#an au i want to write where i have so much liberties while ripping off favorite pieces of media i like | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jimlingss · 3 years

Note

It's B from @bang-tan-bitches and I would like to request a yandere fic. It can be BTS OT7 x reader or BTS member of your choice x reader. Similar to your amazing isekai story i would like something similar(a long one shot or a multi-chapter, your choice). Whether YN transmigrates to a game or a novel (not as a villain but maybe as a cannon fodder side character that has little importance to the story and just wants to lay low) but YN captures the attention of the love interest(s) and shit starts getting weird, intense, uncomfortable. Maybe it causes the supposed female lead to turn into the villain, maybe it causes the love interest(s) to turn into the villain(s). Maybe YN realizes that something is wrong with the story/game but can't figure it out. Idk. Time period doesn't matter. Modern. Ancient. Fairytale. Fantasy. Whatever.

If you can do this great! If you can't or don't want to, that's okay too. You're an amazing writer with so much talent and I'm really appreciative of all your work. Thank you for taking requests from your fans, I'm sure you've received a lot.

Take care! 😘💜💜💜

at the start of the pandemic, I was getting back into manga and manhwa and then after a few months, I dawdled off but recently, I’ve been getting back into it again haha so this request came at a pretty good time. Hopefully you won’t mind that I’ve taken some creative liberties with this request lol I think it’s more fun if I keep readers on their toes, including the requester.

On another note, I really shouldn’t be writing all my isekai’s with Taehyung as the main lead but he’s just so fitting asdfghjkl

↳ The Fox Bride

2.6k || 99% Light Fluff, 1% Angst || Kim Taehyung || Isekai!AU, Slight Yandere!AU, Nine-Tailed Fox!Taehyung

You are a tutorial character.

But you weren’t always. You still remember being a career woman in the twenty-first century, struggling with overtime and paying bills while trying to keep yourself fed. The success of that ranged from month to month. But more importantly, you still remember that night too.

It was rainy. Your car blew a flat tire. You pulled to the side of the highway and got out.

The last thing that registered was the deafening honk of the semi-truck.

Then you felt yourself flying upwards.

But when you landed, instead of colliding with the concrete and dying upon impact, you fell back onto your ass in the middle of a market on a dirt road. Transported back a thousand years ago.

Your purpose was fulfilled in the next two minutes.

“Are you alright?”

The male protagonist had stretched out his hand and helped you up. The hero. The main character. It was obvious with his bright red hair, shining eyes and bronze armour. He was so starkly different from the rest who were gray and drab, including you who was suddenly in a brown shapeless dress. He was practically a neon billboard in the middle of a graveyard.

“Are you Y/N?”

You looked at him, befuddled that he knew your name. But before you could even respond or provide a line of dialogue, he said, “This is a delivery from Baker Jeon. He gives you his thanks.”

The protagonists handed you a loaf of bread. Undoubtedly his first ever quest.

You looked down, not sure what to do with it.

“Do you know where the blacksmith is?”

You had absolutely no clue. But there was the deafening noise of hammering steel literally ten steps away. You would have to be blind not to see the gruff man shaping a sword at an anvil right on the road and deaf not to hear it. As if that wasn’t enough, the literal sign of the shop read: ‘the blacksmith’.

So you pointed.

“Thanks.” And he trudged off.

You were utterly confused until a background character who said they knew you waved you over. You shared your bread with her, brushed aside when she asked you what was wrong, and you followed her as she walked up to your supposed cottage.

All the while, you saw yourself in the background of the hero’s main quest as he ran through the town.

And that was that.

It wasn’t so hard to figure out where you were or what the hell this was when you put your mind to it. Without much of a job or a family, and no technology but the candle that you had to conserve when night fell, there was ample time.

So you spent it thinking and you eventually solved the mystery.

You were in Beast Boys Harem: A Forbidden Embrace. AKA. a dumb yaoi otome game app that you downloaded on your phone when you were sixteen and bored. You remember because you were too cheap to buy the routes, so you played the tutorial, prologue and read the summaries of the routes online. Now you regret that you didn’t just fork over the goddamn five dollars.

Even more than that, you regret that you even downloaded the game in the first place.

But at least you’re just a tutorial character. You’re free from the storyline and the plot—

That’s what you thought.

Turns out living a thousand years in the past in a fantasy realm as a woman didn’t bode well. It was probably no different from how it would’ve been like in the medieval ages. You had no trade skills. No one was willing to accept you as an apprentice when you were a woman. You found that you were essentially illiterate with a reading level of a preschooler, no one was willing to teach you, and you had no power or wealth when you were without a father or a husband.

And you’re certain what the landlord and tax-collectors are doing is illegal.

But in this world, in this unjust realm, there is no such thing as the law.

“We know you’re in there!”

You jolt from the heavy pounding on the frail wooden door.

“It’s time to pay up!”

Your hands tremble as you set the candle down that’s still billowing of smoke, the flame smothered out mere seconds ago. As much as you want to hide and pull the blanket over your head, you know that door won’t last. They’ll find you if you’re trapped in here.

“If you can’t, spread those legs of yours!” a low voice spits and there’s chortling from the men.

Someone adds, “Sell your body already!”

“Open up! Damn whore!”

Without a single possession but the white nightgown clad on your body, you open the latch of the back window. You cringe at the squeak, trying to keep your movements quiet before the door gives way.

You hoist yourself up onto the window ledge. The door bends with the strength of multiple clenched fists against it. Your feet touch the soft grass outside your cottage. The men shout.

And the door finally slams against the wall, hinges broken.

But by then, you’ve slipped into the shadows.

“Where is she?!”

The blanket is ripped off the bed, curtains are whipped back, every drawer dumped onto the ground and cupboards yanked open. The floor shakes with the weight of their boots and you press your palm to your mouth to silence your panting breaths, slowly stepping away.

“That damn whore slipped through us—!”

But as your shitty luck would have it, a sudden crack has the whole world coming to a standstill.

Shit. You look down at your feet, realizing that the snapping noise came from you stepping on a twig. And it’s exposed your hiding place.

“There she is!” — “Out the back window!”

You grab fistfuls of your dress and bolt.

“Get her!”

With your cottage on the edge of town, there’s nowhere to run but through the dense woods. It’s shrouded in the darkness, no doubt filled with wild beasts creeping through the thicket. The rustling canopy of the trees doesn’t allow the dim, waning moonlight to illuminate your path.

So you’re left blind. Struggling up the high incline of the forest, feet slipping on dirt and mud. But you keep sprinting with all your might, even when the pointed, coiling branches scrape at your calves until blood sheds and the hem of your dress tears in the underbrush.

“Run, little rabbit!” one of them mocks, “Run!”

The four men continue to give chase, gripping onto their roaring torches, shrieking and howling after you. One of them is manically laughing as if your efforts to flee only adds to the thrill. Their greased hands reach out to snatch you, but the tips of their fingers graze the ends of your hair.

Your teeth are sunk into the bottom of your lip, sobs breaking through your aching chest. Your lungs burn, dying for a break or moment of relief. But you don’t relent and luckily, you manage to build distance between you and the men. Only, that luck comes crashing down by a fucking hole.

A hole in the forest floor that you don’t see. That has your footing all wrong. That makes you scream and fall.

You twist your ankle in a direction it’s definitely not supposed to be in and cry from pain.

A second later, you force yourself to get up and keep running with tears flooding your eyes and dripping down your cheeks. But it’s more like limping than running, akin to hobbling on one leg and every movement has pain shooting from your swelling ankle.

The effort becomes futile. They surround you within minutes.

“All finished?” The tax-collector’s head cocks with a spreading grin. “You’re not going to keep running?”

Why couldn’t you just fucking die the first time?! Even if it was an awful death where you didn’t have time to prepare yourself or say goodbye to anyone, at least it would’ve been the end. At least you wouldn’t have to suffer.

But there’s no time to grieve. Or hate the new life you’ve been given. This is it. You have to keep going. You have to survive. By any means. You’re about to pick up a branch and uselessly wave it around at them, shout at them to stand back. Anything that you could do to save yourself—

“Who dares come onto my mountain?!”

There’s a deep timbre behind you. A husky voice that quivers the very core of the forest.

As if the wind has swept through, the trees and thicket rustle and it goes silent.

The men fall back onto their asses, some torches clattering to the ground. Their eyes have grown double in size, nearly falling from their sockets and their jaws have dropped to the dirt.

“I-It’s the nine-tailed fox!”

The man scrambles back.

“Demon!”

Another barely manages to get onto his feet. He turns around and lurches away while shrieking.

They all run. Scattering away as frantically as cockroaches when the light is flickered on.

From your spot on the ground, you turn around with wide eyes.

Amber irises meet your gawking and they practically glow in the darkness of the forest. He is dressed in a loose, white robe that’s draped over his frame, open to the middle of his chest. And over his honey hair, on the top of his head, his pointed golden ears twitch. By the torch fire still yet to die out, he is illuminated and his shadow is casted on the ground. The blazing flame warms his cold, sharp features.

He is the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen. In both worlds you’ve lived in.

And you know who he is.

Taehyung. One of the love interests of the hero. A seductive, sly creature that eventually coaxes the hero into selling him his soul to grant one of his wishes. But Taehyung grows to become an obsessed character that wants to do nothing but monopolize and possess the hero for himself.

That same Taehyung approaches you with his lip curled as you teeter to your feet.

“Run away, girl.” He leans close. “Before I eat you.”

“Stop!”

On sheer instinct and adrenaline, you push him back. Your palm shoves against his firm chest.

Taehyung stumbles back with his eyes becoming rounded. He looks down to where you had made contact against his body. “Did...you just touch me?”

“What?”

Taehyung’s head darts upwards and he captures your wrist in his hand, squeezing tightly. He tugs you in and on your swollen ankle, you stumble into him. Bodies flush against one another. Your face pressed to his warm chest. His arm coming around your waist to break your fall.

He is aghast.

“You’re not from this world.” Taehyung’s yellow eyes swirl as they gaze into you. “Where did you come from?”

…

It’s been three days.

“Wed me,” he begs for the seventy sixth time.

You don’t know why you’re keeping a count.

“No.”

You’re hugging your knees for warmth. The rice paper-paneled doors are slid open and letting in the chilly air. He doesn’t seem to be affected by the cold, but you don’t look at him for long.

