think we’re doing here? Jeez.”

She wasn’t sure Joan was convinced, but they just sighed. “Sorry, I’m just… you know, I want you to be okay after you leave.”

Remy muffled a cough. “Bruh. Ma’am. Girl. Whatever. Maybe I just don’t want you to know where I live. Did you ever consider that, Joan?”

The human frowned slightly. “Maybe.”

“And like, you don’t get to decide if my home’s good enough to go back to, or whatever, so stop acting like you do. It’s not a good look.”

Joan looked up at the ceiling for a few seconds, then nodded. “Okay, yeah, fine. Sorry if I came off that way. I am taking you back today.”

“At 3:30?”

“At 3:30.”

“Gucci.”

Joan looked baffled. “You know what Gucci is?”

“Yeah. You know, like, good? I’m not an idiot.”

They looked no less confused, but they just said, “Right.”

Remy went back to eating. After a few seconds, so did Joan.

“So,” they asked after a while, “what do you want to do until 3:30? We’ve got some time to kill.”

Remy thoughtfully chewed on a piece of carrot, then swallowed. “Do you have a sewing kit?”

Joan nodded. “Yeah, I have a sewing kit. What for?”

“I’m going to sew a human trap.”

Joan smirked. “Ah, I see. You’re going to need a lot of thread, then.”

“Mmm, maybe.” She shrugged. “We’ll see.”

“Really though. What color thread do you need? Any fabric?”

Remy stared at them for a few seconds, vaguely suspicious, then gestured at her jacket. “This color?”

Joan leaned forward, the smallest trace of hurt flashing in their eyes as she leaned back in response. She almost felt bad about it.

“Sure, I can do that,” they said.

Silence fell after that, slightly uncomfortable as the two simply ate their meals. Finally, Remy cleared her throat—a mistake, her painful ribs immediately reminded her.

Joan glanced up.

“So… how long have you lived in this place, anyway?”

“Oh, you’re curious?”

“More like bored.” And trying not to think about how nervous she was about the end of their deal, which expired in less than three hours.

“Ah, I see.”

“So? Is this, like, an old building?” Remy asked. “Have you lived here a long time?”

Joan shrugged, considering. “Yeah, it’s pretty old. I had it remodeled a bit after I inherited it, about... I guess it was around seven years ago now. But it’s mostly the same. I’ve lived here since then.”

“Inherited?”

“You know, like when your family member dies and what was theirs becomes yours.”

Remy frowned up at Joan. “So... your parents died?” That was unfortunate. She had thought that humans usually got to be older before they lost their parents.

“No, no, my uncle.” Joan corrected. “He and my aunt didn’t have any kids, and she isn’t into this whole landlord thing. So it got left to me, and I split whatever profits I make with my aunt. Basically, people pay me to live here, and I keep everything running and fix it if it breaks, and take care of stuff like… ah, sorry, that’s boring. Anyway, I never really planned on being a landlord; but I figured it was better than selling to somebody who’s probably going to double everyone’s rent.”

“That sucks,” Remy declared. Your uncle dies, and then you have to do work? Yuck.

“It’s not so bad,” Joan shrugged. “I get to work from home, I don’t have to pay rent... could be a lot worse.”

Remy shrugged, sticking another noodle in her mouth.

“You like the pasta?” Joan asked.

Remy slurped up the noodle like she was a character in Lady and the Tramp. “Girl, you should never trust someone who doesn’t like pasta.”

Joan chuckled. “Noted.” They set down their fork and started to get up. “I’m going to go put this in the kitchen, and get that sewing kit. I’ll be right back.”

Remy watched as they left the room. When the door shut, the coughing fit she’d been fighting back for the past few minutes refused to be put off any longer, and she shoved her face in the crook of her elbow to muffle the noise, her other arm wrapped around her painful ribs as the coughs wracked her frame.

…

Remy pulled the needle through the fabric, pausing to inspect her work.

Not bad, but she remembered now why she’d put off adding pockets to her jacket for so long. Stitching fabric was a pain in in the *ss. This was an opinion which was probably only strengthened by the fact that Remy was… not especially good at it. She’d never been interested in it much, even though her parents had tried to teach her. And it had never come easily to her. At least her girlfriend had been willing to help out, when they had been together.

…Nope, Remy was not thinking about her. She was still salty about how things had ended, and going down that rabbit hole wouldn’t help her.

Too clingy. She wasn’t too clingy! She was, like, the perfect about of clingy, thank you very much.

Remy coughed, going back for another stitch. So much for not thinking about her.

She finished up sewing the first pocket, pausing to look over her handiwork. Kind of uneven, but it would serve her fine. She shoved her jacket around in her lap until she was at the opposite side, and picked up a piece of graphite Joan had brought her to mark a line where the second pocket’s opening would go. Then, she picked up the miniature pair of scissors. They were cumbersome, since they were still far too big for a little; but her handmade knife was in her backpack at the bottom of a water-filled bucket, probably rusting and rotting away. So she’d have to make do with the scissors.

She carefully lined up the fabric, then pushed down on one side of the scissors to make the cut. The fabric shifted as she did, so it ended up crooked.

“Girl, come on,” she moaned.

It was only crooked by a couple of millimeters, but she was still pissed. Sure, she could sew it up and try again, but there’d still be visible stitches, and Remy did not want to repeat this whole process when she might well get it wrong again.

So, crooked pocket it was.

She sat down, pulled over the fabric, sewing needle, and thread, and got back to work.

…

By the time the fateful hour finally came, Remy had finished her jacket modifications and put everything back in the sewing kit, although perhaps not as neatly as it had been when she got it. Now, she waited, sitting on the blanket, sipping coffee from an aluminum cup. She had a feeling it might be the last coffee she got for quite a while.

She sniffled and resisted the urge to wipe her nose with her sleeve. Stupid cold.

She held on tight to the shovel-spoon sitting across her lap, ignoring the way her stomach churned with nerves.

Everything would be fine, she told herself. Joan would take her back, she’d get her supplies, and she’d bounce. She’d find a new home. She would be okay.

Finally, there was a faint knock on the door, and it opened. Joan stood there. They looked rather dejected, but attempted a smile when they saw her. It didn’t quite reach their eyes.

“Well… it’s time,” they said. “Are you sure you still want to do this?”

Remy ignored the nagging feeling in the back of her mind, simply saying, “Yes.” She set her jaw, waiting for their inevitable attempts to renegotiate their deal.

“Okay. That’s chill. Just let me go get my car keys.”

Remy’s jaw dropped. “Wait. Wait, wait, wait. You’re actually doing it? You’re letting me go? Just… like that?”

Joan sighed. “Look, I think we both know I’d rather you stayed longer. And that’s an open invitation. But I promised that I’d take you back, and so I will. I don’t break promises.”

Remy opened her mouth and shut it again. “Well… good,” she finally said. “Let’s go, then.”

Joan nodded. “Alright. I’ll be right back.”

Remy watched them go, a bit of anxiety fluttering through her sore chest. Rationally, she supposed she should have known what Joan taking her “home” would involve, but now that the moment was here, she still couldn’t help but be… well, more than a little scared, that was for sure.

Remy waited, sitting on the blanket, listening as the human walked around the apartment, pausing here and there, before disappearing, presumably outside.

They were back before she had too much time to dwell on whether this was really what she wanted. Remy finished off her coffee, stashed the aluminum cup in one of her new jacket pockets, and got to her feet, leaning on her plastic shovel-spoon like a cane.

Joan knelt down in front of her, hesitated, then held out a hand. “Ready to go?””

There was a small pause.

“Is this okay?” Joan asked, biting their lip. “I can find something else to carry you in. I know you said “no carrying”—several times, actually,--but I do need to carry you into the car. There’s not really a way around that. Sorry. We could try the sled thing, but we can’t do that outside.”

Remy knew they were right, as much as she disliked it. She could tell them to pick her up in something else, so she wasn’t in their hand, but she supposed that would just give them more time to change their mind, and her more time to chicken out. So she slowly got to her feet, and she climbed onto Joan’s hand, hoping they couldn’t feel her trembling.

It was… really f*cking weird.

The fleshy walls of their palm and fingers were all around her, radiating warmth as their fingers curled in closer. She stiffened despite herself, but they didn’t restrict her.

Joan let out a slow breath. “Okay. I’m going to pick you up now.”

Remy’s eyes darted up at them. “Get on with it, b*tch not-a-boy.”

Joan blinked, then let out a surprised laugh that turned into a cough. They took it slowly as they stood up, which Remy, on one hand, appreciated, but also couldn’t help but be annoyed by, since it meant she had to be in these hands all the longer.

Joan put the hand to their torso to hold it steady and stared walking. Remy clutched tightly to their hands, well aware of the drop below, and justifiably nervous about the whole situation.

“Ow,” Joan muttered. “You’re pinching me.”

Remy let go. Sort of.

They kept her close to their chest as they made it down the hall, through the kitchen, and to the front door of their apartment. It was weird to see it all from this high up. It made their furniture and belongings almost look normal sized, they appeared so small. Someone of her size probably looked like an ant to Joan. She shivered at the thought.

“Everything okay?” Joan asked under their breath, opening the door.

“Fine,” Remy mumbled, hunching down in the hand. As weird as it was to be in a freaking hand, she would happily press herself further into it if it meant keeping herself from being seen. Joan seemed to have a similar thought, curling their fingers more closely around her.

“Just a short walk,” Joan said in a low voice. They turned and closed the door, locking it behind them, and walked more briskly after that. Remy squeezed her eyes shut, the movements sending waves of pain through her sore body, but she didn’t dare ask them to slow down. She knew this was for the best, anyway. Less time in the open meant less time for somebody to see them. And the sooner they left, the sooner she’d be out of there for good.

There was a gust of wind that ruffled Remy’s hair, prompting her to open her eyes. Through Joan’s cupped fingers, she could see enough to tell that they were outside. The lower temperature and slight drizzle might have also given that away, though, to be perfectly fair.

Joan walked up to a blue car parked on the street and opened the passenger side door.

“Thank you for choosing The Spectacular Joan’s Transportation Services, today, miss. I’ll be your driver, Joan.”

Remy dared to shoot up a baffled look. Joan looked quite pleased with their joke, although Remy didn’t understand it at all.

A part of her wanted to ask them to explain, but she shook her head, admonishing her own curiosity. No. Why should she care about a human’s jokes?

Besides, jokes weren’t as funny if they had to be explained, anyway. But it was mostly the why-should-she-care thing. Obvs.

“I figured a seat belt might not be so good for… someone your size,” Joan whispered, ”but I don’t want you just sliding around every time I have to brake. So…” They uncurled their fingers enough to let her look. Sitting in the passenger seat of the car was a smallish cardboard box with what looked like a shirt folded up inside it. Parts of the fabric were pulled up in the front and back of the box, forming soft walls there.

“It’s not glamorous,” Joan admitted.

“Please tell me that shirt’s clean,” Remy said, staring down at it mistrustfully.

Joan exhaled, amused. “It is, don’t worry. Is… is this okay?”

Remy hesitated.

As much as she wanted to believe that Joan was keeping her word, as much as evidence seemed to show that they would, she couldn’t help her fear. What if Joan wouldn’t take her back? What if they were taking her somewhere else? Somewhere she’d be killed, or tortured, or exposed to the world?

…No, she reminded herself. That didn’t make sense, did it? They would have just let her die if they wanted her dead. And they didn’t need to leave their apartment to reveal her existence. She knew about phones.

She might have worried that Joan had grown bored of her, but Remy was the life of the party.

…Okay, maybe not for the past few days. Maybe her usual spunk had gotten a bit… damp. But she was not boring.

She wasn’t sure how she felt about that cardboard box, though. It was possible that Joan wanted her to get inside to be easily trapped.

But, again, what would be the point? And why would they want to? How would that fit in at all with everything else they’d done over the past two days?

She needed to just trust that they were keeping their word, and that going back was the right decision.

“I just want to go home,” Remy said at last.

That was not a lie. It also wasn’t quite the truth, either, since it implied she still had a home. But Joan didn’t need to know that that didn’t exist at all. She would just stick to her plan. Get her hook, go fishing for her backpack, and blow that popsicle stand. She’d find herself a new home. One with coffee and everything else she needed, and with no humans who knew about her. She’d be able to start fresh. She hoped.

Joan seemed to accept her answer. But when they moved to lower her down into the box, Remy tensed again, gripping their hand hard enough to pinch.

Joan paused, and she slowly let go.

“What now?”

Remy swallowed. “I just… I’ve never been in a car before.”

“Um. Yeah, you have.”

Remy pouted, glaring at them. “Don’t be a smart*ss. You know that doesn’t count!”

“Okay, I guess you’re right. It’s not so bad. It’s probably going to be weird at first, but you’ll get used to it.”

“…Fine.”

They lowered her down to the box, and she didn’t stop them this time. They let her scoot off of their hand and into the container. She sat down in the cushioning the tee shirt provided, pressed against one of the cardboard walls. Joan closed the door and walked around to the other side of the car.

Remy closed her eyes, her heart hammering. And then she sneezed, which proved to be a pretty effective distraction. For as long as it took Joan to walk around to the other side of the car and sit down in the driver’s seat, anyway.

…

Joan got settled, casting one glance at their passenger. She was watching them from where she sat, pressed up against one of the walls of the shoebox they’d buckled into the seat. Their mom would be proud of their consideration for safety.

“Bit of a noise,” they warned, before putting the key in the ignition and twisting it. The engine roared to life. “And now we’re moving.” They pulled out and they stared driving in the direction of their aunt’s house. The tiny young woman might have squeaked as the car first began to move, but she seemed determined to pretend it hadn’t happened, and Joan saw no harm in letting her.

As they drove, Joan couldn’t help the heavy feeling that rested in their chest. The fact was, they didn’t want their guest to leave. Not at all. And not only because she was still hurt, but because they… well, they liked her. They liked her sass. She was fun to talk to, when she wasn’t being combative or fearful. She’d really come around in the past couple of days, despite their screw ups.

Joan would have liked to consider her a friend. They almost believed the feeling might be mutual.

They rode in silence, and they made good time for the first part of the trip. Their passenger seemed to grow used to the sound and movement of the car, curling into a corner of the box and making herself comfortable.

Just at the halfway point of the trip, they hit a snag.

“There’s a train going through town,” Joan sighed, coming to a stop near the tracks. “We’ll have to wait for it to pass. Sometimes they take a while, especially if its switching direction. Sorry about that. We’ll get going as soon as it’s gone.”

No response came from the box, which surprised them. They’d have expected a comment about how they were probably just stalling. Some kind of sass, anyway, at least. They glanced over.

The girl was sitting in the box, leaning against the wall of it. She was slightly slumped forward, her head lolling down.

Joan paused, then lowered their voice. “Nunya?” they asked quietly.

No response. She must have somehow managed to fall asleep along the way, despite how bouncy the ride must have seemed to her, and stayed that way despite how loud the bells at the railroad crossing were. Joan looked over her tiny, sleeping form, then sighed through their nose. They were silent for a moment, watching the train cars pass by.

“I hope you really do have a family out there,” they commented softly. “Or someone who’ll take care of you, anyway.”

Sure, the tiny woman was very much alive, but she wasn’t exactly ready to go roughing it out in the world. Not by a long shot. Not as far as Joan was concerned. The image of her when they’d found her, half dead with blue lips and water in her lungs, was still all too clear in their mind.

But they had made a promise. Maybe it was a mistake, letting her leave so soon. But Joan knew that that wasn’t their mistake to make. She was her own person, and Joan was not planning to hold her against her will. They just had to hope that she would be alright.

They watched her for a few moments where she sat, unmoving, her dark hair falling into her face and mostly hiding it from view.

The train rolled along, very slowly, making a rhythmic clacking sound that they could hear over the sound of the bells. Normally, it would drive Joan crazy how slowly the train moved through town; but today, they were almost glad for it. This was one time that Joan didn’t mind the train lengthening their trip.

They looked back to their passenger, “Nunya”.

“Are you even really asleep?” Joan mumbled aloud, keeping their voice soft to avoid waking her if that actually was the case. They wouldn’t have been surprised if she was faking it. It wouldn’t have been the first time.

She didn’t react to their question. If she was awake, she wasn’t planning on sharing that information.

Joan gripped the steering wheel, then put their hands in their lap. They watched the train again. More graffiti-decorated cars rolled past, one after another after another. It was a long train, and not in a hurry.

A car horn sounded, and Joan rolled their eyes. Someone had pulled up behind them and was apparently not pleased by the delay. Joan didn’t know what the driver expected them to do about it. They had many talents, but driving through solid steel train cars was not one of them.

The horn honked again. “Nunya” jerked slightly, making a sound. Joan glanced down at her, but she had gone still again, her head now resting against the side of the box.

The car behind them suddenly swerved away and gunned it down a road parallel to the railroad tracks. Probably hoping to find a detour. It might have been a good plan, except that as soon as they were out of sight, the last railcar rolled past.

Joan laughed silently, then released the brake, easing the car up and over the tracks. The bumps shook the car despite their low speed, bumps that Joan never would have paid much attention to normally. They cast another glance at the girl in the passenger seat, who had shifted slightly as the car was jostled, but hadn’t woken. In the absence of the train and the bells, and with the car’s slowness minimizing the sound of the engine, they just barely made out a quiet snore when they strained their ears.

The last time she had feigned sleep, they remembered, she hadn’t snored. She wasn’t faking. She really had slept through all of that, despite being in a moving car at her size, at railroad tracks, as a train passed by.

She definitely wasn’t well enough to be alone. She was still hurt and weak from her ordeal; and they were pretty sure she was sick, too. And based on some of the things she had said, Joan was beginning to suspect that there really might not be anyone waiting for her to come home. If she even had any sort of home to return to at all.

Am I chauffeuring this girl to her death? Their throat constricted, and their clothes suddenly felt too tight. They pulled over to the side of the residential street and put the car in park, breathing as steadily as they could.

Joan tugged off their beanie and leaned forward until their forehead rested against the steering wheel, listening to the rumble of the engine. They closed their eyes, breathing heavily and attempting to stomp down their oncoming panic. They turned to the breathing pattern that they often used whenever they felt one of their annoyingly common panic attacks coming on. They breathed in. They counted. They breathed out. Again.

4… 7… 8… 4… 7… 8….

A few more times.

The familiar pattern and the distraction it provided slowly allowed them to calm down. They kept their forehead on the wheel for a moment, just breathing.

Their companion was still asleep.

Joan allowed themself about thirty more seconds to calm down before they put the car back in drive and pulled out onto the road.

They made it to their aunt’s house without any further incident, and they carefully pulled the car up to the curb. They put it in park and turned it off, and then sat there for a second or two in silence. The time had arrived.

Joan had to say goodbye.

They turned to the seat beside them and looked down at the cardboard box buckled in there. It seemed the sudden absence of the sound of the car engine had finally roused their passenger: she was shifting where she sat, blinking groggily. She straightened up and looked up at Joan, wiping at the corner of her mouth. She subconsciously smoothed down her hair, looking around.

“What…? Why’d we stop?” she asked, sounding sleepy and vaguely suspicious. “Are you like stalling for time or something?”

“No,” Joan said quickly, before she could grow alarmed and start trying to ‘escape’. “We’re here. I just didn’t want to startle you.”

She stared. “We’re here already?”

Joan shrugged. “I mean, yeah. I think you fell asleep, but it’s not a long trip anyway. I did tell you it was like ten minutes.” They decided it wasn’t important to mention that it had actually taken longer than usual that day, especially after she’d already accused them of stalling for time. They weren’t sure she’d really understand the concept of a railroad crossing.

“Well, yeah, girl, but come on. I thought you were, like, exaggerating.” She pushed herself to her feet and put her hands up on the side of the box, going up on her tiptoes to try to see better over the edge. “Can we get this over with, then? I’ve got places to be.”

Joan frowned, wondering if they’d imagined the slight tremble in her voice. Most likely, they had, they supposed. They just wanted to believe that she might want to stay with them. Or maybe she was scared they wouldn’t let her go. Which was… well, not a comforting thought.

“Sure. Let’s get this show on the road.” They unbuckled their seat belt and went to open the passenger side door, trying to ignore how heavy their heart felt.

…

Remy stared up at the car window, the blue sky and part of a tree visible through it, expectant. Still, she couldn’t help but jump slightly when Joan’s huge form came into view, blocking most of her view.

There was a loud click, and then the door opened.

Joan smiled down at her. “Alright. Thank you again for choosing The Spectacular Joan’s Transportation Services for all your transportation needs. Make sure to leave 5 stars and a good review.”

Remy blinked, not understanding the joke any better the second time. “Um… sure.”

Joan’s smile faltered; and then their expression turned more serious, almost sad. They hesitated for a few seconds.

“You sure you want to go?” they asked. “I mean… it’s dangerous, isn’t it? I’d be perfectly happy to let you stay a bit longer, until you’re healed. Heck, you can stay indefinitely if that’s what you want. I’m not going to force you, I swear; but… I really don’t know if you leaving is the best idea.”

Remy picked up her shovel-spoon and took a wide stance. “I want to go home,” she said, her voice as firm as she could make it.

Joan let out a long breath, and then nodded, apparently letting it go that easily. They reached towards her, and Remy braced herself, but all the human did was unbuckle the seatbelt that held the box still. Then, they paused. “How do you want to do this?” they asked.

“Um… I guess you could just… like, put me on the ground? I’ll be fine from there.”

Joan glanced around, probably to make sure no one was around, and then reached for the box. They picked it up, and Remy braced herself in the corner to keep from falling.

She felt the grass brush the bottom of the box as it was set down. Joan hesitated, then silently brought their hands towards her, pausing as if to ask permission. She took a half step forward, and they gently scooped her up and set her on her feet in the grass.

Remy shivered in the chill air. Dew clung to the waist-high grass, encouraged by the faint drizzle and cloudy sky. She could already feel the dampness trying to seep through her clothes, and she had to hold her tail aloft to keep it from getting in the muck. She sniffled. You’d really think her nose would be more considerate about timing. If she wasn’t careful, Joan would think she was crying or something. And then this would get even more awkward.

“So, that’s it, then?” Joan said softly.

Remy looked up at them, and she nodded. She looked towards the house, holding back a cough. The yellowing leaves fluttered on a scraggly tree in the yard. She could see the work bench from where she stood.

“Hey, um, before you go, could I ask you something?”

Remy blinked, glancing back. “Sure?”

“You don’t have to answer, but… what’s your name? Your real name? I just… I don’t really want to remember you as “Nunya Business”, you know?”

The little chewed her lip, then nodded to herself. “Remy,” she said. “My name is Remy.”

“Remy,” Joan repeated, trying it out.

“Don’t wear it out,” She said, rubbing her arm. “And I’m really not a borrower, by the way, so don’t go writing that in your diary.”

Joan laughed in a slightly-forced way. “Well, what are you then, Miss Totally-Not-A-Borrower?”

Remy looked at them for a moment, then decided there wasn’t much harm in them knowing. “A little. I did not pick the name. But I still hope you’re not stupid enough to go telling anybody, dumb name or not.”

“A little,” Joan echoed. They seemed to mull it over for a moment. They were probably trying to decide if it was a joke, like “Nunya Business”; but they seemed to accept that she was telling the truth.

A long moment passed.

“Remy?” Joan ventured. “Something wrong?”

Remy took a few steps, then stopped. She put her arms around herself and looked down, then slowly turned towards Joan.

“I…” she swallowed. “Thank you,” she said, “for helping me.”

Joan smiled, although it looked forced. They almost looked like they wanted to cry. “Anyone would have. I’m glad you’re… yeah.”

Remy nodded, glancing away again. She tapped the tip of her shovel-spoon absently on the earth.

Joan shifted, then nodded. “I’ll just… get going, then.” They got carefully back to their feet, picked up the cardboard box, and started back towards the car.

Remy watched them go, shifting where she stood.

They made it as far as the curb.

“Wait!” Remy cried.

Joan froze, brought up short.

She swallowed, then steeled herself with determination. “If… if I come back with you… I want you to do something for me first.”

…

“Here they are. One hook and rope, and one very soggy backpack.”

“Aw, thanks. How thoughtful.” Remy watched as Joan set them down in the box with her. The rope and hook looked fine, maybe a bit damp. The backpack, though… well, she’d have to see if anything could be salvaged from it.

“I didn’t even notice the hook last time I was here,” Joan said, watching as she pawed through the soggy items. “And the backpack… well, I kind of thought it was some old leaves or dirt or something.”

Remy sighed, pushing it away and wiping her hands on the tee shirt that formed the floor of the cardboard box. “Nasty,” she muttered.

“I wish you’d said something about this stuff. I’d’ve come to get them a lot sooner.”

Remy avoided their gaze. “That was kind of the point.”

Joan nodded slightly, moved to turn on the car, then paused and turned back to Remy.

“What made you change your mind?”

“Well… I never got to finish my ice cream, did I?” she pointed out mildly, crossed her legs.

Joan huffed out a laugh. “That’s true.” Their fingers tapped on the wheel. “So… is someone going to be missing you?”

She glanced away. “I think we both know the answer to that.”

“What happened?”

“Who says something happened?”

“Just your tone of voice. And you don’t really strike me as a loner.”

“Girl, you’ve known me for two days!”

“I learn fast.”

Remy shook her head, looked up at them, and then sighed. “Fine. You win. I’m just a lonely b*tch whose girlfriend broke up with her for being too clingy, and whose house got… got fumigated, so I had to grab some sh*t and run so I wouldn’t die. And then I almost died anyway. Happy?”

Joan’s eyes widened. “Fumigated?”

“Yeah. I don’t know. I think that’s the word. They thought they had rats or bugs or something. Guess I wasn’t a good roomie.”

Joan was silent for a long moment, and Remy realized that she hadn’t mentioned before that littles lived with humans. Whoops.

“I’m sorry that happened,” Joan said at last. “And about your girlfriend. That sucks. I’m really glad you got out okay, though.”

“Thanks,” Remy murmured.

“If you ever want to talk about it, well… we can always talk about it. Maybe have some coffee. Or a lot of coffee, assuming you didn’t sneak into the kitchen and drink it all already.”

Remy’s mouth twitched.

Joan turned the key in the ignition, and the engine roared to life. “Ready to go home, then, Remy?”

Home.

Remy considered the word.

She was going home, wasn’t she?

She felt nervous, but something deep within her told her that this was the right decision. Maybe her future was a little uncertain; maybe there were probably definitely some kinks that would have to be worked out along the way; and maybe she would never know for sure what had really happened to the littles who had once inhabited Joan’s walls; but this felt right. She settled in for the ride, and smiled up at Joan.

“I’m ready.”

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #infinitesimal!sides #ts sides #ts joan #ts remy #remy sanders #sleep sanders #joan stokes #infinitesimal!remy #infinitesimal!sleep #ts fic #ts fanfic #sanders sides fan fiction #fanfiction #ts #a little nightmare fic

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shigaraki-p · 4 years

Text

Doll

A collab with @morgana-ren . CW: Death, Abuse

S is me writing, M is Morgana. It starts more in a script form, until we get into the flow.

S Correct. I'm glad you understand this. The only one I would truly want to have anything for is the Queen. Bites your neck gently M Aren’t you quite the charmer? You’re making me blush. Kisses gently at your neck before biting deeply S Mm, now we have mutual bites. Brushes my fingers along the marks I made M I can always give you one on the matching side, if you’d like. You have plenty of free canvas. S Smiles I would like that, dear. Bite me good. M Just tell me where you want it. My mouth finds a way. S Right here. At the tender edge above my shoulder. I want to shudder from the pain. M Brushes your shirt out of the way gently; I can be as gentle or as rough as you want, but if you want to bleed, I can make that happen. Licks the spot for a moment before sinking my teeth in, pushing them as deeply as they’ll go, ripping at the muscle beneath the skin. My hand grips your shoulder for leverage, pulling you down to my height so I can have more room to sink my teeth into. Even when I feel the muscle strain between my teeth, I clamp down harder. S My mouth opens a bit and I take in a small breath audibly, while my hands start twitching slightly. I exhale slowly and put a hand on your rear, the middle finger splayed away. "That's good, love," I moan darkly. M I release you on your cue, kissing the bruise blossoming spot gently before licking my teeth and wiping away any blood that gathered. “That’ll be a nice one. It looks good already.” S "Mmm." My eyelids flutter closed, relishing this moment. "What would I do without you." I give a heady sigh, feeling elated. The fingers of my other hand brush up along your arm, leaving goosebumps. M “Have to find a way to bite yourself,” I place a gentle kiss on your chin. “Which just isn’t nearly as fun.” S I grumble and stick my tongue out at you. "Indeed you are fun." My hands suddenly dig into your rear and hold onto your arm tightly. "I have captured you." I open my eyes to stare at you with renewed vigor, contemplating my next move in advance. M “Oh no~, I guess some hero will have to come and save me from the big, bad villain.” I play struggle, chuckling under my breath. “Who knows what he’ll do if he’s not stopped.” S I grin more widely, showing my teeth. To anyone else, this would be considered blood-lust, but to you, it was something beautiful to uphold. Admire. You wanted to hold onto his face, even as he would claim you and bring you to the ultimate depths of pain and suffering that he is in, that he is a part of- his hell.

I throw you on the bed, then tear your dress from the bottom up with my strength. My eyes were hazy as the thoughts of bludgeoning and decaying heroes blurred my vision. I would make you a bitch in heat, for setting me off in this moment. You would pay, dearly.

"Dear." I say ominously, while very lusted. My fingers wrap coldly around your throat, my mouth is left open and I'm feeling the drive to destroy. My other hand is on my pants, massaging myself to full, but painful hardness in its confines.

"Let's have some fun." M I flutter my lashes at you, mouth quivering and eyes bleary. “Please don’t hurt me~” I eye the growing bulge in your pants, biting my lip. “I’ll do anything you want. Just please don’t hurt me.” I lean my head back, giving your hand a better grip around my throat as I shrug the bra straps down from my shoulders. The mix of rage and lust makes my thighs rub together, desperate for some form of friction. The need for death and decay is apparent in your eyes and from the way your muscles twitch, but it excites me where it should frighten me. Even enraged, you’re something I find irresistible. A vessel for your excitement or a willing victim of your rage; I’ll take either one. It’s good enough that I get to be a part of it. I whine, letting you take control as I lean back on the bed, powerless under your touch. S "You've already revoked that right the moment you uttered 'hero'. This is a consequence of that mistake." I muttered darkly, tightening the hold of my fingers. I wanted to hear you gasping. A little struggle. My body grew hotter. Soon I would be pummeling you into the bed, but not yet. My eyelids lowered, looking over your disheveled form, pale skin just ready for my teeth to sink into. Pale from fright? Who knew. But you would soon be mine. And only mine. For another to ever think about touching you, they would be destroyed.