You turn into the corner of his home while sitting on the tatami floors as if you’re putting yourself into time out. But you’d like to say it’s your privacy corner. It’s as private as this abode, which was basically one room, could get.

Taehyung sighs in frustration, placing his hand on his forehead. His teeth grit. “You’re only making this harder for yourself.” Your silence angers him more. “You can never leave.”

You turn over your shoulder to glare. “Even if I married you, you’d never let me leave anyway.”

Taehyung narrows his eyes on you and then smirks. “You’re right. Wed or unwed, I won’t let you out of my sight. You should feel grateful, girl. You’re the best human I’ve ever treated.”

You quietly scoff.

Maybe you should feel scared. Maybe you should tread more lightly. After all, he’s not a character to be trifled with.

But you know he needs you. That alone gives you power.

As a beast, Taehyung’s been trapped on this mountain by priests for centuries. The only way he can be free is by feeding off of sexual energy and breaking the barrier. But of course, they also cursed him to be unable to touch any woman in this universe.

You aren’t from this universe.

You jolt when you realize that while you were lost in thought, Taehyung’s crawled closer. He has a foxy smile, amber eyes searching your expression. “Maybe….maybe I’ll grant you a bit of freedom if you would just give into the temptation and let me have a taste of you.”

As cold as he looks, he is beautiful. He is mischievous when he smirks and sly when he speaks. You are utterly spellbound as you look into his irises. And the temptation he speaks of flickers in the warmth of your belly.

But you turn away.

“I already said we only do that kind of thing after marriage. And I will only marry someone I love.”

Taehyung draws back with an unamused scoff. “What a prudish world you’re from.”

He wanted you the moment you were brought to this house. With the intensity of his stare and your captivated state, you had let him pin you to his floor and you liked it. But then clarity came and you blurted that such an act only happens after marriage. A lie just to buy time.

You didn’t expect for the hero to arrive at Taehyung’s house the next day. With his red hair and bronze armour, he had gotten lost in the forest and knocked on the door. Before you could limp over and answer it, Taehyung jumped off the roof and confronted him.

The guy was thrown off the mountain within five minutes.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. They were supposed to have a steamy rendezvous. Taehyung was supposed to get the sexual energy from him!

The story was going off the rails. And you’re not sure what you’re even buying time for anymore.

The both of you know it’s only a matter of time before you break and succumb to his mesmerizing seduction.

Taehyung is cruel, ruthless, obsessive.

But what’s the most bewitching thing about him is the jarring contrast of when he’s clumsy and nurturing. It’s what he regards as his own weakness. What he hides from others. But you felt your heart waver two nights ago when you were shaken awake in the middle of twilight. When you peeked open your eye to see him gingerly wrapping your swollen ankle with bandages.

He looked beautiful in the pale moonlight, ears, tails, sharp features softened—

“Ow!” You wince as he squeezes your ankle, right on your injury.

“You think too much in your head,” he says and looks at you. “What’s wrong?”

“It hurts.”

A sadistic smile tugs on Taehyung’s lips. He lets go, but only to lift your chin with his fingers. His plush lips are inches away, his breath warm on your skin and he gazes deep into you. “I won’t let you return to your world. I won’t let you run away. I won’t let anyone harm you.”

“You’re mine now.” Taehyung swears, “You’ll fall in love with me eventually.”

You gulp and he smirks.

The two of you know it’s only a matter of time.

#bts fanfic #bts scenario #taehyung fanfic #taehyung scenario #taehyung fluff #bts fluff #taehyung reader insert #taehyung x reader #taehyung fanfiction #LET'S GOOOO

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strawberryshroomz · 3 years

Text

Standing in the soaked and wet rubble of the community house, Tommy made a rash decision. He always made rash decisions, but he had to do something to prevent L'Manburg, his home, from being blown up for the third time.

As Techno prepared to leave, dark eyes flitting between each of the weapons pointing at him from nearly twenty people, Tommy shouted in a hoarse voice cracking with fear,

"Wait! Stop!" He dropped the axe of peace, the enchanted weapon forgotten as Tommy grabbed Technoblade's red satin cloak, its material slippery between his fingers, almost like his friendship with the man who wore it, who turned to face the glassy eyed teenager.

"What are you doing Tommy?" His voice was forceful, confused, but still angry… hurt. Tommy had hurt him, Tommy had hurt a lot of people he'd begun to realize, even someone he had thought unable to be hurt.

"Please… wait,"

"Wait for what? For all of them to attack me?" Tommy looked to the others who were still training their weapons at Technoblade.

"You've gotten what you wanted Tommy, your friend, your government-"

"Y-you're my friend too!" There were faint murmurs where it was tense silence before, Tommy could hear some talking about how he was a traitor. He ignored them.

For once Technoblade was stunned into silence, his black eyes wide as he blinked slowly.

"Please, Technoblade… Techno, you said you trusted me yesterday, so trust me now!"

"Why?"

"What?" Tommy was slightly taken aback by the single word response.

"Why should I trust you when you've stabbed me in the back and betrayed me not once, but twice after I helped you?"

"I… I…" He stumbled for an answer, and nearly fell forward when Technoblade ripped Tommy's hands from his cloak.

"That's what I thought, I'm pjust a weapon for you to use-"

"I'm sorry!" Tommy squeezes his eyes shut as he yelled, hands clenching into tight fists. "I'm sorry for everything, for being useless, for being a pain in your ass, I'm sorry that I rushed in here like an idiot, or that I went to your base to scrounge for supplies like a raccoon! I didn't know where else to go then and you were the strongest person I knew!" He fell to his knees, hot tears staining his already dirty cheeks.

"When Dream finally broke me in exile I didn't know what to do with myself, and when I finally had the chance to break free I went to you because… because I thought that maybe… just maybe I could actually be strong instead of weak against him like I always have been!"

"Toms," Tubbo's voice is soft, cutting through his cries.

"Just…" Tommy wipes his eyes pathetically on his shirt sleeve, barely looking up at the anarchist. "Just go… I don't need you to rub it in my face that I'm just as worthless as Dream and you said I was." Tommy hears a sigh, and shifting before his chin is being lifted to look at a much more tired looking Technoblade, one much more worn than he'd seen him, even when dealing with his own antics.

"Are you actually sorry Tommy, or are you just saying this to get me to stay?"

"Would it matter?" Tommy wretches his face out of the others loose grip, huddling up with his knees to his chest, sulking like a child. "You want to destroy L'Manburg. You said you'd do it even if I sat out, so why would you change your mind now?"

"... You're right, I did say that," He stands up, brushing himself off from the charred remains of the community house walls dusting the floor. Tommy looks back at him through his thin arms, watching him look at the people glaring down at him, weapons still trained. He sighs, tightening his grip on his trident.

"But I want to know if you're really sorry Tommy." His voice is still terse, like scolding a child… Tommy supposes he is scolding a child, him.

"I…" He fumbled, voice muffled by his arms. "I know I fucked up so many times. Destroying George's house and not doing what Tubbo said, stealing your things, um… making Sapnap release Mars… I - I know now…" He swallows down more tears, biting his lip. "I know now I'm just as friendless as Dream said because I never listen…" His voice grows smaller as he speaks, until it's barely a whisper.

"Tch, who cares what Dream thinks. He's just some homeless dude, and when did any of his opinions matter to you anyways?" Tommy flounders for a minute, unsure what to say at the grinning Technoblade offering a hand to help him up. No malice from what Tommy can see. He shakily accepts the hand, and he's hoisted to his feet.

"What?" Tubbo's voice is even more clear to Tommy now… Tubbo, who he'd betrayed and said was worthless to the discs… god, what had he become in that moment?

"Now don't go thinking I trust you fully, you didn't earn that trust back fully from the last time you betrayed me… but if you're really sorry Tommy… I accept the apology," Tommy stares wide eyed, unable to process what's being said to him.

"Besides, I don't trust Dream either. I just owe him a favor similar to how L'Manburg owes me for trying to murder me-"

"You set off withers! You killed countless-"

"What do you want us to give you as penance?"

"Well," Technoblade places a hand on his chin, Tommy still staring at the anarchist flabbergasted while Quackity argues with Tubbo in the background, others chiming in their two-sense.

"Well, I think I have two, small little things." Tubbo puts a hand up to Quackity, silencing him as he faces Technoblade again.

"What are they? Aside from L'Manburg's destruction…" Technoblade laughs, and Tubbo chuckles nervously with him. Tommy stares between them, mouth dry. Technoblade… had accepted his apology, and wasn't immediately killing everyone else either.

"Well, first, like Tommy here just did, I want an apology. I'm not a weapon or a tool, and Pogtopia used me to help overthrow the government to install just another tyrant," Tubbo flinches back, ignoring the yells of protest from others like Quackity.

"I speak for myself and as president, it extends for everyone else as well… Technoblade, we're sorry."

"For?"

"For using you for our own gain, and," Tubbo adds. "For hunting you down when you protested against this unfair treatment." Techno smiles wider.

"And the second thing, abolish your government."

"Woah, woah, woah!" Tommy cuts in, his brain catching up with him finally. "If L'Manburg doesn't have a government, how will we be a nation, how will we actually have a way to argue against Dream just taking us back and making us un-independent again?" Technoblade tilts his head at Tommy's outburst.

"You have your friends now again, don't you?" Tommy's jaw flaps for a few seconds.

"Yeah, but-"

"Alright." Tubbo cuts him off. Face resigned and tired, bags looking far more prominent than they had ever before.

"Tubbo! You can't be serious!" Quackity's voice cuts in for Tommy, and Tubbo gives the other man a tired look.

"Dream was right, I wasn't a good president. And how all of you stood back and said nothing proves he was right… we were wrong hunting down Techno, doing that only made him angry at us Big Q. So," He turns back to Technoblade with a sigh.

"I resign as president, but before I do I declare that no new presidents shall be elected and that there are no positions of power. We are all, truly, equals on the same ground. We still stand for freedom and liberty from tyranny. We don't need a government to do that."

"Tubbo, are you sure?" Tommy's voice wavers. "I'll stand by you, no matter the decision, but,"

"I'm sure Toms. I ask Techno though, you want us to apologize for what we did. I ask the same of you. The withers, the hostages, all of it you've done against L'Manburg, please." Technoblade considers for a moment, face dutifully crafted into a poker face as water drips on them all before shrugging.