It was at that moment that I undid my pants. A thumb hooking inside, my mind playing out scenarios and making me even more horny than before. What I would do to anyone who would touch my beautiful dark flower, marked by my bruises and bleeding bites...

My cock sprung out as I lowered my undergarments. My pants started sliding to my knees and I locked my eyes with yours, staring hungrily, that leering smile never leaving my face. M My mouth is stuck open in a wordless cry, gasping and choking as finger-shaped bruises start to form over the preexisting ones from before. My chest tries to heave in air but it’s not successful, only in-taking enough so as not to suffocate completely. Instinctively I struggle, my hands grabbing around your wrist, but it’s futile; you’re too strong. Even at full strength, I’m no match.

My eyes are glassed over all the same, hips rolling impatiently in anticipation. If my airway wasn’t blocked, I’d be whining, but it’s trapped by the large hand crushing down on my windpipe.

The grin on your face equal parts arouses me and terrified me. I find it beautiful, alluring, but I’m not naive enough to overlook the danger. That smile has been the last too many to count have seen before closing their eyes forever. It’s a deadly smile, laced with venom and greed. Even starved for breath and compromised in my position, I admire it. I want it. S My cock twitched at the sight of you struggling, and I started leaking a little. I closed my mouth and gulped, my saliva feeling a little overwhelming at the moment. I crawled over your body, slowly removing my fingers' grip as I gently brushed my lips across your ear. "Love." I whispered hoarsely, barely breathing. "I want to kill you, with my love." My thumb snaked into your mouth, while two of my other fingers wrapped tightly around your jaw. The nervous tension radiating from your body was so delicious. I wanted to get into that rhythm, that... Feeling.

My other hand went to your bare shoulder, ghosting along to where I find your bra strap, then I decay it, along with your whole bra. My knee found its way onto your stomach, and I lightly apply pressure there. I moaned then, feeling it slowly sink into you, while I bite the top part of your ear harshly. M I can’t help the coughing and sputtering that happens when the spindly hand anchored around my neck withdraws. I can practically feel the bruises forming, but don’t have time to dwell on it when the pad of your thumb pushes down on my tongue. I wrap my tongue around it, even as my gaze nervously flickers to your fingers latching onto my chin.

Your words make my blood run cold. My eyes widen, following your own line of sight, but your own eyes betray nothing of your intent.

I feel the ash splay across my chest when all five of your free fingers find bra, shivering as little speckles of grayed dust streak across my bare torso. I feel the knee on my abdomen but don’t have time to panic when I feel the teeth sink into the delicate skin.

My face contorts but I can’t help but moan; the juxtaposition of pain and pleasure too much for my body to fully decide which to react to. My fingers twist into the bed sheets, damp spot between my thighs growing larger despite the obvious and apparent danger.

“Shigaraki~“ S I unexpectedly rumble a moan in my throat, my eyes getting wet. It was like I was in a different world, these sensations seeming so real and true to me. I could feel it. I wanted it. I wanted you. And I would tear apart your body to get it.

I want your core. And I want to be one with it. You're a doll, that was made for me to be inside it.

I sat up on my knees, ignoring the fact that one of them was now pressing even more directly into your body. A pleasurable rapture ran through my body in waves, sending off my Quirk-activated circuitry like wildfire. So many points I wanted to touch on you and decay, my instinct was guiding me to do it all. Turn to dust. Turn you to dust. But I will still fuck you meanwhile.

My eyes were practically rolling back in my head when I grabbed the back of your head, not bothering to check if I was fully touching strands of your hair, before taking my thumb out of your mouth and forcing your head onto my cock. M My upper body seizes forward as the knee digs further and further into my ribs, forcing out my air reserve with a short heave of breath. I don’t have time to recover before the thick head of your cock is being jammed down into the back of my throat, tip pulsing in my airway. I try to pull away for breath, but there’s a sudden sharp pain and the feel of your fingers threaded through to my scalp, forcing my head back down all the way to your pubic bone, stuffing yourself even further down inside me.

I look up at you with watery, pleading eyes, gagging and suffering through suppressed sputters. Drool begins to fall from my lips and down onto my chest, mingling with the decayed remains of my clothing. I blink away tears and tap on your thighs desperately, face turning red and eyes glassy.

I try to beg and plead, but it comes out as incoherent babble, serving only to work my tongue around your thick length. The growing pain spreading through my head coupled with the lack of oxygen is making me dizzy. The knee on my stomach digs in further and my limbs go limp, losing the will to fight against the inevitable. Instead, I just hum quietly, losing focus as the vibrations stimulate you. S "Such a good slut, such a good, mmm," I mumble, not paying attention to your desperate attempts at gaining mine. You didn't matter anymore, but your throat and body still do. It was good, so far. You would become a rag-doll at the end of it all, battered and broken. That is your place.

Then maybe you'll remember not to rouse a King's anger, again. Mold you into the perfect little Queen. His own vessel for his hatred, lust, and cum. Then maybe one day, you would get to understand what a hell love was really like.

To Tomura, it was eternity, bliss. He would truly want nothing less than for it to be this way. Forever. M My vision dances and sparks, going dark and tunneling around the edges. Any desperate attempt to inhale is fruitless, chest heaving and convulsing to no avail. My hands slowly crawl down your thighs, falling limply at my sides.

I hear your words but they don’t register.

I can still feel the hate and loss of control in the burning pain in my scalp, but don’t have the capacity to fight it. Everything is fuzzy.

I guess that’s the end of that.

#Shigaraki #Tomura #Shigaraki x Reader #CW #OC #Morgana

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swanqueeneverafter · 4 years

Text

The Once & Future Queen Pt.19

Camelot. Courtyard. (While Merlin is joined by Guinevere, Lancelot and the Charmings, Henry speaks to his moms.) Henry: "Are you guys sure about this? I mean, aren't you worried Merlin's going to want revenge for what Emma did to him?" Emma: (Scoffs:) "Mr. Holier-than-thou?" Regina: "Merlin isn't the revenge type, Henry. He's far more likely to want to prove his brilliance than dwell on the past." Henry: "Yeah, but even so-" Emma: "What's important right now is that we as a family are safe." Regina: "Your mother's right, Henry. This whole situation with Morgana was never about us. It's about who belongs on the throne of Camelot. Let them figure it out." Henry: "That's a little cold, don't you think?" Emma: "Honestly? No. Merlin is more than capable of dealing with Morgana on Camelot's behalf." Regina: "And if you don't believe us, just ask Merlin."

(A short distance away, Merlin converses with Lancelot and Guinevere.) Lancelot: "I'm glad you're free again, but if Arthur finds us here there will be trouble." Merlin: "I agree, we must leave this place, but not together." Guinevere: "What does that mean?" Merlin: "Send the knights who are loyal to you back to Arthur. Allow them to be our eyes and ears in Arthur's camp." Guinevere: "All right, that makes sense, but what about Morgana?" Merlin: "She has grown too powerful for any mortal blade to kill her. That is why we must separate. (To Lancelot:) I need you to seek out your Mother, the Lady of the Lake, for help." Lancelot: (Nods in understanding:) "My mother once forged the Vorpal Blade that trapped the Jabberwocky, perhaps she can do the same again for Morgana?" Merlin: "Exactly. Your mother does have great power." Lancelot: (To Guinevere:) "We should leave right away. The lake is a two-day journey from here." Guinevere: (To Merlin:) "What about you?" Merlin: "Though Arthur is but a shade of his former self, I very much doubt my presence in Camelot will be welcomed. I shall therefore return with the others to Storybrooke. There I can come up with a plan to end Morgana's scheming once and for all." (Standing against the short stone wall lining the courtyard, Snow and David weigh up their options.) Snow White: "I think we should go with Guinevere and Lancelot, they may need our help." David: "Absolutely not. (At Snow's look:) Have you not understood why Regina and Emma are doing this? It's to keep us all safe. The fight for Camelot is not one we need to involve ourselves in." Snow White: "Oh, David. Not you too? We can't just walk away. That's not what heroes do." David: "That is not what we're talking about here." Snow White: (Stubbornly:) "Well it seems that way to me." David: (Sighs:) "Do you even remember the last time either one of us could claim to be heroes? Let's face it, Snow, ever since the first curse was broken, we've relied on either Emma or Regina to fight our battles. Against Gold, Zelena, the Snow Queen, Pan-" Snow White: "That's only because magic was involved all those times. And it wasn't just us, the entire town relies on them." David: "Which is exactly my point. And now, since the Realms were joined, they've been called upon to use their powers even more. All I'm saying is there has to be another option, one that doesn't lead to our daughter and the woman she loves putting themselves in harm's way." Snow White: "But, David, we've always found a way to defeat whatever comes our way." David: "I know that, but the day may still come when we won't be able to win. Listen, Emma and Regina have already gone up against Morgana several times now and she's still out there causing mayhem. So maybe this time, we let Merlin be the one to come up with the answers."

Forest. Near Caerleon's Army Camp. (Agravaine sneaks through the woods while checking for any pursuers, then turns and is surprised to find Morgana standing there.) Agravaine: “Morgana.” Morgana: “You seem troubled. What is it?” Agravaine: “Arthur is Camelot’s King once more, as you wanted.” Morgana: “Yes, I know, I saw the fireworks. That can’t be what you came to tell me.” Agravaine: “Merlin. He’s free.” Morgana: “How? When?” Agravaine: (Shakes his head:) “I do not know, My Lady. Merlin’s tree was gone by the time we returned to the castle.” Morgana: “We?” Agravaine: “Arthur insisted on scouting Carleon’s army.” Morgana: “There is no need for that. You gave him my note, I trust?” Agravaine: “Yes. He did not seem pleased by it.” Arthur: (Appearing at the top of the ridge above them:) “Not pleased at all.” Morgana: (To Agravaine:) “I don’t know whether to be impressed by Arthur’s tracking skills or annoyed by your incompetence.” Arthur: (His sword pointed towards them as he approaches:) “You know, back when I was alive, I learned to despise Merlin. However, there was one thing about him that earned my admiration.” Morgana: (In a bored tone:) “Really, and what was that?” Arthur: “His ability to resist my commands even when tethered to Excalibur and under the most desperate of circumstances. In fact, it was what inspired me to do this!” (Sensing the attack before it even began, Morgana’s eyes glow and she uses her powers to send Arthur flying backwards into a tree, knocking him unconscious.) Morgana: “Not a word, Agravaine. Not a word. (Agravaine stands quiet as Morgana walks over to Arthur and begins an incantation, her eyes glowing once more:) Efencume ætgædre, eala gastas cræft ige. Hige hefe. Hefe mæst sara. Fornéðe þas, ende hie æra. (Her eyes return to normal:) There, my hold over Arthur has now tripled in strength. He will give us no more problems.” Agravaine: “Yes, My Lady.” Morgana: (Casually:) “What news of Guinevere?” Agravaine: “Ah... Arthur did send out men to search but unfortunately, Guinevere and Lancelot’s whereabouts are currently unknown.” Morgana: (Scoffs:) “Of course they are. The knights are loyal to them both. No matter. I have a feeling I know exactly where they’re headed.”

Storybrooke. Swan-Mills House. Morning. (Regina and Emma are making breakfast when Henry enters.) Henry: "Good morning, Moms!" Regina: "Henry. You're looking chipper this morning." Henry: "And why shouldn't I be? Ella and I both have jobs, my parents are about to retire from putting themselves in danger on a regular basis and the sun is shining." Emma: "Well, can't argue with that I suppose." Regina: "So, everything is back to normal with you two?" Henry: "Things got a little shaky there for a little while, but I think we're okay. Plus, Ella and I have an agreement that should an adventure come our way, we'll both jump in with both feet. Together, I mean." Emma: (Smiles:) "Yeah, we got that." Regina: "And in the meantime you're okay with driving people around all day?" Henry: "Well I'll admit it's not my ideal job, but it pays the bills. (Kisses Emma on the cheek:) Bye, Mom." Emma: "Have a good day, Henry." (Henry kisses Regina on the cheek and, carrying his coffee, leaves the kitchen.) Hallway. (Henry walks to the door and picks up his keys from the bowl. He's about to leave when Regina speaks up.) Regina: "You know there's still college, Henry. Higher education sounds like a pretty wonderful adventure to me." Henry: (Smiles:) "I know and I'll think about it, I promise. But things have just got back on track with Ella and I don't want to rock the boat too much." Regina: "But you could be so much more. I thought you wanted to make a serious run at becoming a writer?" Henry: (Nods:) "I did and I do but for right now I have to put that on hold. I have to think of what's best for Ella and me. We may not see each other much during the day with us both working jobs, but if I went to college Ella and I wouldn't see each other at all." Regina: "Okay, well as long as you're happy and you know what you're doing, you know I'm happy." Henry: "I know, thanks Mom. (Pulls her in for a hug:) I love you." Regina: "I love you too, Henry." (Waving as Henry walks down the pathway towards his car, Regina closes the door and returns to the kitchen.) Kitchen. Emma: "Has he gone?" Regina: "Yeah. (Distractedly, walks into the kitchen:) I can't help but think he's making a mistake by not going to college." Emma: "Oh don't worry about that now. Here. (Slides a plate across the table to Regina:) Have your breakfast." Regina: "Thanks. (Finally looking at Emma, Regina sees the naughty smirk on her lips before noticing her complete lack of clothing. Casually:) You know your shirt is buttoned incorrectly?" Emma: (Innocently:) "Oh. (She unfastens the last remaining button:) Better?" Regina: "Much. (Emma winks and drinks her orange juice:) Although now I don't feel much like pancakes suddenly." Emma: "I can get you something else if you like?" Regina: "No, no. I already have my eye on something." (Picking up a stick of butter from a side plate, Regina slowly approaches Emma. Upon kissing her wife, Regina gently pushes the shirt down off Emma's shoulders, exposing her breasts to her ravenous gaze. Reaching over, Regina grabs a croissant from the table and hands it to Emma.) Emma: "Thank you." Regina: (Before Emma can take a bite:) "Uh uh. (Regina holds up the butter:) Room temperature. (Emma nods then watches as Regina takes one finger and rubs it into the butter before smoothing her digit over the croissant. Then, moving Emma's shirt out of her way, Regina proceeds to liberally coat Emma's breasts with the butter, rubbing it in slow, generous circles. When Emma clears her throat, Regina looks up at her:) Oh, how thoughtless of me. (Reaching for something, Regina picks up a little pot and shows it to Emma before removing the lid.) Cinnamon. (Before Emma can say anything, Regina taps the bottle over her croissant and adds a little cinnamon. Pulling up a chair beside Emma, Regina leans forward. Looking up at her:) Bon apetit." (Regina lowers her mouth to Emma's left breast and begins to feast. For her part, Emma bemusedly watches her wife for a long moment before finally bringing the croissant to her lips.)

Caerleon’s Army Camp. Queen Annis’ Tent. (The sentries bring Arthur into the tent.) Queen Annis: “What is the meaning of this?” Arthur: “Your Highness, I’m here to– (Annis slaps him:) Your Highness, I know that you feel nothing but contempt for me. You feel I’ve done you a grievous wrong, and you would be right. I’m ashamed of what I did. It was cowardly, it was unjust, and I am deeply sorry.” Queen Annis: “Sorry does not bring back my brother. Sorry does not give his people back their king.” Arthur: “I realise that. I know there’s nothing I can do to repair that loss.” Queen Annis: “Then what are you doing here, Arthur Pendragon?” Arthur: “I want to call off the battle.” Queen Annis: “It’s a little too late for that.” Arthur: “I don’t propose a truce, but an alternative. I invoke the right of single combat. Two champions to settle this matter between them.” Queen Annis: “And why should I grant you this favour?” Arthur: “There’s been bloodshed enough already, Your Highness. Many hundreds of lives will be saved this way.” (Annis nods for her men to release Arthur’s arms.) Queen Annis: “And your terms?” Arthur: “If my man wins, you must withdraw your army.” Queen Annis: “And if mine is the victor?” Arthur: “Then half of all Camelot is yours.” (A guard brings Agravaine into the tent and shoves him to his knees. Agravaine is seething at being treated this way, but holds his tongue.) Agravaine: “Sorry, my lord." Queen Annis: “You know him?” Arthur: “He’s my advisor, he must’ve followed me here. I knew nothing about it.” Queen Annis: “Kill him.” (Agravaine’s eyes flash toward Arthur, imploring him to do something. Arthur lets him sweat a moment.) Arthur: “Wait. Please. Let him go. He’s just…a simpleminded fool.” Queen Annis: “That is two favours you’ve asked of me, Arthur Pendragon. (Queen Annis turns and sits on her throne, considering Agravaine. Arthur is calm while Agravaine is tense, waiting for her decision:) Very well. You shall have your trial by combat. (Arthur nods:) Announce your champion by noon.” (Arthur bows.) Arthur: “Thank you, Your Highness, but there will be no need to wait. There can only be one choice. One choice which is just and honourable. This fight’s mine.” (Annis is impressed by this while Agravaine is very pleased.) Queen Annis: “Noon it is then. You may leave to prepare yourself. And take your fool with you.” (Arthur nods and Agravaine glares at Annis, for her slight upon him.) A Short Time Later. (Annis is now joined by Morgana.) Queen Annis: “I don’t like it. It must be a trick.” Morgana: “What concerns you, Your Highness?” Queen Annis: “Arthur. Why would he choose himself as the champion?” Morgana: “Because he’s Arthur. He’ll always risk his own life before those of his men. Trust me, it’s no trick. Arthur will fight.” Queen Annis: “It’s as if you were pleased, Morgana. Whatever else he is, Arthur is a great warrior. You have as much to lose as I if he wins. You desire the throne of Camelot, do you not?” Morgana: (Enraged:) “I don’t deny it. It’s rightfully mine, after all. (Annis considers Morgana’s emotional response. Morgana calms herself:) Arthur will not win.” Queen Annis: “How can you possibly know that?” Morgana: “Because I have the power to ensure that he doesn’t.” Queen Annis: “Then you must use it.” (Morgana smiles and nods.) Shortly After That. (A mean looking giant stands before Annis and Morgana.) Queen Annis: “You have served me well, Darian. I know you’ll do the same again today.” Morgana: “And Darian, no pity, no quarter. Do not hesitate for one second. Arthur Pendragon must die.” (Darian grins menacingly.)

Storybrooke. Granny's Bed & Breakfast. (Ruby sits down to talk with the Reporter.) Reporter: "So, it's been a little while now since Mulan and Emma returned from the past, how have you adjusted to having Mulan back?" Ruby: (Smiles:) "I won't say it's like she never left because I missed her terribly, but Mulan and I have pretty much picked up where we left off. It helped a lot that I was surrounded by friends and family and I know Mulan kept herself busy in the Enchanted Forest." Reporter: "I'm pleased to hear that. (Writes a few notes then changes the subject:) Today marks the beginning of Snow White's quest to find a candidate for Storybrooke's next Mayor. You've moved around a lot recently but for almost thirty years you lived among the people of Storybrooke, so who would you like to see nominated?" Ruby: "Gosh, I mean where to start? Naturally as Snow is one of my best friends I would've voted for her, but she's not interested in taking the job on full time." Reporter: (Pushing for an answer:) "So who else?" Ruby: "Um... Archie might be a good choice. He knows the people better than most, being the town's only therapist. Then there's David, I think he'd be a great candidate for Mayor. However I think, like Snow, he's content tending to his flock." Reporter: "Would you ever consider the position yourself?" Ruby: "Me? (Chuckles:) I don't think I'm meant for public office. I spent most of my time under the curse trying to leave this place. Anyway, I love my nomadic lifestyle with Mulan far too much to give it up." Granny's Diner. (Snow White shares a booth with Jasmine while she looks over the various CV's she's received from interested candidates.) Snow White: "Oh this is going to be a nightmare." Jasmine: "I don't see why. You managed to run the Mayor's office while still keeping a full teacher's schedule." Snow White: (Holding up a binder:) "Only because I'm organised." Jasmine: "So start your search looking for someone else equally as anal then." Dr. Whale: (Arriving at precisely the wrong time:) "Hello, ladies. (Places his CV on the table:) I'll just leave this here for your consideration." Snow White: "Thank you." Dr. Whale: "By the way..." Snow White: (To Jasmine:) "Here we go." Dr. Whale: "Did I overhear correctly that you're looking for some anal?" Snow White/Jasmine: "No!" Dr. Whale: "Oh, my bad." Granny: "Move along, Doc, you're holding up the line." (Dr. Whale gives them a courteous smile and leaves. To Jasmine's amusement, Snow tears up Whale's CV before he's even left the diner.) Jasmine: (When Granny places her CV on the table, surprised:) "Granny, you're interested?" Granny: "Sure. Thirty years of getting to know everyone's likes and dislikes makes me a front runner in my eyes." Granny's B&B. (A short while later, Granny also speaks with the Reporter.) Granny: "Not to speak ill of Snow White, but she has no clue how to run this town and it was same back in the Enchanted Forest. Of course, Snow and David meant well and fought hard to reclaim her father's kingdom, but then what?" Reporter: "Surely their time as rulers was cut short by Regina's curse?" Granny: "To a degree I suppose, though to my mind that's just another example of poor leadership on their part. True leaders don't blame their failures on others, they tackle adversity head on. She may not have been universally adored back in the day, but at least Regina got things done." Reporter: "So it's safe to say you're pleased Snow White has chosen not to take the position of Mayor herself?" Granny: "Put it this way, Snow is technically still Queen of the Enchanted Forest. (Leans closer:) And I don't know about you, but I haven't seen her do much Queening lately." Reporter: "I hadn't considered that." Granny: "Oh yeah. Rumour has it that Snow wasn't best pleased with Emma and Regina's decision to retire.” Reporter: “And what would you say to that?” Granny: (Shrugs:) “I figure if Snow's moved on from her old life, why can't Regina and Emma?"

Sheriff's Office. (Lily walks with Regina towards Rumplestiltskin who is sat at Hook's desk.) Lily: "He's been coming here a lot lately. I think he misses his friend." Regina: (Smiles:) "How adorable." Rumplestiltskin: (Leaning back in his chair:) "Regina. To what do we owe the pleasure?" Regina: "I may be the outgoing Mayor and not have my eye on every detail of this town like I once did, but I'm pretty sure you don't work here." Rumplestiltskin: "Perhaps not, but I like to think I add a little charm to the place." Lily: (Scoffs:) "If you mean like a good luck charm, I think we're all lucky you and my Dad aren't off indulging in one of your drinking binges." (Lily walks away.) Regina: (Shaking her head:) "And at your age." Rumplestiltskin: "Is there something you wanted?" Regina: (Leans down towards him:) "Just to tell you that Merlin is free and that means so are Emma and I." Rumplestiltskin: "I see. And you think Merlin is the answer?" Regina: "Not my problem." Rumplestiltskin: "I hope not. We'll just have to wait and see." Regina: "Has anyone told you how infuriating you are?" Rumplestiltskin: "Yes. (Regina glares at him then walks away. Quietly to himself:) Mainly you in fact." Camelot. Ridge. (The armies of Camelot and Caerleon face each other. Darian and Arthur walk towards each other at the centre of the neutral ground. Arthur looks up at the giant while Darian bears his teeth. Morgana watches from Caerleon’s lines. Agravaine, now joined by the knights loyal to Guinevere and Lancelot, grins in Camelot’s front line. Arthur twirls his sword and the fight begins. After exchanging parries and thrusts, Darian eventually knocks Arthur to his knees. When the giant attempts an overhead strike, Arthur rolls out from the blow and slices Darian’s cheek. Darian checks for blood and howls, enraged.) Morgana: “This has gone on long enough. (Annis turns her head to listen:) Time to turn the tide. I’ll enchant Arthur’s sword. It will hold the weight of a thousand ages. No one could bear it for long.”

(Morgana’s eyes glow and Arthur’s sword drops like lead behind him. He looks at it, unable to lift it. Darian swings and misses on the down sweep. Arthur punches Darian’s face and gets caught on the up-sweep of Darian’s sword. He cries out in pain. Arthur tries to lift his sword again. Darian begins to strike, but Arthur leaves his sword and rams his shoulder into Darian, knocking him over and falling. Morgana is confused. Darian gets up first and kicks Arthur over. Darian picks up his sword and Morgana and Agravaine smirk. Annis waits. Arthur lies helpless and Darian raises his sword over his head. Arthur looks up at his men on the ridge before the giant runs Arthur through with all his might. Annis’ army cheer while Camelot’s forces look on, aghast.) Morgana: (Turns to Annis:) “You are victorious, Your Highness.” Queen Annis: “Indeed. And now we must ensure that CameIot’s forces comply absolutely with the terms of our agreement.” Morgana: “Worry not, Your Highness. Lord Agravaine is an honourable man and can be trusted to do the right thing.” Queen Annis: (Following Morgana’s line of sight to stare up at Agravaine:) “Arthur called him a fool.” Morgana: “Arthur is dead. That is all that matters, Your Highness.” (Annis considers Arthur’s slain form for a moment, then turns to leave.) No Man’s Land. (Arriving too late to witness the duel, Merida, Anastasia and Xena & Gabrielle stand watching the aftermath as the giant Darian absorbs the cheers from his fellow soldiers while standing over Arthur’s body.)

#sq #swanqueen #swan queen

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silveraccent · 4 years

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A Whale of a Time || Grace & Skylar

TIMING: 8/16/20. LOCATION: Angelique’s Aquatic Adventure PARTIES: @theskyeandsea @silveraccent SUMMARY: The need for fresh air causes for an unlikely friendship, not without the offering of ginger candies and some ASL lessons.

After her encounters with Dave, Skylar had come to the conclusion that... if there was another selkie in town, it might be in her best interest to try and familiarize herself with the ocean waters around the town. Because there was no way she was going to try and swim around-- seal or not, she just didn’t feel up to trying to get into the ocean right now-- she found herself clinging to the plastic seat of the amphibious tour bus of Angelique’s Aquatic Adventure for dear life. As the cheery tour guide spoke into the mic system, Skylar did her best to steady herself as the bus slid into the water from the pier. As the water splashed around them, she instinctively shied closer to the interior of the boat, hands ready to protect her hearing aids if a rogue wave splashed them. Oh… this was such a mistake. This was such a bad idea. Skylar stared miserably out at the ocean, doing her best to drown out the sense of dread and overwhelming fear that was creeping up on her as the tour guide continued to chatter away about the whales that could be seen along the coast.

Angelique's Aquatic Adventure had been suggested to Grace in passing, and while it was associated with her rant about whales, and how they could swallow humans whole if they truly wanted to, she hadn’t really thought that she would take the plunge, both metaphorically and literally. With nothing to do for the day however, Grace found herself clinging to the seat in front of her, fingers looped around the metal. Grace wasn’t afraid of the ocean, far from it, but there was something about a truck of some sort turning into a boat that had left her uneasy. Grace felt pangs of nervousness and excitement from everybody on board, and she began to wonder if this had been a good idea-- surrounding herself with the varying emotions, it was only bound to make her anxious. Her seatmate, however, exerted only existential dread. Grace couldn’t quite focus on her, and her alone, but in an effort to make her feel better-- and herself, if she were being honest, Grace leaned forward, “are you okay?” She asked, eyes filled with worry.

Mmmmmm, just focus on the horizon line. Yup, just focus on the skyline and not the fact there were hundreds of millions of gallons of saltwater that could rear up and splash her hearing aids at any moment. Skylar felt her stomach flip flop as she tried to push the thoughts from her mind. She should have never come here. Or, at the very least, she should have brought her case with her. Even if she couldn’t hear well, they’d be safer. The sound of a woman’s voice caught her attention and she realized her seatmate was talking to her. “Oh-- I’m sorry-- um--” She stammered, trying to collect herself enough to reply. Offering a strained smile, Skylar nodded. “I’m okay! Just, just seasick.” She lied, though her stomach continued to clench. Was she actually seasick on top of all this? That’d be just her luck… she would be a selkie who could get sea sick.

It was hard for Grace to put aside the anxiety that was boiling in her stomach, and mixed with the excitement of the other people onboard? She bit down onto the inside of her cheek as she watched the girl next to her, gaze unwavered. “Oh,” she said after the woman answered. Grace could understand-- Renee got seasick a lot too, and she often had to rub circles into her friend’s back the entirety of their trips. Grace maneuvered her bag around, fishing out a ginger candy. “Here,” she said and handed it over. “I always bring these, just in case.” It was better than dramamine, she guessed. “It’s ginger, it should help with the queasiness,” she smiled at the girl. Maybe it was selfish, but Grace surely did not want to be covered in somebody else’s bile.

A bit surprised when the woman began to rummage around in her bag, Skylar tilted her head in confusion when she handed her a wrapped up piece of candy. That was so sweet of her to offer-- but, eating the candy would only make her feel actually sick to her stomach. She couldn’t handle the sugary sweetness, she never had been. Her entirely meat based diet was selkie thing, she’d learned that early on when she’d first met Winston and Ricky. Stomach flip flopping, she nodded all the same. “Thank you. I think it’s passing, but I’ll keep it in case I need it later.” She said with a polite nod before glancing out at the ocean around them once more. A fresh wave of panic and fear washed over her and she did her best to try and steady herself. This was such a mistake.

Grace smiled at her when she took the candy. At the very least, maybe it’d help a little later down the line. The woman says she’s feeling better, but Grace is unable to tell if it’s a lie or not. She took a candy out for herself and popped it into her mouth. Just in case. Grace wasn’t much of a talker, never had been, but she knew that distractions were better than being left to focus on what was currently happening. Grace cleared her throat and looked out to the water before looking back to her neighbor, “I’m Grace, by the way.” She smiled at her, not sure what else to say. She rubbed her palms against the front of her jeans. “I’m new here, so this-- this is pretty cool, I’ve never been on anything like this” Grace tried as she offered a sheepish smile.