"The hostages were probably a bit too far, so yeah, sorry."

"Don't lie to us either." Tubbo's voice is stern itself, tired, but stern. And Technoblade takes a second to nod.

"Maybe you aren't such a bad person after all… yeah, I'm sorry for the withers and the hostages." A quiet 'me too' comes from Tommy, looking down at the ground. Tubbo's shoulders relax as he lets out a sigh.

"So, you won't destroy L'Manburg?"

"No… but hey!" He grabs Tommy's wrist and throws them both up into the air with the trident propelled by the water around them. "We have a homeless green man to deal with who thinks I still got a grudge to deal with!"

A short "fix" it with the festival ending. I enjoy Techno's and Tommy's dynamic. But both of them, as well as everyone else, is flawed.

That doesn't mean that I think rehashing the same event for the destruction of L'Manburg with the same arguments of betrayal was a satisfactory or narratively right thing. I would have enjoyed a flip on what happened last time. Aka PEOPLE ACTUALLY TALKING AND USING THEIR GOSH DANG WORDS! Because what's a better way of showing character growth, other than actually flippin showing it on all ends. Not just on Tommy's or Tubbo's, but on Techno's too.

Also, sorry if anyone seems out of character, it was quickly written for me to mostly get my thoughts out of what I wish had happened (might make a comic when I get my computer. Not 100% though. Also might continue writing blurbs for this "fix" it AU too. Idk though.)

#i just really hate how it was just a rehashed bugger version of Wilbur's arc conclusion #but with less of the emotional impact on the characters doing it #like it was impactful on those in lmanburg but it wasnt on our quote unquote villains perspective #so yeah time to do what i do best and imagine what could've been and lament on tumblr dot com #dream smp #technoblade #tommy innit #tubbo #quackity #the festival #gonna tag these as #brighter future au #aka GODDAMNIT LET ME HAVE SOME GOOD CHARACTER INTERACTIONS WITHOUT FUCKING RUINING THEM WITH MISCOMMUNICATIONS

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utopianvoices · 5 years

Text

dating au | p.seonghwa

⤗ check my masterlist for other members!

how he acts around you

the “i’m rly smooth around you but dies when you’re not around” kind

the biggest flirt

will throw you pick up lines for every. single. situation

you trip over something?

“woah watch out... we don’t want you falling for anything else but me.”

you’re sharpening your pencil?

“life without you is like that pencil... pointless.”

basically anything you do, he’s got a pick up line for that

he does it so excessively that instead of showing you signs that he likes you, you just start to think that he does that with everyone else

and that you are no special

reader you aren’t the brightest crayon

the members definitely know what’s up tho

will threaten it out of him

“we’ll thrash the whole dorm if you don’t speak up right now.”

“the dorm already looks thrashed you’re not making a difference.”

but this isn’t about sassy seonghwa

this is about his crush on you

whenever you’re around, you’ll realise that they tease seonghwa and you every time he says something cheesy to you

you weren’t very good at reading people but you knew when someone was uncomfortable

no you don’t

and seonghwa looked uncomfortable when the members were teasing the both of you

but that’s just because he was scared you’d find out

so you took the liberty to clear the air

“guys stop that. seonghwa and i don’t like each other in that way.”

well ouch....... you just broke this big baby’s heart

how he confesses

after you broke his heart

he’ll be convinced that you had no feelings for him

and will stop with all the cheesy pick up lines

the whole atmosphere shifts 180 between the both of you

it gets really awkward when you both are in the same room that the members have literally gotten up and left because they couldn’t stand it

at first you thought that it was because he was stressed about something

but when it didn’t stop and just grew more and more awkward, you’d confront him about it

asking him if you did anything wrong for him to act so weird around you

and he spills the beans

literally

he was holding a can of beans to prepare for dinner and dropped the whole can when you asked him that question

rip beans

he just stares at the spilled beans and lets out a sigh, contemplating if he should tell you why he was acting so weird around you

you take a step closer to him, giving him the push he needed to say it

“i actually really like you. and after you said you didn’t have feelings for me i just thought that i should keep my distance.”

let’s just pause right there

and rewind a little bit

he likes you? and your dumbass thought you were helping him by pretending you didn’t have feelings for him so that it wouldn’t get weird

so you tell him just that

“i-i like you too. i just thought the boys teasing us together was making you uncomfortable so i told them that to shut them up.”

he immediately whips his head up and you can see the smile slowly spreading on his face

it’s the cutest you’ve ever seen him tbh

probably just beams at you until someone shouts at him to clean up the beans because it was going to attract roaches and they didn’t want mingi to start screaming

first date

most probably a fancy dinner

at a fancy ass restaurant

my boy here is a whole ass gentleman

with top class manners

holds the door open for you when you enter the restaurant, pulls out your chair for you, helps you with your napkin

just marry him

during dinner you’ll have such a great time together, talking about the posh people around you

at one point, you let out a loud laugh because of something seonghwa said, attracting rich glares from all the high-class snobs there, causing the both of you to laugh harder

after dinner, the both of you leave the restaurant and go to a nearby local shop for dessert, because he had just emptied his wallet for that meal and wasn’t going to spend another $10 on a tiny lava cake that wouldn’t be enough for even one of you

you both get ice cream and sit out in the open, carefree laughs filling the air as you exchange jokes and stories

once you’re done, he walks you home, shrugging the jacket off his shoulder to wrap it around you because it would be a sin to leave out that classic first date move

walks you all the way to the door and just stands outside with you, none of you wanting to leave each other

which leads me to my next long-awaited point

first kiss

definitely planned it

he even made a small chart of the whole date while he was still back in the dorm

so there you were, standing in front of him looking cute af, waiting for him to say something

and he does

“can i kiss you?”

will not do it if you’re not ready for it

but who wouldn’t be ready

so you shyly take a step forward, indicating your positive reply, and he takes it as his cue to do what he’s been wanting to do the whole night

wraps his arms around you and slowly leans in, giving you the softest and sweetest kiss ever

your hands softly grip the front of his shirt as one of his hands moves up to cup your cheeks, his touch as light as a feather

when you part, the first thing that comes out of his mouth is “wow”, causing you to giggle shyly

and boy oh boy did his heart do a thousand flips at that sound

gives you a small kiss on your forehead before sending you in, not leaving until he’s sure you’re safe inside

it was one of the best days he’s had and 10/10 would do it again

first fight

this was the most difficult to write

because fights can happen anytime and anywhere because of anything

but one of the first few fights you’d have is probably because of seonghwa’s tidiness

you would have had a terrible day, and all you wanted to do was go home and sleep

but that wasn’t really possible because of seonghwa’s nagging, telling you to clean the place or do the dishes or wtv you were supposed to do

on normal days you’d just whine and get up and do it

but that day wasn’t a normal day

so you snapped, and it wasn’t pretty

you probably end up saying something hurtful

and he’d definitely be shocked at first, not expecting you to snap

slowly, as he goes over your words, the hurt seeps in and he leaves the room without arguing back because he knows it’s only going to make things worse

you definitely regret what you said right after you say it, but you give yourself some time to collect yourself before you head out of the bedroom to find your boyfriend

you find him sitting on the sofa, staring blankly at the tv

and oh boy do you feel guilty

scared that you’d be overriding his space, you sit down a safe distance away from him, fumbling with your fingers as you think of what to say

finally you just decide to keep it simple and tell him what went wrong and why you were being so mean

all while reinstating the fact that none of it was his fault and that you were to blame completely

maybe you shed a few tears while talking

seeing this, he just sighs and pulls you towards him, wrapping his arms around you while whispering a soft “it’s okay baby”

and maybe you cried more hearing that

because your man had a heart made of gold

you’d probably have to do the chores for the rest of the week as punishment though

favourite things to do together

he’d love love LOVE to build figurines with you

his gundam figurines

to him, it’s the perfect way to bond

his favourite is the petty arguments you both have over which way is the correct way to assemble it

when there’s a whole instruction sheet lying right next to y’all screaming “read me crackheads”

but where’s the fun in following instructions

he’d probably give in to your way, just watching as you happily try to assemble the figurine, frowning once you realise the you were in the wrong the whole time and that seonghwa was right

you’d never admit it though

“actually maybe we should just do it your way, since i’m feeling a bit generous today.”

plays along with you and you both finally finish assembling it

what takes usually an hour, takes at least three hours when it’s you both assembling it together

because y’all are always distracted

petty arguments over who’s right

and many many many stolen kisses

general affection

wouldn’t usually initiate cuddles but will never reject them

if u wanna cuddle then he was gonna cuddle the fuk out of you

you’d come back and just fall on him if he was laying on the sofa

or if he was in the kitchen, you’d just walk over and slump against his back, wrapping your arms around his waist

if you were already lying down, his arms will be around you, while your head rested on his chest, the both of you talking about your respective days

if you were to back hug him, he’d turn around in your arms and give you a soft forehead kiss that usually says “i’m busy right now but i’ll cuddle you later”

is honestly more of a kisser than hugger

keeps pda to a minimum—nothing more than a hand on your waist in public or in front of the members

but in private, damn

doesn’t know the meaning of the words ‘personal’ and ‘space’

will randomly kiss you

you could be walking past him and he’ll just pull you in and give you a quick kiss and pretend like nothing happened

i feel like he’ll be a very passionate kisser

other than pecks, when he’s really kissing you, definitely puts in as much emotion as he can

ᶜᵃⁿ ᵇᵉ ʳᵒᵘᵍʰ ᵗʰᵒᵘᵍʰ

definitely the type to combat jealousy by making out

talking about jealousy

gets jealous very easily

not that he doesn’t trust you, but he just doesn’t like the idea of others thinking of you in ways that only he should be thinking

other than the members, any other guy you talk to gets the stank face from him

unless they’ve earned a pass, which is pretty rare

but if he still ends up being jealous, you better prepare yourself to be attacked with kisses when you’re home

ᵐᶦᵍʰᵗ ˡᵉᵃᵈ ᵗᵒ ˢᵒᵐᵉᵗʰᶦⁿᵍ ᵐᵒʳᵉ ʷᵉ'ˡˡ ⁿᵉᵛᵉʳ ᵏⁿᵒʷ

#ateez #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #park seonghwa imagines #park seonghwa scenarios #park seonghwa #dating au series #dee scribbles #woooo my first ateez fic #hope y'all like it huhu #<33

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elejahfanfic · 4 years

Text

Hello Love

Fanfiction

Part 1

Pairing: Miguel Galindo x Elena Gilbert

a tvd crossover AU story

a/n: well, here is another fluffy fanfiction crossover story. This time all human. Since I am a huge fan of the vampire diaries - kind of always do crossovers with them.