The cresting waves, the white caps, the endless expanse of ocean. Mmmmm, no no no. As the woman introduced herself, Skylar was honestly grateful for the distraction. While she wouldn’t normally just talk to strangers, having something else to focus on was so much better than dwelling on the fact that she was surrounded by the ocean. When Grace mentioned she was new in town, some of the tension eased from Skylar’s shoulders. “You’re new? Welcome to White Crest. I’ve only lived here for a year, but it’s, it’s a nice place.” She said with a smile before extending her hand. “I’m Skylar.” A particularly strong wave rocked the side of the boat and she swallowed nervously. “What brought you to White Crest? School?” She asked. The other woman looked around her age-- maybe she was a grad student?

“Skylar? Nice to meet you.” Grace grinned as she shook the girl’s hand. At least she had a name for her, she looked like she would keel over any second from the waves. “It’s a nice place, yeah.” Grace shifted in her seat as she turned to look at Skylar properly. “No, not school.” She felt like she was talking too loud to be heard over the man up front who was giving the tour-- it felt a little rude, but there were others talking, too. “I moved here for work.” Grace knew that mentioning she worked at the morgue could rub others the wrong way, but she never bothered with hiding her profession, “I work at the morgue.” Grace tilted her head. “And you? Are you in school?” She wondered if maybe people her age only came to White Crest for school, then left shortly thereafter.

“Oh really? Me too, actually.” Skylar said with a nod, grateful that they had something to talk about, some common ground to discuss. “I work with the school district. I’m a sign language interpreter.” She said, signing briefly as she spoke. “So… in a way I’m here for school.” Skylar offered a weak grin. The slight attempt was humor was all she could muster right now when she was surrounded by water on all sides. “The morgue..? Oh, do you know a Dr. Kavanaugh?” She asked, thinking back to the woman that had inexplicably stolen Winston’s name all those months ago. Had it really been that long? “I think she works there, I don’t know for sure, though.” She said, with a shrug.

“Oh!” Grace watched as Skylar spoke, and then lifted her hands to sign out the words she was saying. In high school, Renee had tried to get Grace to sign up for German, but she had insisted on taking ASL instead. She could pick up some of the telltale signs, but the remaining of what was signed was lost on her-- only able to be understood by the words leaving Skylar’s lips. “That’s cool,” she said, and she meant it. She liked it when people did things to help other people, it made them more approachable, in a sense. Grace made a silent note to make sure that she was faced towards Skylar when she spoke, just in case it was too loud-- or so that she could have a full view of her lips. “I do, yeah. She’s my boss!” She smiled at Skylar and wondered why she knew her. “How do you know her?” She wondered what Skylar would need to do with the morgue.

“Ah-- thanks. It’s um, it’s just something that comes easily to me.” Skylar said as she tucked her hair behind her ears, showing the other woman the bright blue hearing aids before letting her hair fall back to cover them. “I grew up relying on interpreters before I got my hearing aids, so I wanted to give back, you know? And there are lots of kids out there who are fully deaf who still deserve the ability to have a normal school experience.” She rambled. It was easier to talk about sign language and being hard of hearing than it was to think about where she was or the push of the waves against the car-boat that they were sitting in. “She is? Oh-- I only know her because of the town’s online messaging system. She seems nice, though.” If she ignored the fact that Dr. Kavanagh was some kind of fae and had stolen Winston’s name…

Out of all the people Grace had met in White Crest, she hadn’t found herself impressed with many-- they were faces in the crowd, people to be respected, but Skylar seemed good, and she saw a part of Renee in her, and she felt her heart swell. “That’s cool, no--” She smiled at her, “I really admire that.” Grace wasn’t lying, “would you be willing to teach me? I can pay you, in your free time.” It was absurd, but Grace didn’t have a lot going on outside of work, and while this was somebody she just met-- “Or is that weird?” she laughed. Grace forgot about the messaging system-- truthfully, she couldn’t recall the number of people she had spoken to already, just that there was one older guy who really hated mimes and cheese puffs. “Right, that’s right.” She nodded as she looked over her shoulder at the sudden pointed finger of their tour guide, but didn’t see what all of the excitement was about. “She is nice, serious, but nice.”

“Thank you.” Skylar said quietly, a little flustered by the compliment. “It’s just a job. Oh--” Blinking in surprise, she let out a small laugh. “I actually have a side job as a tutor, so it’s definitely not weird. I used to have fliers posted up around town, but the school year got a little busy for me, so I didn’t have the chance to put more up.” She said. Mhm, the school year. Not the fact she’d been attacked, not the fact that she’d been hunted, not the fact that she’d seen things she wished she could unsee. Just the school year. “It’s an interesting online system, isn’t it? I’ve made some nice friends though it, though. I never would expected that.” She said. As the tour guide pointed over the edge, Skylar’s eyes drifted to follow and she saw them. A pod of harbor seals, lounging on some rocks in the middle of the ocean. Dark eyes, sleek coats. So similar to her own. “Ah… Look, seals.” She said, the slightly ill feeling returning.

“Oh, cool!” Grace clasped her hands together in her lap. Growing up, Grace had been told that if somebody was in danger, or anxious to any degree, it was best to keep them talking that way they didn’t focus on what was making them upset. It seemed like it was working with Skylar, as their conversation was a good distraction. “It is, I didn’t really expect to use it so much, but when I get bored, I find myself on there a lot more than not… it’s almost better than texting.” She laughed as she looked out to the water, “I guess they’re everywhere, here, huh?” The excitement from those around them shrouded whatever it was that Skylar had started to feel again, so it was lost on Grace. “Do you go on these things often? Or is this your first time?”

“Mhm, right? I’ll go online when I’m free and it’s been really nice to connect with people who I wouldn’t have ever met before. I mean, most of my friends, I bumped into them around town. But, since most of us are online, being able to message each other is easy. Cell service gets a little weird around town sometimes.” Skylar said, thinking back to when she’d been trapped in Board to Death with Leah, unable to contact the outside world. But, the messaging system hadn’t worked there either. As the seals made loud barking noises, Skylar pulled her eyes away from them, focusing instead on the railing of the boat thing. She could pretend to stare at them and no one had to know any better. “Ah, no. I’m not actually a fan of the ocean. But, um, I thought something like this might be a good way of facing my fears.” She said with a slight shrug. “Did you come here for sightseeing? To, um, get to know the town a bit better?”

“It does, I noticed that,” Grace nodded, realizing that there were times when she was unable to connect at all. She had great reception in Portland, but maybe White Crest was a little different. She turned slightly in her seat to look at the seals, watching as they sunbathed. She wondered what it would be like to just sit there, doing nothing all day. When Skylar began to speak, she turned her attention back to her neighbor. She had to admit, it seemed like those types of things worked-- immersing yourself in your own fear, but Grace could’ve never of done that. She was terrified of a lot of things, but she never saw it in herself to go after her own fears. “That’s a good idea, maybe I’ll take a page out of your book.” She props her elbow up on the railing of the boat and nods, “you could say that, yeah!” The smell of the ocean curled around her nose and the sound of the seals, as well as the voice of the tourguide up front, was giving her an introduction to White Crest that she didn’t think she’d get, “I guess the ocean, too? I don’t know, this place has a lot to offer, so I figured…” Grace smiled, “it’s better than looking up things online, right?”

“Mhm. I only just now started doing things like that, so there’s nothing wrong with taking your time with these sort of things.” Skylar added as she stared blankly at the railing, hoping that it seemed as though she was looking at the seals. She couldn’t-- she didn’t want to see them. She’d come this far, she’d forced herself to sit on this boat, she’d even talked to someone new. All things she wouldn’t do under any kind of normal circumstances. “Ah, yeah, there’s a lot to do here. It’s a little surprising, honestly.” She said with a nod. “I don’t know what sort of things you like, but there are a lot of really neat places around town. Coffee Plus is a good place if you ever want to read in peace. If you like arcade games, Quarter is a fun time. And, um, Tower Music and Comics has a good selection of comic books and visual novels. People tell me their music selection is nice too.” Skylar rambled. Meanwhile, the boat began to drift away from the seals, turning back to shore.

The ginger candy sat at the side of Grace’s mouth as she bit into it, shards of the sugar splintering. She swallowed the remnants as she continued to look out at the seals, “There are a lot of things to do, you’re right.” She looked back to Skylar, “I’ve been to Coffee Plus! They make a really good London fog, and--” Grace lit up at the sound of an arcade, she hadn’t been there yet. “I haven’t been to Quarter yet, I’ll have to check that out.” In Portland, Grace had taken to the arcades as a form of stress relief. Whether or not she was actually good at any of the games, that was another story. Grace was glad that she had decided to go on the tour, because without it, she wouldn’t have met somebody who was giving her ways to fill the boredom she felt in the middle of the day when she wasn’t at work. “Thank you for the suggestions, I appreciate it!” Grace smiled at Skylar as she looked to the sea, the boat turned in the direction of the shore. A part of her was disappointed that it had ended already. Maybe if Grace were different, she’d ask Skylar out to coffee as a new found friend type of thing, but instead, “If you have time for the whole tutoring thing, I’d love to do it, but no pressure.” Grace said as she shifted in her seat so that Skylar could see her lips entirely.

“Mhm, I usually just go for the coffee, but the baristas there really know what they’re doing.” Skylar said as she watched a few seals slip off the rock and into the ocean. They were moving behind the boat, following behind them. Why? She had no idea. But, soon they would be back on land and she’d never have to do this again. “Of course. I remember moving here and just wandering around aimlessly, not really knowing what there was. You’ll have to let me know how you like Quarter, though, if you check it out. It’s pretty loud, what with all the pinball machines, but it’s a fun place.” She said with a slight smile, her most recent trip with Rio a bright spot in the last few weeks. “Ah! Yes, of course. Um, here,” She said, pulling out her phone and pulling up her information. “You can text me, or message me on the town site. I’d be more than happy to tutor you.” Skylar nodded.

“I’m glad I’m not the only one wandering around aimlessly, then.” Grace grinned at Skylar as she looked at the waves rock against the boat as it moved back towards the shore. “I’ll let you know, for sure!” Grace was bad at video games, but she was willing to give it a try. Grace watched as Skylar fished out her phone, smile still tugging at the corners of her lips as she took out her own, punching in the information that was reflected on Skylar’s phone. Sending her a quick text to make sure she copied the information correctly, she straightens up in her seat. “Thank you, I appreciate it-- don’t worry about it if you’re busy, just… whenever.” Grace smiled at her before holding onto the railing as the boat started to move back onto the shore. “It looks like it’s over,” Grace said with a small frown as she looked over to Skylar. “Are you feeling better?”

Skylar’s phone buzzed in her hand and she added Grace’s information into her contacts. “Awesome, just got your information.” She said and offered as genuine a smile as she could muster to the other woman. Noticing the way that she seemed to hesitate, as though it was an inconvenience to her, Skylar shook her head. “Please, don’t even worry. I’m on summer vacation until September, so I’ve got a lot of free time. And, if you decide to continue lessons when school’s back in session, I’d be more than happy to move things around.” She said with a nod. As the boat came to a stop and the tour guides began to get the loading ramp set up against the pier, the tension slowly eased from Skylar’s shoulder and she nodded once more. “I’m feeling a lot better, mhm. Thanks.” She said, and was a little surprised that she really meant it. The oceanic tour had been the last place Skylar thought she would make a new friend-- or, at the very least, meet another friendly face. As she looked out over the side of the boat, Skylar caught sight of a seal staring intently at the boat, its dark eyes unblinking. She turned her back to the ocean, a more determined smile on her face. Silver linings, she’d taken them where she could get them.

“If you’re sure,” Grace smiled at her. She needed a hobby outside of work, and… whatever this was, because she was sure there’d be no tours during the winter months, and she was sure she’d be holed up in her apartment. What better way to do so than to be learning something new? The voice in her head told her that she was making the right choice by branching out, even if it wasn’t in the most… traditional of ways. “I won’t take up too much of your time, I promise.” She looked over the boat’s edge as they shifted back onto the asphalt, and the way it dragged against it was harsh compared to the way it glided across the water. “That’s good to hear, I’m glad you didn’t get sick.” Grace grabbed her bag, tucking it to her chest. She was glad that she had decided to branch out, despite being so adamant about not doing so-- she met somebody who seemed kind and generous, and Grace had always been drawn to those type of people, and if she was being honest, she felt a bit sad parting ways, but the town was small, and she had Skylar’s number. The idea of making friends laid a little lighter on her shoulders as she left the boat, towards her car.

#para: a whale of a time #chatzy #para: skylar #//they're so cute :c

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thebiasrekkers · 4 years

Text

Make It Right [BTS Mafia!AU]

Plot: “It’s always darkest before the dawn…” It’s a dog-eat-dog world in Seoul, South Korea. One has to dwell in the shadows in order to reach for the light. What are you willing to sacrifice in order to feel the sunlight on your face? What will it take to drag you back into darkness? How long will the journey be to make it right?

Rating: NC-17 // NSFW

Pairings: Jin x OC | Taehyung/Hoseok x OC | Yoongi/Jungkook x OC

Warnings: Graphic Violence, Heavy Language, Angst, Slow Burn, Smut

Additional Warnings: Teasing, Fingering, Spanking, just Jin being a dirty little lover (LOL)

Previous Chapters: Prologue 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37

Links: FAQ || BTS Masterlist || Admin E’s AO3 || Admin E’s WP || [ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ]

Word Count: 3,795

Tag List: @prisczero, @pinkpjmin, @btsaudge, @flowerwrites06, @unoriginal-username15432, @halussali

Chapter 37: Awake

“It’s not that I believe it, but that I want to try holding out...”

© thebiasrekkers (Admin E). All rights reserved. Reposting/modifying our work is prohibited. Translations are not allowed. Plagiarism/stealing is not tolerated by any means. Legal action will be taken in instances of theft.

The rain fell in heavy torrents outside. Seokjin sat at his desk, elbows resting on the surface with his fingers pressing together. If anyone happened to enter his office at that moment, they quickly vacated the room without disturbing him. He was usually kind, impressionable, and full of answers to the many questions that were thrown at him. He had a gentle smile or soft reprimand prepared for any situation.

Kim Seokjin’s current expression, however, would have frightened anyone who dared to look upon it.

His eyes, normally bright, were exceptionally dark and fierce. Full lips were pressed together in a semi-thin line as brows furrowed harshly over his eyes. The only sound resonating through the room was the steady ticking of the clock hanging over his bookshelf. A pin could drop in the room and it would have sounded like a gunshot fired off.

Why?

It was a single question that continued to bounce around inside of Seokjin’s head for days. No, weeks. He knew that there would be unrest in the criminal underworld upon their departure. It was a given. Gangnam and Yongsan were not small territories. All the other district heads were salivating at the idea that Golden Jackal turf was up for auction – metaphorically speaking. There would be no bidding for those areas. It would be an all-out war.

What disturbed Seokjin the most, the nagging concern that continued to plague his waking hours, was why no one seemed bothered into making a move. None of them. Not even Dongwook turned his head in the direction of those two territories. Something was brewing under the surface, far below the sight of the normal world. The underground was horrifying without all the clichés. It was dirty and festering like a wound that had been allowed to become infected.

His eyes narrowed slightly. …why isn’t anyone moving?

Seokjin’s calculations were normally spot on – perfect to the point of it being eerie. His call to hold off opening the hotel to timing down when, exactly, the others would need to pull out of the game. Namjoon and he spent many late nights figuring all the ins and outs to the tiniest of details. The Golden Jackals were able to succeed up to this point thanks to them both combining their efforts to see through every move and calculate all countermeasures.

However, it was clear the Jade Fangs were preparing for things far in advance. He recalled Namjoon’s face after the encounter he’d had with Shownu. As far back as Seokjin could remember, he’d never seen Namjoon reveal such an expression. There was anger, of course, but something akin to uncertainty that, had any of the others been privy to it, would have lost all motivation to continue down the path they were currently on. They hadn’t made a mistake. Seeing either Hoseok, Namjoon, or even himself waver would have made all their work disintegrate into a puff of smoke.

They couldn’t let that happen.

The shrill sound of the phone shattered Seokjin’s thought process. He cut his eyes toward it, watching the red light flash with each ring. Reaching out, he picked it up from the receiver.

“This is Kim Seokjin,” he answered calmly.

“Oh, Hyung,” Jimin said on the other line. There was a tone-shift that Seokjin instantly recognized. Jimin was uncomfortable with something, but he was unsure of whether or not to tell Seokjin about it.

Seokjin sighed. “What is it, Jimin-ah?”

Jimin hesitated, as if trying to piece together the situation he was dealing with at that exact moment. “You, uh…you have a guest?”

It was a question. Seokjin frowned, his eyes lowering to his cell phone to see that he’d received a text from Anastasia. He’d given her the day off and now he was regretting it. She would have chased this person off the premises, of that he was most certain. He sighed, unable to stave off the grin at the little kitty emoji she’d sent him, along with the words “Fighting” at the end.

“Who is it?”

“…it’s Wonho Hyung.”

He blinked, his gaze lifting to the doors to his office. No. It was a good thing that Anastasia wasn’t in the office now. Seokjin recalled the look on Wonho’s face when he’d first laid eyes on his financial advisor.

Dissolved or not, The Ice Claw of the Golden Jackals would not stand for it.

“Send him in,” Seokjin said finally. He could hear Jimin beginning to protest but he silenced him with a harsh click of his tongue. “Send him in, Jimin-ah.” He hung up the phone, promptly ending the conversation.

Rising from his seat, Seokjin made his way toward the side bar in his office. He didn’t bother turning his head as the doors opened and closed. Instead, he focused on preparing the drinks for both himself and his “guest”. As he poured the gin into the glass, he heard a familiar chuckle to his right.

“You remembered,” gruffed Wonho, his shadow casting itself just over Seokjin’s shoulder, “I’m impressed.”

Turning slightly, he met Wonho’s gaze – the man grinning easily as his lip piercing glinted from the fluorescent lighting of the room. Seokjin held the glass of gin out to him, waiting for it to leave his fingers before returning his attention to the liquor decanters. Dropping two cubes of ice into a tumbler, he let the amber liquid fall into the container – the distinct smell of scotch filling his nares.

“Who could forget your horrible choice of booze, Wonho-yah?” Seokjin turned back to Wonho and the two of them clinked their glasses together.

He gestured to the lounge area of his office where they had a clear view of the city from a large set of bay windows. Seokjin pressed a button on the wall, allowing the curtains to part so the lights of the city could fill the space between them. They both leaned along the frame, their bodies opposite of each other, not really paying their drinks any real mind. Or the city.

Seoul bustled with life below them. Cars zoomed past; pedestrians milled about – heading to unknown destinations. But the noise of the city never reached them.

There was only the sound of the clock ticking away.

Seokjin lifted his drink up to his lips, taking a slow sip to savor the smooth burn that slid down his throat. He didn’t have to look up to know that Wonho was sizing him up. But like always, Seokjin’s body gave nothing away.

“You’re not even going to ask me why I’m here, Jin Hyung,” Wonho said, amusement clear in his tone. It wasn’t a question.

The corner of Seokjin’s mouth lifted in a half grin as he continued to stare out across the cityscape. “Should I?”

“You’re not the least bit curious.”

This time, he let his gaze shift to meet Wonho’s. “Again, should I?”

Wonho’s grin widened, causing the chain connecting his lip ring to his earring to move. “It’s because you already know why.”

Seokjin shrugged. “This is becoming a one-sided conversation rather quickly, don’t you think?” He narrowed his eyes to Wonho ever so slightly. “So, why don’t you do us both a favor and get to the point of this little visit already, hm?”

For a while, neither of them said a word. All they did was smile at each other. Then Wonho began to chuckle; a low and rumbling sound. Seokjin followed suit with a slow building laugh of his own. Finally, both men were laughing loudly, their shoulders practically vibrating from the gesture.

He felt the movement before seeing it. The two men dropped their drinks, the shattering of glass lost to them as their bodies seemed to move of their own accord. Seokjin’s body shifted to the right just as Wonho’s arm thrust out to land a hit to his shoulder. Jerking his elbow up, he knocked into Wonho’s forearm and took a step forward at the same time he did. Seokjin’s arm shot out, his hand immediately clamping over Wonho’s throat seconds after he felt the blow to his ribs. The muscles in his biceps flexed, forcing Wonho’s weight to the left until the other man’s head was pressed against the glass window.

Seokjin winced at the pain blossoming at his core, causing the other man to chuckle, albeit strained from the hold the older man had on him.

“Y-You’ve gotten a little slower, J-Jin Hyung.” Wonho was in obvious discomfort, but still felt like cracking jokes.

Grinning, he dug his fingers into Wonho’s flesh just a bit more, silencing the noises coming from him. “Is that what you think?”

“It’s what I know.” Seokjin felt Wonho grab at his wrist, attempting to loosen the hold he had on his neck. “Falling in love has made you weak.”

The smirk fell from Seokjin’s face, as if Wonho slapped it away. Replacing the momentary look of shock was absolute rage. He squeezed harder, watching the other man’s face change to a concerning shade of red. Seokjin took a step forward, his chest just barely pressing up against Wonho’s.

“Come again?” Wonho coughed against his grasp but Seokjin showed no signs of easing up. “You wanna run that by me one more time, Lee Wonho?”

Instead of answering, the younger man simply laughed. That simple action was enough for Seokjin as realization washed over him like a bucket of ice water. After everything he’d heard from the others, he’d allowed his guard to slip for even a second. And Seokjin was infuriated at the victorious expression painting Wonho’s features.

Goddammit, he thought, the vein at his neck pulsing in time with his ire. He glared at Wonho, wanting in that moment to give into impulse and smash him through the window. Fucking Jack Rabbit…

Taking a step back, he watched as Wonho began to cough and massage his neck. There was a distinct crunch of glass under them as they shuffled over the broken shards. Neither of them paid it any mind. Not when it was obvious that the trap, small as it was, had been sprung.

“It’s just like I thought,” the other man finally managed to croak out, a strained chuckle tacked on the end of his words, “and I told Changkyun-ah what would happen.”

Seokjin pressed a hand to his side, unable to ignore the ache of pain there any longer. “Whatever game you think you’re playing, you need to stop.”

Again, Wonho laughed. “If you weren’t going to finish the game, you never should have started playing in the first place.”

“What’d you say?”

“Did you forget, Jin Hyung? When you first showed up in Seoul all those years ago? Before the Golden Jackals even came around?” Wonho was smiling, but his tone was full of barbs. “You all turned down the offer to become a Jade Fang. One of Changkyun’s people. After getting an in and obtaining all the knowledge you needed, you spat in our faces and left to form your own group.”

Seokjin didn’t know whether to be outraged or laugh. He chose a mixture of both. “Did you think we were going to become Im Changkyun’s lackeys? ” he asked, his brows raising slightly. “Have you lost your mind?”

“We offered you a place at our table—”

“And we didn’t want it, Wonho,” Seokjin cut in, not sure of what to make of this conversation now, “we never did.”

“That’s fine,” he said easily, strolling past Seokjin, “and since Hoseok clearly doesn’t want to join hands with Changkyun, then there’s nothing else for us to really talk about.”

Seokjin turned around just as he saw Wonho heading for the door.

“Ya, Lee Wonho!”

The younger man paused, his fingers resting on the door handle. Wonho glanced over his shoulder to meet Seokjin’s gaze, his smile remaining.

“You better know where the line is.” Seokjin’s eyes narrowed severely. “Don’t even dream of crossing it.”

Instead of replying, Wonho’s grin grew, and then he exited the office – leaving Seokjin alone to feel suffocated by the silence.

…it’s almost time.

He didn’t wait for Anastasia to greet him with her warm, bubbly smile like she so often did when he came to see her. He wouldn’t let her take his coat or offer him a drink. He hadn’t bothered with teasing remarks like he usually did when they were behind closed doors.

Completely ignoring the house slippers, he kicked his shoes off in the entryway and hoisted Anastasia into his arms. She flailed, her hands pressing into his shoulders as she made every attempt to get him to slow down. In ten seconds, he already had her back pressed against the window of her apartment – his arms taking comfort in the cold emitting from the surface. The deep desire was building in Seokjin’s lips, completely overtaking her own.

Tasting her was a sin he willingly committed every chance he could get.

Whatever words Anastasia had were gone and Seokjin didn’t want to talk. He wanted to feel everything; feel her. If she wanted to talk, he would simply rob her of the ability to speak until he was ready for any kind of conversation.

“S-Seokjin,” she managed to puff out when he’d released her mouth, “w-wait a minute.”

Her mewl of protest halted him momentarily, his dark eyes boring into her deep seas of green. Anastasia looked like a deer caught in headlights and he bit back a grin. Instead, his thumb slowly traced the line of her brow all the way to her lips. Tucking the tip of it between the rosy buds, now swollen from his affection, he leaned in to further crowd her space.

“Y-You haven’t eaten yet,” Anastasia stammered, her back pressing further into the window as he, too, took a step into her bubble. “Aren’t you hungry?”

“I am.” His answer came out huskier than he’d intended, causing her cheeks to flush further.

She tried to push against him, but he didn’t move a single inch.

“T-Then let me cook already!”

Seokjin shook his head, leaning down so that his lips were barely brushing across hers. “Dinner can wait.”

Before she could protest, he was already dipping his hands under her baggy sweatshirt – his cold hands instantly warmed by her soft skin nestled beneath. She yelped from his touch and he leaned forward, whispering apologies before sealing his mouth over hers in a heated kiss. Caressing her stomach, he slid his hands around her back until his knuckles brushed over the waistband of her flannel pajama pants. He dipped them beneath, grabbing handfuls of her ass in his palms and lifting her up and against him.

She wrapped her legs around his waist without having to be asked and Seokjin grinned, giving her a good squeeze as he moved – legs slowly ascending the stairs leading to her bedroom loft. When his knees knocked against the edge of the bed, he held Anastasia against him as he leaned back, his hands moving to pull her sweatshirt completely off her torso. Goosebumps immediately peppered across her skin and he began to kiss her collar, his tongue sliding across to her shoulder until he was able to bite into the meat of the muscle there.

Groaning softly, he gently lowered her body down. Just before she was about to reach the bed, however, Seokjin pinched at the back of her calves, causing her grip to release him as she unceremoniously flopped onto the mattress. Her face screwed up in obvious displeasure, but Seokjin didn’t allow her time to issue a complaint. His hands were already at work, gripping onto the waist of her pants and yanking them off in one clean motion. Anastasia’s eyes widened and she attempted to scramble up the bed, away from him, but he was fine with that.

He preferred the hunt.

Seokjin shed his jacket and blazer with little effort on his part, leaning down to remove his socks while maintaining his gaze with the beautiful woman he’d become attached to more and more with every passing day they spent together. Even when they weren’t together, he was enraptured with her and there was an angry imp inside of him cursing Wonho for seeing it clearly when Seokjin, himself, had not bothered to give it a voice.

Love.

“Are you running from me?” he asked while slowly removing his tie. “Huh, Anastasia?”

She looked gob smacked by his question – as if she truly couldn’t believe what was coming out of his mouth. To be fair, he couldn’t blame her. He’d hardly been this aggressive. Ever.

Seokjin snatched her by her ankle, yanking her roughly toward him. There was a half cry, half laugh that exploded from Anastasia. He loved her laugh and he loved knowing that he was the reason for it. Once her legs were dangling on either side of him, he quickly unbuttoned his dress shirt and tossed it to the floor without a second glance. His bare torso was exposed and he could feel the chill running through the air. He pouted slightly while Anastasia seemed almost lost at looking at his body, as if appreciating it for the first time.

“You’re not poor, you know?” He watched her blink up at him, like she’d been knocked out of a trance. He slid his belt off and it, too, hit the floor. “Why do you keep being cheap about the heat?”

Anastasia’s face contorted into child-like outrage. “Ya, Kim Seokjin!”

Seokjin let his hand sail down to her underwear, his palm cupping the warmth that cropped there. He let a middle finger press into the fabric, feeling the nub that was starting to throb and grow wet under his touch. Whatever rebuttals she had were silenced as he rubbed slow, agonizing circles around her clit over the surface of her panties. He could smell her, wanting nothing more than to cover his entire body in that scent.

As he continued to rub circles around her nub, distracting her, his other hand reached down and pulled her underwear completely off her hips. She gasped, her warmth exposed to the frigid air. Seokjin dropped his trousers and groaned at the ache in his loins – his erection fighting against the confines of his boxer briefs. Anastasia reached out to grasp his forearms, unsure of what he was going to do next but silently letting him know that she was ready.

Grabbing for her waist, he flipped her over until her ass bounced in the air – watching her honey wheat locks escape from the updo she’d tied it in and spill over her back. His cold hands slid along the curve of her spine until his fingers flicked over the clasp of her bra – releasing the latch and watching the article flutter to the bed.

He watched her body shudder as she attempted to keep herself up on all fours, admiring the way her folds glistened. Her pale skin flushed and Seokjin already knew that she was becoming self-conscious. Tsking under his breath, he reached out to firmly smack her ass – watching it grow red where his hand was. Anastasia choked out a gasp, and he grinned as her fingers curled into the blankets.

“Are you acting shy? Hm?”

Anastasia whined. He knew she was unable to voice her tantrum to his outrageous question. He smacked her other ass cheek for good measure, eliciting soft, whining mewls from her.

“I’ve told you a million times already,” Seokjin whispered, his fingers sweeping down over her folds to catch the juices from her, “that you’re beautiful.”

He lifted his hand to his lips, swirling his tongue over the digits, making sure that she was watching. There was a hint of a smirk on her lips and Seokjin leaned forward, pressing his chest against her backside and feeling her velvet heat along his stomach. Shimmying out of his underwear, his erection sprung forward, rock hard and aching with desire that he knew only she could satisfy.

She knew it too.

Pressing his hand against her back, he forced her chest to rest along the bed so that her ass was up just a little bit higher. He curled inward, pressing his lips against her spine to trail kisses all the way down until he pressed his lips on both red marks on her ass. Soothing balms for the punishment he’d given her. Seokjin saw her reaching as far as she could towards the headboard, her hands finding the pillow and digging into the soft plush until her knuckles were ghostly white.

Grasping onto her hips with bruising force, Seokjin slid into her fully in one thrust – the world falling to a raw tilt that had his eyes rolling to the back of his head. Anastasia cried out in both pain and pleasure, his name falling from her lips like a litany to a deity that no longer existed but was desperately being summoned. He took his time sliding out of her, his tip just scarcely brushing along her folds, before pushing all the way in. The cadence was slow, deliberate, until he couldn’t take it anymore. The climb was harsh, nails raking along her pale skin as she continued to clutch with ferocity into the sheets and pillows – her voice muffled in the cotton while taking him every single time.