As of recent I really started to like the character of Nick Amaro from Law&Order_svu, played by Danny Pino. I also love him as Miguel Galindo in Mayans MC... and so, in this story - paired with Elena Gilbert, of course, my favourite female character.

I hope you like it. Thanks for reading. xoxo

tag @miguelsbrat

♤♡◇♧

"The conversation ended really bad," Elena said to Caroline, "I can't breathe- I have this pain here"

The brunette put her hand on her chest.

"Elena-now you are exaggerating. You said the same thing when you broke up with Matt." Caroline was blunt with her oldest friend.

"This is different. I thought he was the one." Elena tried to make her point why she was so upset.

"Guys sleep around,you know that. Maybe not all, but - Damon is such a guy-ok-where is your bag, your keys? Come on we need drinks. Lots of Martinis! "Caroline helped her friend put her jacket on. Elena wiped her tears off.

"Come on, get into the car" The blonde huffed a bit.

Elena could not say no to her and she didn't want to. She needed her friends beside her and she knew that, even though they could not make the heartache magically go away, they will do everything to make her feel a bit better.

They drove off to a place called Liberty Park. Elena put her sunglasses on, to hide her puffed up eyes. She felt a throbbing headache now set in.

"A walk in the park and some air will help", Caroline chatted away, "so tell me- you went to his place and she opened the door"

"Yes - and he was like - oops, sorry - this here - Krystal being there - it just a mistake- I love you like crazy, yadda, yadda, yadda-URGH-sure he loves me like crazy- and then sleeps with her?!" Elena inhaled sharply now and Caroline could notice that anger was taking over. It was good. Anger was the first step of starting to deal with the situation. Or maybe not. But, at least she was not crying anymore.

"Anger is good. Let it all out." Caroline said in a supportive kind of a tone, continuing, of course with questions, "And so what did you tell him? Why did you get into the fight in the first place?"

"Well, about her! Whenever she calls, he just goes over to her place. I know that they have a kid,-and now I will sound like a bitch- and I love the boy! You know me. I love kids. I want to have at least three-huh"

"Maybe, she staged everything?!" Caroline then said.

"No, he actually admitted sleeping with her!" Elena said.

"Really?" Elena nodded, "Stefan said they broke up because she wanted time off to herself. She kicked Damon out, right?!"

"I think that he has never really stopped loving her. And they have a five- year old kid - and what was I thinking?!"

"Stop that. You fell for him. And it's not the end of the world. Come on now, you need a Maritni. I know I do!" Caroline now urged her to go to their favourite bar that was not far from the park.

To give Elena much needed girly support, Caroline now called their other three friends to join them. Dialling Rebekah Mikaelson's number first.

"Rebekah?! Yes, if you can-of course we are- will call Bonnie-can you call Yemaya?-Good-Yep-See ya."

"I want pizza and and a big load of Martinis, so I can forget everything!" Elena said as they sat down at a table.

Caroline now told the waiter to keep the Martinis coming.

Elena was a sensitive creature, full of dreams, pure emotion, a sweet soul. Caroline was a very pragmatic one, strong, very opinionated, but with a heart of gold. And she would do anything for her bffs, but also for all those who suffered in any way. No wonder she got a law degree.

"Why me? I loved him" Elena now ventured into the self pity zone.

"You just fall in love- and put all heart out there!" Caroline stated, "and usually with the wrong guys- just like me! But you will be cured. Bonnie will get the pizza. I'll give her a call."

Whenever there was a heartbreak, problems at work or family problems, the five would meet no matter what it was, they made a pact to be there for one another. But they also found time to get together to have a good time as well.

"Breathe now, Elena!" Rebekah said as she arrived a bit later, hugging her friend. "You will forget him! I promise you! Tomorrow it will be- Damon, who!?"

The waiter now served them another round of cocktails.

"Cocktails and pizza, seriously?" Bonnie said as she finally arrived.

"Elena wanted pizza?!" Caroline explained.

"Nevermind. What did you get?" Rebekah now said and opened the pizza box.

"Extra cheese and pepperoni" Bonnie replied.

"Perfect! Caroline said taking a slice.

"It's kareoke night!" Bonnie looked at the board near the bar, adding, "Yemaya will be late. She has to finish her article!"

"I don't know why she won't come and work for me-but I guess she likes to be a serious journalist and not write about fashion." Rebekah remarked taking a sip of her drink.

Rebekah was the editor of a fashion magazine in her family's newspaper empire. She and Caroline met in college and struck a friendship immediately. Bonnie became friends with Elena and Caroline in senior high as she moved from a small town from the north. Yemaya was Bonnie's cousin on her father's side.

The only one of them that had a steady relationship was Bonnie, dating Rebekah's brother Kol. The other women had loads of heartbreaks behind them and knew exactly how Elena felt.

A crazy fun night was starting as finally Yemaya arrived at the bar.

Rebekah, Elena and Caroline entertained everyone with their kareoke night. Letting go was just what everyone needed. Noone cared about how they actually would feel in the morning. But who cared about the hangover on a working day, once in a while everything needed to be let loose.

Caroline made sure Elena got home safe and sound, tucking her into bed litterally.

"You are my best bestie" Elena muttered with a drunken cheerful smile.

"Sweet dreams!" Caroline smirked at her friend before she switched off the light.

She exited Elena's tiny apartment.

The morning arrived, or better said, lunch hour was already on for most people, when she woke up and checked at her phone. There were several missing calls with Damon's name on the display. She tossed the phone away and now tried to get up. Her head still felt woozy and she slightly regretted having way too many Martinis. She walked to the bathroom very slowly. A long shower would help as always.

Rebekah and Caroline already had met for brunch. Unlike Elena, they eased up with their drinks but were revisiting some of the scenes of the previous night.

"You could have chosen singing career. I never understood why you got into Law School." Rebekah remarked.

"My mum and dad - you she is the dective and he is the lawyer. It's good that I can let some steam out once in a while."

"Do you think she will take Damon back?! You know, Elena-she will get soft when he starts talking sweet to her"

"I don't know," Caroline said, "I really didn't get that she got into Damon. I have always thought that it would be his brother Stefan. They could talk, he was always helping her with stuff. After the break up with Matt."

"Wasn't she also going out with Tyler? He was really something. Can I guy be so full of himself?!" Rebekah said.

"Ah, don't mention Tyler. So wrong for her"

"Is there any right guy out there?!" Rebekah wondered, as she had a string of unhappy relationships and loads of one-night stands that she wanted to forget.

"Bonnie is the lucky one. I thought that Kol had already proposed. They are now four years together." Caroline changed the subject.

"I think that he is going to ask her to move in together. Well, they practically live together. One weekend they are inhis apartment, the next weekend in hers. Oh, I got news. Big news. Klaus is coming home. He is done building houses in Eastern Europe. Mother is preparing a great welcome party on Saturday. You guys are all invited." Rebekah said.

"Klaus is coming home?! His been like away-what-forever?!" Caroline remarked.

"Ten years. And so is Miguel. My adoptive brother. I guess they both had enough of being away from the family. Actually, Miguel has been back for a month now. Buy he is no party person, you know. His son Cristobal is so amazing."

"Cristobal?" Caroline asked.

“Yeah. I am so glad he is back. He is so much fun. Loves photography. He is so like his mother. And he definitely not going to be a surgeon."

"Oh, yeah -Miguel is a surgeon, right?"

"Yes. He is a cardiologist. Oh, when he and Kol get together, there is always talk of scientific research. Boring if you ask me"

"That Kol is an orthopedic surgeon, kind of still is so totally strange," Caroline stated,"you never talked about Miguel!? How come he went to live in Mexico?"

"It's a long story." Rebekah said with a sad huff.

"You said once that his wife died?"

"Yes. And he- kind of shut down. Thank God he had Cris." Rebekah now told her friend a little bit more about Miguel and how he was adopted by her father and mother when he was five years old.

❤️❤️❤️

Elsewhere

Elena called her shop just to let her staff know that she would be arriving late that day. Her assistant Nora told her that everything was under control and that she can take the day off.

Her phone rang again and now she swiped her call open.

"Stop calling me, Damon! I so don't want to know-I am done!!! We are done!!!!" Elena pressed the red button on the phone to click the call off.

Inhaling sharply she turned to the mirror as she was about to open the door.

"Looking good girl. You are so going to rip him out of your heart!" She put the sunglasses on and took her bag, slamming the door shut behind her.

She had no particular idea where she wanted to go. She just wanted to walk. And so she walked. Shopping was always a good option, hoping the hangover would slowly clear up.

Her phone rang and said, "Hey. I am fine, Bonnie. Just taking a walk. Maybe I will get to the shop later. Need to revise some recipes. Yes, he called. But I slammed the phone down on him. I don't really care. I am done crying. I am done with him. I am done dating. Yeah-ok-I will talk to you later"

She now put the phone in her bag and being still hangover didn't look where she was going, and as she wanted to open the door to a cafe she nearly bumped into a man who was about to do the same.

"Sorry." Elena apologized immediately.

"Oh-it's my fault- I - just-my thoughts were somewhere else. Please" the man in his forties then opened the door and let Elena get in first.

"I am usually not so distracted”

"It's fine. " the man said.

They looked at one another as if time had stopped for a moment, and they didn't know what to do next.

"Where are my manners," he then said, "Can I offer you of coffee as an apology?"

"Yes" Elena muttered. "Shall we?"

"Yeah" Elena slipped and they found a nice available table at the window. "They have great smoothies here"

"They do? You know this place very well, then?"

"Pretty much. It's like my breakfast/lunch place- strawberry is the best" Elena recommended.

"Right. I will have a smoothie then- and coffee with skimmed milk" the dapper looking man said to the shop assistant.

Elena ordered nearly the same, adding blueberry pancakes to the order.

This was something he had not done for ages, namely, inviting a woman for a drink so casually, even if it was just a harmless cup of coffee. It was as if someone or something nudged him to do it, or maybe because he saw certain saddnes in her eyes, or maybe it was just Cupid doing his job of getting two people together.

"I was at a party last night - and kind of had one too many-and need all this to wake up." Elena explained all the food that arrived.

"It must have been some party" the man he said politely.

"I am not usually doing this in the middle of the week- but-it was something out of the ordinary."

"You don't have to explain."

"No, I know. So-what is it that you do?" Elena now took notice that he was wearing a very expensive business suit and his whole aura gave out that he was a very professional man.

"I am a cardiologist. I work at the University hospital."

"Oh, right. I’m a pastry chef." Elena said.

"Ah, so you are very well versed in the sugar department" the man nooded watching at the brunette in a sweet way.

"Yes. I own a shop called Lena's Cookies in the the Linden street."

They chatted some more about her work until a phone call interupted them. He apologized saying that he had to take a call. But soon, Elena's phone went as well. It was Caroline. Elena now told her friend where she was, but nothing about who she was with.

"I am so sorry." the man said as he returned to the table. "This was my son. I will have to leave now, but it was very nice meeting you-?" In all that initial confusion they had not introduced themselves to one another.

"Elena!"the brunette said.

"Mike! Nice to meet you, Elena." Miguel said with a little smile, excusing himself.

"Mike." Elena muttered to herself as she sat down at the table again and dreamily sipped down her coffee.

#miguel galindo #elena gilbert #fanfiction #fanfiction crossover #tvd crossover #klaroline #kennett #alternate universe #alternate pairing

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foxtophat · 4 years

Link

/pant wheeze etc

sorry about that guys, i was going to post last night but like i keep saying, i got caught up in editing and soooo here we are!! today’s chapter is all about kim, and kim’s teaching a masterclass in being a mom friend in your late 30′s.

as much as i strugged with this chapter i really REALLY like writing kim. she never got enough play in the games, so i guess i take liberties, but there’s something pleasing about writing an exasperated millenial mom going “please, dude, just get some therapy” to a guy like john seed lol.

i guess we’re all probably feeling kind of...uh, not awesome/active these days. which is fine! i’ve touched my face so many times writing this that i’m gonna have to go take a shower when i’m done here. i hope you all are being safe, and i hope you work for companies that will allow you to be safe! if your job is giving you shit about the virus, know that they’re the ones in the wrong, not you for wanting to watch out for your health. oh, and tonight is the democratic debate, so go watch that and see if you vibe with my boy bernie, ok? ok, be safe, i love you, wear a scarf if its cold outside

(below is the chapter text, so you don’t have to leave tumblr if you don’t want to! if you read it on here, could you like and/or reblog for me? i would appreciate it!)

Kim vividly remembers the day she met John Seed, just a few short years before the end of the world. He and his family had been in town all of a month when they had shown up unannounced to a potluck Kim and Nick were hosting, bringing along a last-minute macaroni dish. The three brothers were polite enough, and the big one seemed embarrassed by their offering compared to the other plates at the table, so Kim had let the party-crashing slide. Hell, she'd even let the strange brunette woman that accompanied them walk around her house like a second-rate psychic looking for ghosts. The rumor mill hadn't had time to chew much on them, so all Kim knew about the Seeds was that they were trying to put together a commune and the middle brother was some kind of preacher. It all sounded very tent-revivalist to her, but mostly harmless. Sure, they were weird, but they were hardly the only weirdos living in the county, so who was Kim to judge?

She had been standing alone by the cooler with a beer when John had sidled up to her. His reputation had already gotten a head start, having already stepped on Mary May's toes before showing his face to the town at large, and he was clearly attempting to avoid people who had already heard Mary May's take on the situation. Whether or not he realized Kim had already heard all about his unapologetic come-ons, he sure seemed interested in showing her his good side. He had been all smiles and charm, shaking her hand with both of his own and complimenting everything about the house and party and people. But, even as he coasted through the pleasantries and small-talk, John had eyed Kim like she was a piece of meat, one up for grabs by whoever flagged down the butcher first.

Just when he seemed ready to open his mouth and order himself a bad time, Nick had swooped in beside Kim with his hand extended, wearing his least genuine grin. Committing to another two-handed shake, John made more sweeping compliments and asked Nick a couple of questions about the airstrip. He may have even been genuinely interested in what Nick had to say on the matter, but in retrospect, all Kim can remember is the way he had looked at her. No longer was Kim a lifeless, prime cut of beef — now, she had teeth in the form of her redneck aviator husband, who wasn't buying anything John was selling.

Nick had smiled and waved at John as he excused himself, disappearing in the direction of his brothers. "What a fuckin' creep," Nick had declared through his clenched teeth.

Kim had thought then that they knew what kind of creep John was. By the time he began sending men to the house to intimidate them, she'd realized he was something much worse. He was something out of a schlocky psychological thriller, a sociopath with a rumored body count, who calculated each of his steps with pointed disregard for human life, gleefully buying up land for their cult and chasing all but the bravest away from their homes. There had been rumors about people disappearing, but Kim hadn't wanted to believe them. There had been a whole lot Kim hadn't wanted to believe. It was when John started calling, leaving desperate messages begging them to "just say yes, so I don't have to make you," that Kim had to stop hiding her head in the sand.

Kim barely had time to celebrate when he died the first time, what with Carmina being born and the world ending, and she had much better things to do in the years following than spare a thought towards him. It wasn't until Nick dragged John into their home eight years later that his name had even crossed Kim's mind.

She thinks about John a lot now, for better or worse. At first, all of her instincts had her thinking about him sleeping nearby. How much force it would take to break the bedroom locks. How strong and fast he might secretly still be. She would watch him work and think about all the awful things he would be putting Nick and her through, if their positions were reversed. She would question his every move, tired and sluggish as they might have been.

Nowadays, she mostly thinks about how tired he really seems. She thinks a lot about his eight years of solitude, and questions just how dedicated he really is to waving a white flag. The John Seed she used to know, the one she had underestimated a lifetime ago, he would never have willingly submitted himself to manual labor the way he does now. He would never sit silent and anxious until Nick or Kim bossed him around. At first, she had thought he was doing it out of necessity, being as sick as he was, but now... well, now, she's not so sure.

John is stronger than he has any right to be. Kim never had the opportunity to confront him physically before, so she has no idea if John has always been like this, or if it's something that happened in isolation. After all, eight years by yourself is a great time to workout — at least until your supplies run out, or you catch a sickness that won't go away. It should probably worry her more, but Nick's confidence has rubbed off on Kim, and all she concerns herself with is giving him jobs that measure up to his abilities.

Like today, for example. Nick and Carmina have started on a project together, putting together a hen coop worthy of housing Carmina's first pets, and with planting season practically here, Kim is ready to tackle her own construction project. Somehow, a tractor wound up on the runway, overturned and mangled as if it had been in a car accident — or a nuclear blast — and Kim has a plan for the thing's large, mostly-intact tires. With enough mulch and soil, Kim's sure that she can make them into reliable planters, and she might even manage to grow something worth eating this year. First, though, they have to come off the tractor — and that's where John comes in.

Kim watches John peel one tire off of the crescent-shaped wheel it's clinging to, thinking to herself again that John is stronger than he should be. He rolls the massive tire back down the runway towards her, looking mildly winded from the exertion, face red from the sun. He doesn't look anything like the walking corpse Nick had found a few months back.

Despite herself, Kim is impressed with his progress. When Nick had first brought him in, she hadn't expected him to make it through the night, much less the following day. It had been hospice care to her, at least for the first week — but then John had turned a corner, eating again and managing to stand on his own feet, and all at once Kim had forgotten about reading his last rites.

Slowing the tire to a stop, John wipes his arm across his brow and asks, "Here?"

"Yeah," Kim says. "That's fine. One more to go."

John nods, turning and retreating down the runway towards the tractor's mangled remains. Kim watches him go, waiting for him to realize how easy it would be to get away. She's a great shot with the rifle, but she's only got the pistol with her today, and Nick is all the way on the other side of the hangar. There's no fence on this side of the strip, and the overgrowth is thick enough to disappear into. It would take him a matter of seconds to escape, if he would just try.

But he doesn't. Kim has no idea why not — it's not like they're making much of an effort to keep him locked up. Nick does his best, but they're not a maximum-security prison. Hell, they don't even have an enclosed fence! With all of his experience managing a human trafficking cult, he has to see that they're woefully unprepared to hold him. There's no way he hasn't itemized every hole in their security and how he could use them to his advantage.

The tire has been partially popped off of the tractor wheel, but John's probably going to need a wrench or something to pry the rest of it free. Otherwise, Kim is going to be watching him strain uselessly, and while sometimes it can be gratifying to watch John struggle with menial tasks, Kim wants these planters done as soon as possible.

She marches toward him to size the problem up, only to pull up short as John tears the tire off of the wheel. Metal scrapes against itself as the axle twists, and Kim hears a pop when John finally leverages the tire free, leaving the wheel to hang limply from the axle. There's a long rip in the tire's lip, probably from where a security bolt tore through the old rubber.

"Jesus," she says, not realizing she's close enough for John to hear her until he frowns in her direction. She tries to mask for her concern over his uncanny strength, but all she has going for her these days is motherly frustration. "You could have hurt yourself," she scolds, as if that's going to cover it.

John huffs. "Why does that matter?" he asks.

"I don't know if you've noticed, but we don't exactly have a doctor to take you to if you slice your arm on rusted machinery and contract tetanus."

Considering how passive John's been, it comes as something of a surprise when he heaves a frustrated sigh, bracing the tire with both hands and doing his best to ignore Kim while she stands right next to him. It's just irritating enough that she sticks her foot out to block the tire, eyeballing him defiantly and mentally daring him to keep being a baby. Ugh, as if a man like him could be intimidated by a 40-year-old mom's unimpressed glare.

He ducks his eyes. "Alright, fine," he surrenders.