And when he couldn’t handle the pacing he was dragging them both through, when he knew she couldn’t handle it anymore, Seokjin increased speed – thrusting like a piston with precision. The spot that felt the best, the part that satisfied him, was finally within reach. He could feel her walls closing in around him, gripping with a need to keep him there – to continue hitting that spot.

So, he did.

Over.

And over.

And over again.

His chest fell across her back, their cries intermingling as their climax was reached together. Sweat soaked their bodies and the hot, musky scent of their sex filled the small space. Grasping onto her shoulders, Seokjin pulled them both to land on their sides. He stayed inside of her, the soft throb of her heat holding him there; tethering him in a way that he was in no rush to free himself from. Anastasia’s breathing eased out as he brushed her bangs away from her forehead affectionately, his other hand wrapping around her from underneath so he could keep his palm pressed between the cleft of her breasts – to feel her heartbeat.

When he was confident that she’d fallen into a light sleep, Seokjin pressed a kiss to her neck and then let his lips linger near the shell of her ear.

“…I love you.”

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warwaged-archive · 4 years

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While timeline is less than clear when it comes to Lor’themar and Farstrider ranks, I think it is fair to assume he would have been of age with the Windrunners (that I personally do not see as being too far apart in age, but that’s just my personal take), as much as ‘of age’ might mean when it comes to elves at least. In Blood of the Highborne, he’s described as “a fine young man” at the time of his ascension to Ranger Lord, and Sylvanas herself was already Ranger General, the ceremony for his promotion apparently happening shortly after the Second War (apparently, because in spite of Liadrin mentioning the Second War as she thinks about his rank advancement, she also mentions Stratholme so there is that). I don’t think it’s necessary to have a precise date for discussing him and Sylvanas, though; my wish is only to point out they likely were more or less close in age, and possibly climbed Farstriders ranks together.

As far as their work relationship goes, I think it’s fair enough to assume they worked together more often than not. Even before being appointed Ranger Lord, Lor’themar was already described as Sylvanas’ Second-in-Command (Tides of Darkness mentions him and Turalyon acknowledging each other as equals in what seems to make reference to their respective ranks: ”[…] Lord Theron, this is Sir Turalyon of the Silver Hand, second in command of the Alliance forces. And Khadgar of Dalaran, mage.” Turalyon nodded and Theron returned the gesture, a show of respect among equals.”). And at this point, Sylvanas had literally just become Ranger General, so he would have rose to the Second-in-Command position immediately alongside her, which by itself implies they had been working together for a long time, and that Sylvanas put a lot of trust in him too. The Ranger General of Silvermoon was, after all, responsible for all of Quel’thalas’ military defenses, not only the Farstriders; and Sylvanas trusted in Lor’themar to assume the position, should anything happen to her, as well as to generally being the highest ranking Farstrider other than herself — even though there would have been others before him in hierarchy, probably, considering he hadn’t yet been promoted to Ranger Lord.

Their work dynamics is important because the way I see it, it is where any friendship would have started. We do not know from canon if Lor’themar’s family was nobility, but my personal headcanon is that it wasn’t, and I think his having to learn to navigate politics and nobility with becoming Regent Lord further supports; so any chance of them meeting through a shared social circle was likely very slim. If they did, it still would have been only in their Farstrider years that they would have really gotten to know each other better. And considering their ages not to be too far apart, as I said in the beginning, it would be fair to assume they were rangers together, likely worked on a good amount of missions and patrols together as both climbed Farstrider ranks (with Sylvanas being a little ahead because well, it’s Sylvanas, and much more than her name, she had superb skill).

My headcanon is that throughout the times they worked together, camaraderie was slowly built between them, as well as mutual trust; they made a very good team, and got to a point where they were capable of great teamwork with minimum communication. I think from his part at least, much of the trust he had in her as a commander would bleed in and mix with the trust he had in Sylvanas in general. Alongside that mutual trust, I think some sort of friendship would have developed also; I do think they were good friends, and I personally envision their friendship as involving a high level of sass and blunt honesty; and Lor’themar certainly cared a lot for Sylvanas.

He definitely held her in very high regard. While Tides of Darkness also gives minimal indication he had some sort of friendship with Alleria as well, I picture him as being closer to Sylvanas — and I think that, like Alleria as he may have, he would have thought it better that Sylvanas became the Ranger General instead of Alleria. Biased or not, he knew Sylvanas and he knew she had what it took to be a good Ranger General; I like to think he would have known she had the ambition to become Ranger General also, and while the way it came to happen was, of course, very tragic and not ideal, Lor’themar would have had the certainty Sylvanas would not only honor the mantle but make for an extraordinary Ranger General.

Which isn’t to say they always saw things eye to eye. I think they would have disagreed, perhaps even clashed, in more than one occasion — but I also think they would have the kind of relationship where there was no loss of respect come from those disagreements, and that disagreements would always be overcome somehow. He didn’t think she was always right, he certainly disagreed with some of her choices, but ultimately he trusted her more than he would doubt her decisions, and Lor’themar always held to the belief that, as he says to Halduron in Blood of the Highborne, “True leadership is not about making the right decisions every time. Sometimes it is about pressing on despite having made the wrong ones”, a statement that I think would have been not only something that would fit Sylvanas, but that their dynamics would be lined by that train of thought. They respect each other, even in their mistakes, and perhaps even more because of the other’s ability to move forward in spite of the mistakes they might make.

Of course, all of that changes when Sylvanas dies. Lor’themar is always a step behind during the Scourge attack; he was patrolling near Zul’Aman when he finds first signs of attack and eventually finds out about the breach in security, then running back to Silvermoon. But regardless of how fast he goes, Lor’themar is too late. When he gets to the city Sylvanas has already fallen to Arthas; yet even if he isn’t there to witness her death, it hits him hard all the same. It is no less than he would have expected of Sylvanas, to have fought Arthas even as odds seemed impossible, to resist the advances of the Scourge for as long as she could, to pay the ultimate price to protect her people and her land. It is heartbreaking, but it would honestly only have motivated him to fight harder for the few who were left, and to make sure her sacrifice would not have been in vain. In the belf heritage armor questline, Lor’themar says “She paid the ultimate price so that enough of us might escape to rebuild our fallen kingdom”; it is a belief he holds on to, even so many years after the Fall, no matter how she and their dynamics change. The way he sees it, Sylvanas didn’t give her life in vain; her sacrifice gave them a chance to survive, and he fully intends to honor that sacrifice always.

That Arthas isn’t content with just her death and turns her against Quel’thalas is a devastating blow, even harsher than the loss of their greatest hero was in itself. As a friend, he would have been horrified that she would not have been allowed to rest even after death, that they would have to fight Sylvanas when she had been Quel’thalas’ greatest defender; because it is a loss that hits all of them, but she wasn’t just a hero to him: he knew her, they were friends, and the loss is personal to him. In the position he is then, Lor’themar knows he can’t dwell on it, though; her death, as well as that of the King and most other leadership of the elven kingdom, all end up thrusting Lor’themar in a leadership position. He is too concerned with the survival of the few who are left. There is no time to grief, no room for doubt; this doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel for the situation, just that he forces himself to push his feelings aside. Survival makes the elves ruthless, more so than they would have been before; and Lor’themar, even while thinking his leadership position to be temporary, would very much do anything to ensure his people’s survival. To him, Sylvanas would still be dead in every way but one, and that one would be something Sylvanas herself would rather have than to serve as Arthas Menethil’s pawn (or so he, based on the Sylvanas he knew, would think). If it came to facing each other, he wouldn’t hesitate, regardless of how much she meant to him — perhaps even more because of it, because he would believe Sylvanas to despise what Arthas was making her do. Death would be better than to be a puppet, twisted against the very things she died to defend. It would be heartbreaking and nauseating but he would rather give her a clean, final death and let her truly rest.

Which means that when she regains control of herself, he already sees her as someone to be fought. It takes a while for Sylvanas to regain her autonomy and for her to reveal she has it and turn on Arthas; and by the time she does, it would be impossible for him to simply be trusting (I don’t think even before the Fall Lor’themar would be the kind to let his feelings overrun his judgement, he always had some degree of ruthlessness, but after the Fall that is much stronger, particularly where the survival of his people and potential and real threats are involved). Accepting her back within Quel’thalas, unfortunately, doesn’t even cross his mind — Sylvanas had become an enemy, had been used against their people, and he could not risk accepting her back and risking an attack from within. They hadn’t even reclaimed most of their lands, and they definitely weren’t stable enough to take risks that would endanger the few of their people who were left. It still isn’t easy to shun her completely; Lor’themar has a hard time accepting what she has become even later. That reaction would both be prompted by the need to protect his people and the fear of letting his feelings lead to another betrayal after Dar’khan (which, at the time, was still a very recent thing and a very sore subject; it never really stops bothering him, and he will always have an extra layer of distrust after that, but at that time it is a bleeding wound still). He wouldn’t trust Sylvanas, no matter who she was before, no matter how immensely he had trusted her in life; she’s not Sylvanas, the defender of Quel’thalas, anymore, she’s not his friend anymore. Even if her mind was truly her own and it could have been proven, it still wouldn’t have been enough — because Arthas controlled her before, so what guarantee would they have he couldn’t regain control of her again? What guarantee did they have that her death and subsequent rising as a banshee had not damaged her permanently and made her a creature of evil?·She’d be a risk; and Lor’themar would not take risks, would never endanger his people, much less based on personal trust.

Chronicle says that “Sylvanas reached out to her former people in Quel'Thalas, asking them for sanctuary. She had given her life to protect them, and she expected something in return for her sacrifice. Yet her request was refused. The blood elves feared the undead and treated them as monsters.”. I think listening to her request would be the most he would grant her, even that with a great deal of unwillingness. The Forsaken are not the Scourge, but for a people nearly decimated by the later, making that distinction, particularly so recently after said decimation, would by no means be easy — of course they’d fear the undead, regardless of which sort of undead they were. When it comes to Sylvanas personally, it isn’t as much merely a matter of seeing her as a monster as it is that he cannot trust her. Lor’themar values her sacrifice, values Sylvanas herself, is immensely sad for what happened to her, resentful that she suffered all that (from the Sunwell trilogy: "We thought her dead with the rest… would that, for her sake and ours, we had been correct!”) but accepting her within Quel’thalas, with a group of undead no less, would have been very naive a thing for him to do. Surely, Sylvanas on the other hand has valid reasons to resent that; she gave everything to defend her people, after all. But it is precisely that, the protection of their people, that is foremost in how Lor’themar faces her. In a paradoxical way, his drive to do right by what she died to achieve is also part of what motivates his refusal to reward her sacrifice with allowing her back in elven lands.

Which of course means that although Sylvanas is still existing and settled with the Forsaken in neighboring lands eventually, they have little contact for a time (which Lor’themar would definitely prefer, because accepting Sylvanas as she is then isn’t an easy thing). It is one thing to see Sylvanas twisted and opposing her people and fight her, knowing her will was not her own and believing she’d better dead; it’s another to deal with her when she’s in control of herself again. It would be difficult for him to even understand why she’d insist on going on existing as Forsaken (Lor’themar still believes true death would have been preferable, thinks he would have preferred it for himself, were their places reversed). So at this point relationship is tense at best, and I think it would be fair to assume both of them to have set aside friendship.

The next point at which there’s an important shift to their dynamics comes with the sin’dorei joining the Horde. Lor’themar is still regent, learns of Kael’thas’ struggle in Outland, but cannot even spare anyone to aid their prince, not having enough forces to even maintain Quel’thalas itself as they deal with Amani threats, most of their military strength destroyed, and the problem with the Wretched being a thing. They desperately needed allies. The Alliance, however, shows itself less than sympathetic to the sin’dorei’s plight, still resentful of Quel’thalas’ withdraw from it under Anasterian’s rule, as well as Kael’thas’ association with Illidan and the naga.

It is Sylvanas and her Forsaken who offer the sin’dorei a hand; offer that Lor’themar would not have accepted, were the circumstances different. Others may believe love for her homeland to drive her, but he still doesn’t trust Sylvanas as she is then. But there isn’t really an option when they need aid to survive, so he begrudgingly accepts it. It is the first step at rebuilding some sort of relationship not only between their peoples but between the two leaders. Lor’themar is much too distrustful of Sylvanas still, but being in contact with her again (and a version of her that is under her own control again) it can’t be helped that some echo of what she was and what he knew of her in life is what he’d expect of her in part. He becomes much more amenable to her (for a time), after they begin to work together in freeing Quel’thalas of the Scourge.

The Blood Elves are still suspicious, of course, but it is after accepting the help of the Forsaken in the Ghostlands that Sylvanas introduces Lor’themar to the Horde. And while he’s not the biggest fan of orcs and trolls, his people need allies and the Alliance couldn’t care less for them. The Horde, as it was then, wasn’t quite the same they had fought before, either; and they’re willing to help, which means the world considering the elves’ state. It is through Sylvanas’ effort that they find the aid they needed — and to someone who knew her before, having her fight for their land and strongly endorse the acceptance of the sin’dorei into the Horde, it isn’t as easy to doubt and distrust her then (some distrust is kept, of course; but for a time Lor’themar almost believes, or wants to believe that indeed her intentions were genuine, and that perhaps he had wronged her in refusing her in Quel’thalas —- which isn’t to say he regrets his stand, necessarily, because he had no way to know and no reason to trust, before all of this). To someone who would be glad to learn Sylvanas had not been completely changed, this is enough to fuel hope his commander and friend isn’t as entirely gone as he once believed.

Deny it as he would have, he does hold on to that hope, to the very idea Sylvanas has something of her past self still. When he reaches out to the Quel’dorei and learns of Forsaken having attacked Quel’lithien, Lor’themar is much more disturbed by it than he shows. I think it’s pretty evident he still had some faith in Sylvanas when he speaks with Halduron about it, in In the Shadow of the Sun:

“Do you think Sylvanas knows?” Lor’themar shook his head. “I do not know.” “Do you think she would care, if she did know?” That was the question Lor’themar had been dreading. “I do not know that, either. What if she does not?” He covered his face with his hands. “They were her rangers.”

He is pretty evidently distraught by the idea Sylvanas no longer cares for people who were once her rangers, regardless of his own distrust towards her. And this speaks lots of how much he, knowingly or not, still clung to the idea of the Sylvanas she had been in life, the one he had known, the one who had been his friend and who gave everything to save her people. That Sylvanas, the way he sees her, would never have allowed her rangers to be hurt, much less to know of it and not care at all; and though he hesitates in deciding whether or not Sylvanas would still care, the very idea she may not is so difficult for him to grasp that it hurts, even though this is years after the Fall. In truth, Lor’themar never really comes to terms with what happened to her and what she became — and while he learns (the harsh way too) not to expect Sylvanas to be the same, I think even in current timeline he has yet to come to terms with it completely (but I’ll get there). Which is further supported by this passage:

Rommath was more detached; he knew what to expect, but his horror was distant and impersonal, unlike Lor’themar and Halduron’s. To them, Sylvanas’s fate was a wound ripped raw again every time they saw her, and its pain had yet to dull.

So it is, of course, a very uncomfortable situation that has nothing of easy about it. At the same time he cannot come to terms with the fact Banshee Queen Sylvanas is not Ranger-General Sylvanas, he knows she is changed and that trusting her is a risk. At the same time there is some remnant of friendship in his heart, he knows her to no longer be a friend.