Kim lets him roll on, following with a furrowed brow as she tries to figure out what his deal is. The John she remembers would never put up with the kind of disrespect Kim shows him. He would be... seething, or something. Planning to murder her, probably. But if he was going to murder them, he would have done it already. He definitely would have done it when Nick let him sleep in their room. But every opening he has, he ignores in favor of the full surrender he'd willingly placed himself under.

Once John sets the tire down, wiping his forehead clear of sweat, he asks, "What's next on your list of petty tortures?"

If John thinks being petulant will get him anywhere with Kim, he is sorely mistaken. She raises an unimpressed eyebrow and asks, "Do you really think this is me trying to torture you?" She can't help but be a little offended — as if she couldn't come up with something worse than household chores if she wanted.

"I don't know what to think," John sighs.

Kim can count the number of times John has been honest with her on one hand, and that's including before the bombs dropped. A few minutes ago, she might've entertained his mild back-talking to dig at his motivations, but she's certainly not in the mood now.

"You don't need to think," she says. "Just do what I tell you."

It's as easily said as done with John, who shuts up with a deep frown and follows Kim mutely for the next hour or two, helping her shovel a mixture of composted leaves and topsoil into a wheelbarrow. They have to make three trips to get enough to fill the tires, which is sweaty, smelly work that Kim won't leave to John alone. Even if she didn't want to get her hands dirty, she would feel guilty if she made him do it by himself, considering it's a job she could easily do alone.

Once they've finished dumping the dirt into the makeshift planters, Kim turns to John with a critical eye. At last, she offers him more than a few curt orders.

"This isn't supposed to be torture, you know," she tells him. "Everything we tell you to do, it's because it needs to be done, not because we want to watch you suffer."

"It must help," John grunts.

"Honestly? Not really." Kim sits on one tire, watching John shift his weight between his feet. He somehow seems small, even as he stands over her. "I've seen enough suffering to last a lifetime. Haven't you?"

John doesn't respond. He turns his head to stare at the hangar — probably wishing he was putting the coop together with Nick, who loves it when John is quietly repentant, and who hates talking about this kind of stuff in general. If Carmina weren't over there, John would definitely be trying to excuse himself to her husband's side.

"I think we're done here for now," Kim says at last. "I'm going to start dinner. You can sit quietly with me, or go help Carmina and Nick with the coop."

She refuses to pick for him, leaving him to look between the hangar and the fire-pit and debate on his own whether he wants to deal with Kim's weak interrogation skills or being in the same room as Carmina for any length of time. Any time she gives him a choice, he usually goes for whatever will keep him busier, but he seems actively repulsed by the idea of spending any time around Carmina.

After a few seconds of consideration, John nods reluctantly. "I'll sit," he says, almost as though he's admitting defeat. When Kim leads him over to the fire, he sits on the same patch of dirt he usually does, even with plenty of seating options. He doesn't talk much, and since Kim has nothing to ask him, she leaves him to his own thoughts while she starts getting dinner ready.

When she catches him starting to doze, she can't help but sarcastically quip, "Some torture, huh?"

John shoots her a dark look in return, but it's going to take more than a mean scowl to bother her.

Nick and Carmina get up early one morning to go fishing. Kim sleepily sees them out of the bedroom, unwilling to face the gray morning chill herself, and wishes them as much luck as she can muster while half-asleep. Nick hesitates a whole lot by the bedroom door, still reluctant to leave Kim alone with John, but he knows better than to make a bigger deal about it than she does. Kim appreciates his concern, even if nowadays she doesn't think it's warranted.

They'll be back a little after noon, and Kim's list of chores has finally shrunk to something manageable, so she lazes for just a little bit before finally committing to the day. It takes her a little longer to commit to utilizing John outside, since she doesn't have any work for him and it would be great to have a morning to herself, but leaving him to stew all day feels wrong.

John's already awake when she goes to get him, dressed and sitting on the pallet-board bed that Nick let him piece together. He only looks mildly surprised to see Kim fetching him by herself, which means he probably heard Nick leave earlier. He isn't very talkative today, resorting to monosyllabic responses to her questions as they eat breakfast downstairs. He sits quietly at the table with Kim, not touching his food until he catches Kim staring expectantly at him. Kim shouldn't be surprised — after eight years on his own, he's probably more comfortable in silence. Either that, or he talked himself out of words down in that bunker of his. She would ask, but John avoids talking about his time underground at all costs, and she doesn't see today being any different.

Kim waits until they've gotten out into the yard to reveal her cigar box full of seed packets. "It's a little early to start planting," she explains, "But I have a good feeling about this batch of spinach."

John waits expectantly, his frown deepening as Kim fails to elaborate on his part in all of this. "You want my help," he realizes at last. "...With gardening ."

He says it with so much disbelief that Kim almost thinks he's making fun of her. "What did you think we were going to do after we filled these things with soil?" she asks. "They needed to sit, and now we need to plant. You're here, so you're helping me."

"I —" John stares at her, biting the inside of his cheek as though he's trying to mind himself. "That isn't going to work. You'd be better off letting me dismantle the tractor for scrap."

"I'm not asking you to do that," Kim points out, "I'm asking you to poke some holes in the dirt. This isn't rocket science. Even Carmina can do it."

"Then have Carmina do it ," John snaps, immediately clenching his jaw to try and prevent another outburst.

"If you're trying to give me trouble just because Nick isn't around, then I'll just put you back in your room."

John sulks for a few seconds, weighing his words now that he's out on thin ice. "Plants and I aren't compatible," he grudgingly admits. "I have a black thumb. And this is important work, I don't — I don't understand why you would risk it."

Kim tries hard to resist pulling on her kid gloves, and yet she still can't help but go easy on him. "John, it's an irradiated wasteland. You are the least of these plants' concerns. All you have to do is follow instructions. You can do that, right?"

She expects him to roll his eyes or get huffy at her coddling him, even just a little, but he only nods in return. "Yes," he says, falling back into what can't possibly be comfortable subservience.

Well, it works for Kim — he doesn't try to fight her as she shows him how to space out the holes, how deep to make them and how many seeds to put in each one. She watches him finish a row before she decides he's got it, and settles in across from him to start on the opposite side of the planter. John looks surprised that she's working with him, but she finds digging in the dirt relaxing, and she's got to pass the time somehow.

Kim enjoys gardening, getting her hands dirty while ensuring she and her family have plenty of food. She'd never really gotten the chance to practice before the bombs, but that didn't stop her from growing some sad looking carrots and potatoes last year. They plant spinach and beets, as well as some carrots that Kim doubts will survive. The other planter stays empty, but Kim has a plan to grow some soybeans later in the season, and if the seeds don't take, maybe corn will.

John is wholly focused on his side of the planter, meticulously careful, like this is some kind of exact science that he barely understands. A city boy through and through, Kim supposes — it isn't like a hotshot lawyer from Atlanta would spend much time at the local community garden, right? His history with gardening is probably littered with dead ferns and succulents that couldn't survive his negligence.

When he sits back to rest a minute, four straight rows like spokes in front of him, Kim throws him a bone. "Looking pretty good."

"Don't patronize me."

Kim rolls her eyes. Of course John would be incapable of taking even the most mundane compliment, no matter how genuinely Kim might give it. "I'm not. You're doing a good job."

John sighs heavily, still very much not believing her, but he doesn't argue the point.

Nick and Carmina return just after John finishes his final row. Usually, Carmina comes back looking pretty defeated, as fishing isn't something she's gotten the hang of yet, and Nick will try not to let on that he did poorly on purpose to make her feel better. Today, though, Carmina marches with a straight back and a big grin, and Nick follows her with a bucket of smallmouth bass.

"Who wants fish?" Nick calls triumphantly, visibly excited for Carmina to finally have a "big catch" story.

Kim stands, knocking the dirt off of her knees, and takes a look at the radial design left behind in the soil. She's going to have to water and keep a close eye on these little suckers, but with any luck, they'll grow at least enough to make for good compost. It would be nice to have some impressive produce to trade, though, so here's hoping that spinach turns out.

"Hard part's over," Kim tells John, who reluctantly follows her lead and climbs to his feet. "Now, it's a waiting game."

"I wouldn't expect miracles," John mutters. Kim pretends not to hear him.

John avoids the garden as much as he can once the planting is done. Kim doesn't need his help, so she doesn't press it, but she notices whenever he surreptitiously checks the progress the seeds are making. He seems happy enough to be done handling them, but Kim bets he's still keeping an eye out for any evidence of failure. Kim doesn't want to take away Nick's extra pair of hands, especially considering how hard work seems to comfort John more than long stretches of silence surrounded by dirt, so for the first two weeks, Kim handles most of the gardening herself.

Nick and him have been steadily chipping away at Nick's list of home repairs, their DIY solutions changing the topography of the family home bit by bit. The roof is dotted with white shingles cobbled together from old siding, the windows have been boarded up with full sheets of plywood instead of haphazard wooden planks, and part of the hangar's exposed roof has been covered by a quilt of stitched together pieces of tarp. They've even managed to clear back some of the vines that have been swallowing every structure in the valley. Nick has pretty much given up on letting John do everything by himself by now, although he definitely delegates the harder work to John and takes the first drink of water whenever they take a break. Nick has always been a hands-on kind of guy, though — sitting by while there's work to be done goes against his nature. It had only been a matter of time before he demanded to pull his own weight.

Kim checks the plants more frequently and obviously than John does. She had been expecting most of the plants to fail, considering the packets they came from are easily eight years old and thrown into an old box with no thought to preserving them, but a week in and they seem to have taken pretty well. Tiny, two-leaf sprouts have started to poke their way through the soil where the spinach was planted. The beets don't seem to have done quite as well, but surviving tiny sprouts have also started to show. Kim doesn't trust the carrots, but it'll be another week or so before they start seeing any results from them, so she withholds judgment for now.

"Been thinking about going into town," Nick mentions one night as the four of them eat dinner at the table. John still seems uneasy sitting with them instead of on the stairs or in his room, but at least he doesn't need someone to goad him into eating.

Carmina's face lights up. "Can I come?" she asks, practically before Nick has finished speaking. From the way Nick smiles at her, Kim's sure he was about to suggest that very thing, which makes it easy for Kim to agree.

"Sure," she says. "As long as your dad promises not to cut across the field this time. No," she scolds Nick as he opens his mouth to argue, "There's a herd of bison out there that are as big as the car, and you are not a matador, Nick."

"What's the point of an apocalypse if I gotta follow all the roads?" Nick complains, relenting with a theatrical sigh. "You're right," he admits, emphasizing for Carmina, "Your mom's right. The roads are a lot safer than any open field."

Kim glances at John, who has his head down over his plate, looking uncomfortable with the conversation circling so close to him. Nick follows her line of sight, frowns, and then asks, "So, uh, John... You got any interest in going into town?"

John swallows the bite he just took, wincing as it goes down wrong. "No," he croaks.

"Okay," Nick says, not at all upset to hear it. "That leaves just you and me, sweetheart."

Later on, once they're getting ready for bed, Nick can't help but circle back, horrified by his own gall. "What would I have done if he'd said yes?" he asks Kim. "He'd incite a riot just by showing his face. The second everybody knows he's alive..."

"It's going to happen eventually," Kim says. "I think we should at least let him make the choice about when ."

Nick accepts her reasoning with a petulant, "I guess, " but he spends another hour or two silently turning it over in his head.

They don't leave until after breakfast, which Nick lets John be part of. He's still sensitive about sharing his family time with anybody, much less John, but he's getting used to it bit by bit. Kim would blame it on the apocalypse if it weren't for the fact that he's always been very protective of his mornings.

John looks uneasy as Nick and Carmina head out, tensing at the sound of the car starting. Kim isn't all that used to it either, but at least they managed to find a car and enough gas to make the occasional trip to town possible.

Well, since there's nobody else around, and nothing left for Kim to do, she decides it time to bring John back to the garden.

"Ready to learn how to weed?" she asks.

To his credit, John waits until they're outside and facing down the lightly weeding planter to argue. "There's still a lot of work to do in the hangar," he says. "Doesn't that sound like a better use for me?"

"No," she replies. "You need to know how to do this." She sighs when he remains standing, staring up at him unimpressed. "Either you help me with this, or you can go pout in your room about it."

Kim waits until John reluctantly sits on his knees to join him. She walks him through the process of prying up the thin, quickly growing stems, tossing them into the bucket between them, and shows him how to pull out the root systems that might get left behind. Most of the weeds that are growing are small, but those pernicious vines have been reportedly growing like crazy in any and all soil and Kim doesn't want to give them a chance to cozy up to her produce.

It's not complicated work, so John picks it up fast, but he goes tediously slow, almost to the point where Kim thinks he's messing with her. Well, the joke's on him — Kim has raised one of the most independent children in the state, and she knows how to deal with petulance. She's fine with long stretches of silence, she's fine with dirt, and she's fine with leaving people to stew.

"Have you always been a gardener?" John asks after a length time, rushing the words as if he'd been chewing them over for too long and he just wants them out of his mouth.

John rarely ever asks questions that aren't about his so-called punishment, so Kim is inclined to indulge him. "No, not really," she answers. "My mom grew flowers, and I would try to keep those little starter herb kits alive every so often, but I never really dedicated my time to it." She hesitates, hopefully not noticeably, and adds, "We had some old gardening magazines in a box in the bunker. They turned out to be a good way to pass the time. You know?"

John hums neutrally in response. Kim hadn't expected much better; even casual talk about life underground shuts John up pretty fast. It's such an obvious psychological scar that even Nick can't miss it, and although the two of them will speculate, neither of them have so far pushed hard enough to find out more. Kim doesn't know if John's trauma is the Pandora's box she wants to open, but she has so many questions and so many worries that could be put to rest if she could just figure out how to interrogate him about it.

She's being too obvious, staring at him like she is, and John is quick to catch her. His brow furrows as he stares back expectantly. Probably waiting for her to drag the information she wants out of him, no doubt, the same way he would rip confessions out of people.

When she fails to do whatever it is he's waiting for, he turns his attention back to the remaining weeds. Frustration colors his voice when he eventually speaks.

"I wish you wouldn't stare at me."

"I usually look at people who ask me questions," Kim replies, trying not to be pedantic and failing pretty miserably.

"Just tell me what you want from me."

Kim sits back on her heels, wiping her forehead with a dirty hand. "I don't really know," she admits. She probably shouldn't be so honest with him, so open about her lack of motivation, but she can't see any reason to lie. Maybe telling him the truth will encourage him to do the same? She knows that's wishful thinking, but it's worth a try.

"I guess I want you to... prove you're trying. That this isn't all some kind of act. But honestly, I don't know what kind of proof would convince me. There's eight years of blank history that might help, but you don't want to talk about it."

She doesn't hesitate to bring up the bunker this time, even when it makes him squirm. She can see him working on a response and heads it off as best she can.

"Look," she says, "You don't have to tell me now. You don't even have to tell me . But eventually, if you're really serious about making amends, you're going to have to tell someone ."

For a moment, John rests his fingers in the dirt as if he might just go back to his work. He's staring at the green leaves, waiting for one of the plants to give him the right answer, the one that will make the conversation end before he has to get involved.

Finally, terribly lost and frustrated at himself for winding up that way, he asks, "Why won't you just make me ?"

His uncertainty settles in Kim's stomach like a lead weight. He refuses to look at her, and somehow that makes it worse. She knows Nick would probably scold her for being overly sympathetic, but she can't help it. She can't hide her worry when she answers, no matter how much it might chafe John to hear it.

"You have to want to get better to do it," she tells him. "Nobody can do it for you."

John doesn't respond. Kim doesn't hold her breath over it, returning to the remaining weeds. But as his silence grows, Kim finds herself checking on him in her periphery. Before the Collapse, John had been easy to read, his reactions unrestrained and sometimes bordering theatrical. These days, Kim can't pin him down.

John treats the fresh sprouts as though they're too fragile to touch, sincerely confused at the progress the garden has made despite his interference. Had he really thought that he could mess them up just by planting them? No wonder he was so sure that she was making a mistake, enlisting his help.

"Things are going well, given the circumstances," she says at last. "I guess you don't have a black thumb after all."

"I stand corrected," he replies. He looks at her briefly, but when he catches her watching him he's quick to look back to the dirt. Kim doesn't miss the way he continues to appreciate the small green stalks.

Later, after the weeds have been eradicated and dinner has been started, Kim hears the car coming down the drive. John is in the middle of dragging scrap metal out of the hangar, so he doesn't notice it right away, but there's no missing Carmina and Nick's raised voices. They aren't quiet by any means as they wander from the front yard to the back, talking enthusiastically about the monstrous bison they'd seen in the field on their way home. When John recognizes them coming into view, he stops working briefly, raising his arm to shield his eyes from the hastily setting sun.

"That's, uh, a pretty wide leash you're giving him," Nick says to Kim, having the good sense to at least kiss his wife hello before he starts in on judging her.

"He knows what you guys are doing in there better than I do," she replies. "How was town?"

Carmina is the one to answer, her excitement hard to contain. "We saw the bison!" she exclaims. "Pastor Jerome let me go to the top of the church tower! We got a bunch of stuff!"

She has a whole lot more to tell Kim, which she does in rapid-fire bullet-points before running off to unload supplies from the car. From all of her talk of apples, Kim hopes that some of them made their way home.

Nick waits until she's out of sight, checking to see that John hasn't yet come to join them, and then offers Kim a helpless shrug. "So, Jerome knows about John, I guess."

The comment shouldn't make Kim as uneasy as it does. "Oh?"

"Grace told him." Nick takes off his hat, tossing it onto the porch and running a hand through his hair. "He said he had to think about it more. But, uh... that he trusts us to do what's right. I dunno, he didn't quote any scripture at me so I couldn't tell how mad he really was."

He's watching John at the front of the hangar like he's surprised John isn't running. "I really thought this was gonna go differently," he says after a beat. "I thought for sure he'd have given us a reason to off him by now."

Kim chuckles. "Yeah, the same way you thought feeding the raccoons would make them go away."

"I couldn't help it," Nick sighs. "They looked so damn hungry."

John finishes unloading the wheelbarrow's contents. For a moment, he stands with his back to them, staring at the hangar. When he turns around, he straightens up, waiting. For what, Kim couldn't possibly say. She wishes he would just tell them what he thinks they ought to do already, but that's not going to happen any time soon.

Nick cups a hand to his mouth and shouts, "C'mon, I got a bunch of supplies you need to unload!"

John puts his hands on his hips, taking a brief rest before starting in their direction. Kim wouldn't believe he's the same man from a few months ago if she hadn't seen the transformation herself. She hopes all this change has been for the better, but she wonders if it's going to be enough.

#far cry 5 #fc5 #fcnd #new dawn #john seed #nick rye #kim rye #far cry fanfic #my fic

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whrrlwind · 4 years

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THE POSITIVE & NEGATIVE; mun & muse.

fill out & repost !

tagged by: no one! i stole it from ren <3 tagging: anyone who wants to do it!!

my muse is: canon / oc / au / canon-divergent / fandomless / complicated

Is your character popular in the fandom? YES / NO Is your character considered hot™ in the fandom? YES / NO / IDK and im too afraid to find out Is your character considered strong in the fandom? YES / NO / IDK Are they underrated? YES / NO / IDK Were they relevant for the main story? YES / NO Were they relevant for the main character? YES / NO / THEY’RE THE PROTAG. Are they widely known in their world? YES / NO How’s their reputation? GOOD / BAD / NEUTRAL How strictly do you follow canon? — pretty strictly! it’s really only towards the end of SA2 and after it where i start taking creative liberties! as whirl nearly dies himself trying (and failing) to save his shadow, and then starts going into rider’s time instead of jumping into heroes.

SELL YOUR MUSE! Aka try to list everything, which makes your muse interesting in your opinion to make them spicy for your mutuals. — you like the adventure era sonic? you hate how he sometimes handles really serious scenarios or brushes them off like nothing, as if they aren’t traumatic as shit in any way? wanna see a pretty mentally and emotionally fucked up lad struggle with handling his troubles and keep up the dark/serious theme SA2 set that sega is too cowardly to go back to in modern day? well bOY DO I HAVE THE HEDGEHOG FOR YOU. this bad boy ACTUALLY has emotions and struggles with handling them and many other things due to the position he has put himself in over the course of his life, but also doesn’t completely wear him down and stop him from being who he is! as well as dealing with the fact he and his timeline are MUCH further behind than other alternates of himself and friends. sonic “ whirl ” hedgehog is a young hero still running his way through life the way he wants like the rebellious, free-spirited teenager he is, while learning that not only is he a hero, but he’s also a person.