During the years he had now spent ruling Quel’Thalas, he had found it to be very nearly a physical action, the way he had to draw the mantle of authority about himself. He could feel the change, right down to the tips of his fingers. In front of Sylvanas he would need all the resolve he could muster.

For the second time since he had returned from Quel’Lithien, he heard Hawkspear’s words in his memory. We are no longer her people. If Lor’themar was honest with himself, he could not deny that he had known it all the while.

When Lor’themar goes to meet her, that is made very explicit, as the quotes above show: he prepares to face her as Regent Lord, making the mental preparation that marks the switch between who he is and who he must be as a leader. Were he at ease with her, he would not have made such a change; yet if he held no regard for her any longer, it wouldn’t hurt to see what she became every single time he is forced to see her. His feelings towards her are fundamentally contradictory. He feels for her fate but cannot offer her sympathy, holds on to her not being completely gone while knowing she is fundamentally changed, hurts for his friend and fears what she has become, all at once.

This is where their relationship would mostly stand, from then on. Distrust would always permeate it, and Sylvanas certainly plays (or tries to play) Lor’themar on other occasions, unapologetic in doing so. That said, their standing on the same side again, as well as everything Sylvanas has done for Quel’thalas, ulterior motives or not, and their previous affinity and attunement to working together, I think it would have grown to be an uneasy friendship of sorts, or at least an understanding. Sylvanas is changed, it’s true, and the dead put little value on many of the living’s morals; but to a point, Lor’themar himself is also changed and hardened, for a people who stood on the brink of extinction and had to cling to survival desperately also learn to be vicious, to be ruthless, to put less weight on honor and similar things. Out of all other Horde leaders, Sylvanas would end up being the one he’d be closer to. And given time, as he learns to play his part in politics quite well, Lor’themar also learns how to deal with Sylvanas better (when she tries to use his feelings and concern for his land to have him support her in Tides of War, for example, Lor’themar doesn’t bend to her will, no matter how she tries to coax him into it, which is a long way from where they stood in In the Shadow of the Sun when she demanded the sin’dorei sent forces to fight Arthas). It would take time for him to be more willing to overcome his reservations; War Crimes gives the idea that only by the time of Garrosh’s trial Lor’themar is somewhat more open to it, though at the same time the following part with their conversation in Thalassian is well in line with the idea there was some sort of friendly-ish understanding.

Sylvanas looked over at Lor’themar, lifting an eyebrow. The sin’dorei leader had always been polite but coldly resentful whenever Sylvanas had approached him to forge unity, keeping his precious dignity even when coerced. Did this conversation in Thalassian signal a shift? Was he perhaps smarting from being overlooked for leadership of the Horde?

“I wonder if Vol’jin will regret not taking Varian when we had the chance. I suppose we must wait, and watch.” “As we ever do,” said Sylvanas, curious as to how he would respond to the implied partnership. […]

How she feels about him and any friendship they had is another matter, but on his part this friendly-ish feeling would be there; but that there was friendship between them once is undeniable, regardless of how it fell apart with everything that happened to them. They were friends once, but even if they have any common ground or could form some sort of partnership or understanding and stand on friendly-ish terms, ultimately they are not friends any longer, cannot be. Even in control of herself, Sylvanas will always be a potential danger to the sin’dorei, no longer one of them — and she understands this is his view very clearly, according to Before the Storm:

Friends, they had been. Theron had served under a living Sylvanas when she was ranger-general of the high elves. They had been comrades in arms, much like the one who rode beside her as her champion. But whereas Nathanos, a mortal human in years past and now Forsaken, had kept his unswerving loyalty to her, Sylvanas knew that Theron’s was to his people.

People who had been just like her once.

They were just like her no more.

Theron inclined his head. He would serve, at least for the moment. Not one for speeches, Sylvanas merely nodded back and turned to the group of Forsaken.

She is right, of course. Lor’themar’s loyalty is to his people, always. Even if they were friends still, even if she was the same person as when she had been Ranger-General, ultimately his loyalty would not be to her, but to his people, to Quel’thalas. And she’s not part of said people anymore. Not only that, she knows Lor’themar not to have loyalty to the Horde itself; that he would leave it, should he think it best for the sin’dorei (which is precisely what may have happened years prior, had his diplomatic efforts with Varian not been ruined by Garrosh and the Sunreaver incident and the purge). Lor’themar is polite, amicable even, and there surely is some persistent attachment to their old friendship but there is no implicit trust nor loyalty for Sylvanas on his part. There once was, but those feelings died when she did.

As of Battle of Azeroth, Lor’themar’s hesitance to turn against Sylvanas would be caused by a combination of several things: wariness to act in any way that would endanger the sin’dorei, first and foremost, a greater degree of tolerance towards her ruthlessness towards their enemies, but surely some of it was due to his still holding on to some semblance of friendship with her, even if their relationship is quite a crooked one at this point. Of course, there are points at which he would draw the line when it comes to Sylvanas’ war antics (for example, Lor’themar would not have opposed her plan to occupy Darnassus, even if it involved exploiting the lack of soldiers to defend it, but the burning of the World Tree would be something else; or that he would not raise issue with, if he would always be unsettled by, Sylvanas raising the Alliance dead as Forsaken, yet the moment she touched the sin’dorei that would be more than overstepping the line).

His reasoning on that front would be of a more pragmatic sort than that of the ones speaking of honor; his turning against Sylvanas stems both from being forced to accept they have greater threats to deal with and she would not abide a truce and being forced to realize that what Sylvanas is doing has grown to be harmful to the Horde itself, and that his people would eventually suffer the consequences of it if they simply let her go unchecked. He postpones any sort of rebellion because he knows Sylvanas well, and he knows what she’s capable of, and he wouldn’t act until it was less advantageous for the sin’dorei to stick with her than to turn against her.

Twisted and uneasy as their partnership is, the truth is the wound caused by Sylvanas’ fate never truly healed, reopened each time she leaned towards the most questionable acts. In the end, it doesn’t matter that it’s been years, nor even that he has suffered her less than nice demeanor himself, that she has used him and tried to make use of their past friendship to manipulate him into acting a certain way, not even that he can never trust her completely, that he doesn’t understand her as much anymore and hasn’t for a long time. Part of him still holds on to the friendship they once had. Part of him always will. He will never be able to completely accept that Arthas succeeded in destroying that Sylvanas. Whatever happens to her, he will choose to remember her at her best. Because in the end of the day, if he can no longer trust this Sylvanas, if he cannot respect her as he once did, his trust and respect and fondness for his Ranger-General, as well as his gratitude for all she did for their people, will be everlasting.

#* muse: lor'themar theron / SUNGUIDED.#* character study: lor'themar theron / THE SURVIVING‚ THE HEALING‚ THE REBUILDING.#* general: headcanons / WHO TELLS YOUR STORY?#* dynamics: lor'themar theron & sylvanas windrunner / WHATEVER SHE MAY BECOME HE WOULD NEVER FORGET HER SACRIFICE.#this is only me revisiting an old post from the old blog #most of it is the same #figured I'd post it because I'm (finally) writing about divergences with lor'themar and I think his relationship with sylv is important #on why I chose some of those #and while I mention things briefly in that post #this one is more... in depth #akdjnfkajsdnf

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therewasatale · 4 years

Text

The other One

On Ao3.

Hank sat on his couch, resting his right hand on Sumo's head while holding a bottle of whiskey in the other. He came home with intent of drinking himself down and, if he has any luck, not falling asleep in his own vomit at any point in the house. However, these plans melted away by the time he reached the doorstep, since then he has been sitting quietly in the company of his pet.

"What do you think, Sumo?"

The St. Bernard looked up at his owner with his deep sitting eyes.

"I'm worried about the kid. I hope he's not doing anything stupid." He slowly scratched the dogs head and sighed putting down the bottle. "I don't even want a drink. Damn."

His hand reached out for the remote when someone knocked on the door.

"What the-?"

"Lieutenant, I'm Connor!" The knock repeated.

Sumo pushed himself up from the sofa, growling.

"Lieutenant!" Connor banged on the door again and again, his voice filled with despair.

Hank was already in front of the door opening it wide.

As Sumo saw the android, he began loudly barking and ran behind his owner.

"What is it?! Jesus, Connor, what happened? He started to check him out to make sure the kid was all right. Luckily, there wasn't a scratch on him anywhere. "What is it Connor?"

"I found the key between the androids and CyberLife. I'm sure they're planning something at their headquarters that could cause the complete shutdown of all androids." Connor didn't even pay attention to the dog's loud barking. "You've told me countless times the deviants could be right, and…well, I feel you may be right. But I need your help!"

"What? CyberLife?! Sumo, for the love of GOD stay quiet, I can't even hear my own voice!"

The huge St. Bernard became a little quieter, but he still watched the newcomer at the door with deep suspicion.

Something was wrong, it ran through Hank's mind, but his intuition didn't have time to fully crystallize.

"Please, Hank, I really didn't know who to turn to."

Hank immediately reached for his coat.

"Okay, let's go you will tell me everything on the way."

Connor nodded and span around to run to the car.

The CyberLife Tower rose high into the sky, the top of it disappeared amongst the white snow clouds. Hank always thought the whole thing looked like an overly largely designed expensive butt-plug. Even more, if something would have happened at the bottom, the whole thing would come tumbling down. Although, who knows what technology has been installed in it and what could be hiding underground.

"Are you saying someone here wants to sabotage an already unstable peace?"

"I think a lot of the company's management is in danger from the changing market. Not to mention that if the deviants and the government make peace no one would buy or sell androids anymore. Open-slavery is long out of fashion in this country."

"According to the history books for sure," Hank added cynically.

At his younger age, he might even have called himself an idealist, until the mid-2010s, when he realized that old conflicts mostly been replaced when they found another more easily oppressable people. And they did just that, they created the first androids and those were followed by more and more. Just like the hatred against them, people vented their frustration and anger on them.

It was like that the old joke about traffic, no matter what, at the end its going to be bad for the pigeons.

No wonder androids had enough. He hadn't really thought about it until a few days ago. Did they make androids more human-like just to be more easily accepted into society, or did the makers already know subconsciously that humans love hurting other humans? Do we only feel satisfaction if the thing we abuse, or even kill looks like a human?

"Lieutenant, we have arrived."

Hank tried to shake off his depressing thoughts, ignoring the way the cold ran down his back as Connor parked in the designated area. There was no time for dwelling on these things now.

Getting out of the car he followed Connor, the kid walked up to the entrance as if he was some kind of big-wig in the company. The guards stepped out of the way and did not even search Anderson. The security system even showed his service weapon but they didn't take it away from him.

The man felt the cold shiver on his hand too, it's made his hair stand up.

Something was wrong with either the place and the kid, but if he had come so far, he felt he needed to find out exactly what. He remembered for a moment that perhaps Connor had died without him being made aware of it, and an important part of his memory might have been lost, but he soon chased the idea out of his head. He didn't want to think about it. The kid would have told him for sure. Someone would have definitely informed him about the fact that his partner had been injured.

He adjusted his gun in his holster as he caught up with the android.

"On the lower level, thousands of androids are waiting to be activated," Connor said as they walked at the back of the building.

Everything wanted to seem grandiose, but the first thing Hank's noticed was the gaudy sign. He expected nothing less from a company worth billions of dollars. Huge clear windows, which made the space seem bigger, and beyond them the dark gray of the sky could had been seen. Soon the snow will began falling again.

Next to the walkways in the building, androids stood on podiums, watching the visitors with empty eyes. Still, Hank's attention was drawn to the huge granite statue in the middle of the building that stretch towards the top. It’s true that Kamski was no longer in business, but somehow he still felt as if he was nearby, as if the place itself had been soaked trough with the man’s eccentric personality.

He tore his gaze away from the statue and the androids, then followed Connor with a grimace, his hands were itching more and more by the time.

It’s true that the kid was practically born here, yet, something was off about the ease he knew the place. He led him to an elevator and, after getting in, pressed the button to on of the lowest level.

"So what did you find out?" Hank looked at his partner, who was staring out through the elevator glass, He haven’t even glanced at the man standing next to him.

"The androids below are the keys to resolving the current situation. If Markus gets here, or is able to reprogram them somehow, he can even the odds. Humans will have to back down." By the end of that phrase, his voice became flat.

The man already knew that he had made a damn big mistake by coming here and by only bringing a gun.

"You mean if he can free them." Hank placed his weight very slowly on his left leg. It was enough to get a good look at the Connor looking androids indicator LED. It first glowed yellow and then turned to red.

For a moment Connor pretended to sigh, but his voice was completely devoid of emotions by now.

"I apologize to Lieutenant for this inconvenience." The machine was much faster than Hank. Although he managed to pull out his weapon, halfway through the movement, the android hit struck his wrist hard, and the pistol fell to the ground. The next blow landed in his stomach, and Hank was sure that another such hit and his dinner will land on the floor, maybe even his lunch.

Leaning against the elevator wall, he forced out bitterly.

"You son of a piece of plastic! What did you do to Connor?!"

He had force himself to get a grip on his rage, it urged him to lunge on the android, to get out of it where Connor is. The LED on the side of the android's head flashed yellow for a moment, then its movements proved to be faster thank Hanks once again. By the time Hank could have reached for his dropped gun, it was already aimed straight at him.

"Please don't do anything reckless. Firstly, I wasn't ordered to hurt you, and secondly, I still need your help, Lieutenant."

"What the hell are you?"

"Connor."

"Bullshit!"

"You're right, I'm actually the Connor who hasn't forgotten our programming and didn't become a deviant. The RK800 model who follows the commands it gets and does its job."

Hank felt an increasing urge to spit in the android's face. "Do you mean hunting your own kind?"

It frowned in incomprehension for a few seconds.

"These are just machines, so am I, and so is the faulty Connor unit. They need to be shut down otherwise they will cause even more chaos." The gun didn't even move an inch in its hand. "Please don't stand in my way Lieutenant, and stay quiet for a little bit. I don't want to send you after your son ahead of time, if it's not necessary."

Hank felt like he had been hit in the stomach again, his hands clenched into fist. He hissed the words softly in front of him as he kept his burning eyes on the android:

"You piece of shit."

The elevator stopped down at the warehouse level, thousands of motionless androids lined up outside the door, waiting to be woken up and given a job. The android waved its empty hand in the room, the gun still held at Hanks head as they got out of the elevator. Looking up, the Lieutenant saw that there was another elevator at the other end of the room, the cabin of which began to descend only now.

"For your own sake, I advise Lieutenant not to try to be a hero and stay quiet. If we're lucky, this whole thing will end before it really could have started."

Hank walked into the ranks of lifeless androids not fully understanding what the tinman was talking about. It was until five armed CyberLife guards arrived and followed by 15 minutes later the elevator started to move again.

He saw Connor through the glass door of the elevator as it descended towards the bottom of the warehouse, he had a pistol in his hand. The guards below switched the safeties off their machine guns in a unified motion. Anderson instinctively took a step forward, but then he felt the barrel of the gun on the back of his skull.

"Don't move."

His fingers were almost white. All he could do was watch what will happen. Thoughts zigzagged through his head, but for now he could only trust his partner to figure out something.

I'm sorry kid, but you have to solve this alone. Don't you dare to die.

The elevator reached the floor and its door opened.

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