Now the OPPOSITE, list everything why your muse could not be so interesting (even if you may not agree, what does the fandom perhaps think?). — quite frankly, he’s sonic. there’s a lot of them out there. he can probably be too energetic, positive, etc, or perhaps this blog focuses a little too much on his trauma and internal struggles or even the general dark theme to the point it’s a turnoff or just hard to really read. he’s also an annoying idiot to the point it’s frustrating.

What inspired you to rp your muse? — yo sonic was my fucking LIFEBLOOD as a kid. lived and breathed this franchise. sa2 was my first game ever, sonic was my fav character (and still is), so my absolute love for this specific version of him became too much to internalize sooooo here we are ; w ;

What keeps your inspiration going? — straight up, sonic is probably my biggest comfort character to exist ever. always makes me happy, always makes me feel better when im down, etc. there’s nothing he can’t do that doesn’t make me smile, regardless of how sega treats him. being able to pour my ideas into a character i love so much to the point he becomes really personalized (and personal for me), and it’s actually something people enjoy seeing and interacting with? it gives me so much goddamn sertonin.

Some more personal questions for the mun.

Give your mutuals some insight about the way you are in some matters.

Do you think you give your character justice? YES / NO / I SINCERELY HOPE I DO? Do you frequently write headcanons? YESSSSS I CANNOT SHUT THE FUCK UP ABOUT WHIRL ask anyone i Do Not Shut The Fuck Up even if i don’t post abt it on tumblr Do you sometimes write drabbles? YES / NO just bc im bad at writing them abndhjbfd Do you think a lot about your Muse during the day? YES / NO Are you confident in your portrayal? YES / NO Are you confident in your writing? YES / NO Are you a sensitive person? YES / NO / SORTA. Do you accept criticism about your portrayal? — always!! i’m always willing to learn and improve on things, especially with the canon of some events from games and such, as i’m not 100% with everything besides SA2. all i really ask is that when receiving criticism, people are as nice as they can be with it! thanks adhd and personal trauma

Do you like questions, which help you explore your character? — ABSOFUCKINLUTELY I DO

If someone disagrees to a headcanon of yours, do you want to know why? — mmmmm? mm. kind of? but also not really? like. everyone’s entitled to their own opinion ofc, i’m not gonna rip anyone apart for disagreeing with something, but like. i have adhd. i’m v hypersensitive to some things, so it can really be processed in my head the wrong way and it makes me feel bad. so i guess just....... be careful about it if you ever wanna tell me why?

If someone disagrees with your portrayal, how would you take it? — i’d probably just kinda be like “ damn that sucks bro, but thats literally not my problem, there’s a whole ton of other sonics out there bye ” bc like. i dont care? don’t even really tell me bc honestly ur just wasting ur time lmao

If someone really hates your character, how do you take it? — ill be the first to admit im. v attached to sonic as a whole. he means a lot to me! so going off abt how you may (generally) hate him really....... is just upsetting to me. but thats just bc im v attached to him, and there’s nothing wrong with having that opinion on him!! we all get upset when someone talks bad about something we love. all i ever ask is that try to keep it away from me, especially if it’s abt whirl in particular, bc it can really upset me and thats just not fun for anyone <:3c

Are you okay with people pointing out your grammatical errors? — absolutely!! i make them all the time and i even have a friend proofread some of my stuff bc of how common it is aBJDBHBJC, again i just ask if people are nice about it when pointing that stuff out to me!!

Do you think you are easy going as a mun? — oh fuckin yes absolutely, im tooting my own horn and i dont even care, im one of the chillest people on this fuckin planet

#《 🌌. eat my ass spirits! 》 (ooc)#《 🌌. i eat coffee beans raw to survive 》 (mun)#long post //#ask to be tagged //#heyooooo #ill probably do this for fleetway too #but later good GOD did this take a bit #anyway i would die for whirl thank u for ur time

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cryoculus · 5 years

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soulmate au wit oikawa where soulmates feel each others pain and oikawa isnt the one who hurt his knee, his soulmate is a soccerplayer and got slide tackled. i really love your work, tysm!!!! 💐

» Word Count: 6,080 wordsCross-posted on AO3

Omg i was looking for references on what to base the scene where the soulmate gets tackled from and this is what i imagined! Just scrub the video to 0:14! I know jack SHIT about soccer though. Everything in this work was purely based off research, so feel free to leave me a message if you spot some errors!

And MAN this was meant to be a short scenario with quick transitions but it turned into a whole drama bomb. You can keep scrolling if you’re not up for a 6000-word oneshot ++ as usual, my shit is terrible on tumblr mobile pls bear with me.

Oikawa loved the thrill of the game.

The incessant beat of his heart against his chest, the adrenaline that surged through his veins, the buzz of confidence that washed over him as he hit powerful serves at the other side of the court – he was enamored with his own capabilities, so to speak.

Today was like any other day. Seijoh was hosting a practice match against Datekou and Oikawa was in top form. They were already down to a match point in the second set. But just before he could land the killing shot that would decide the winner, he halted mid-air as a searing sensation ripped through his knee.

The volleyball bounced aimlessly for having been forgotten. Oikawa fell on his side against the hardwood floor, clutching the afflicted knee to his chest as agony bloomed across his nerves. He bit his lip, not allowing himself to utter a single sound as everyone else on the court crowded around him.

“Coach, Oikawa’s injured!”

The sound of your knee popping from its sockets from where the enemy defender, Yamanaka, kicked you from the side was sickening. Even through the incessant cheer of the audience in the stands, you could hear it loud and clear. The moment the sole of her shoe made brutal contact with your knee, Yamanaka even brushed her torso against yours, roughly toppling you off balance and forcing your kneecap to absorb the impact of your fall.

For a moment, your vision darkened from the agonizing pain that flared up your right knee as you fell onto the grass. A scream ripped its way from your throat, your hands scrambling for purchase to alleviate the mind-numbing sensation that burned through your nerves. You’re sure that your leg was twisted in an unnatural angle, too.

The distant sound of a whistle rang in your ears. Even through your current state, you were hyper aware of everything that’s happening around you. Players from both your team and the opposition flocked around you with concerned stares. Your best friend, Harada immediately crouched beside you, careful not to move your injury.

“Hey, (Name)!” Her eyes were wide with dread. “Can you hear me? Can you stand up?”

You shook your head with minimal effort, groaning as you did your best to remain still to avoid inflaming your knee. A few moments later, a couple of medics arrived in the scene, telling the others to give you some space to breathe. You wanted to tell them that you could breathe fine, but your voice failed you.

As you were being carried onto a stretcher, you could see one of the referees giving Yamanaka a red card. She only shrugged, as if getting penalties was a regular thing for her. But before she could step off the field, she took the liberty to cast you a self-satisfied smirk.

A sob unknowingly made its way from your lips, gaining the attention of one of the medics that was about to bring you to the first aid station. He murmured something about everything being okay in the end and that you’d get to play with your teammates soon enough.

Today really wasn’t your day.

“So,” Doctor Yamano began, “what seems to be the problem here?”

Iwaizumi nudged Oikawa, who was fidgeting nervously under the professional’s gaze. For some reason, he harbored an inexplicable discomfort around doctors. Whenever he visited one, it was either because he was sick or sustained an injury. Frankly, he wasn’t a fan of both.

“While we were playing a practice match against another school earlier today, I…” His voice trailed off. How the hell was he supposed to explain it to him?

Yamano hummed. “Yes?”

He sighed. “…I felt my right knee give out.”

“Did you apply the proper first aid procedures, Oikawa-san?”

Oikawa nodded, recalling the urgency in Coach Irihata’s voice as they lugged him to Seijoh’s infirmary.

“Is it severe? It probably isn’t if you’re not in the emergency room, I presume?”

He scratched the back of his head, laughing nervously. “It felt serious. I really thought my whole career was done for just because of a practice match.”

Yamano nodded in understanding. “Did you have your knee x-rayed already?”

“Uh, no.”

He sighed before lacing his fingers together. “Well, I’ll be needing a clear image of it so I can make a proper diagnosis, Oikawa-san. I’ll write you up a request form to show the radiologists.”

“Ah…” Oikawa wanted to tell him that it really wasn’t necessary. That maybe going here was a mistake because his knee still looked pretty much intact, save for the dull throb that pestered him throughout the day. Iwaizumi even jokingly berated his soulmate for getting such a severe injury. But Oikawa didn’t really know how doctors reacted to that.

So when he was given the green light to get an x-ray, Oikawa told Iwaizumi that he’d be all right on his own and that he should get going. There was obvious apprehension in his best friend’s eyes, but he indulged Oikawa’s request, regardless.

He was glad. If there truly was something wrong with him, he wouldn’t want Iwaizumi to be there to see how bad it was. He already worried about him far too much than Oikawa deserved.

“You go here often?”

You shot the guy that was sitting a few seats away from you in the waiting room a bizarre look. If you could recall perfectly, you were in a radiology center, not a bar.

“I’m not even from here,” you explained gruffly, pressing your legs closer together. They exchanged your uniform with a hospital gown to minimize the pressure on your knee as much as possible. The injury was beyond what the stadium’s first aid medics could manage, thus the impromptu trip to the Sendai Medical Center. But before the doctors could assess the severity of your condition, they needed a visual.

“Hmm, so am I.” The stranger sighed miserably. “I live in another district, but this is the only hospital that covers my insurance. So, where you from?”

Your brows scrunched up at his nonchalance. Did you not look distraught enough for him to just leave you to your own devices? Maybe he was just like that as a person?

You exhaled. “I’m from Hyogo.”

His noticeably brown eyes widened in surprise. “What’re you doing all the way here, then?”

“You ask a lot of questions, don’t you?”

A soft-hearted laugh escaped his lips as he flashes you a cheeky grin. “When I see cute girls looking like their whole world just ended before their eyes, it’s kind of my thing to swoop down and comfort them.”

“Like a knight in shining armor of sorts?” you snorted.

He shrugged. “Take it as you like. All I’m saying is that I’m a pretty good listener. It’s not like we’ll cross paths again for me to hold anything you tell me against you, right?”

You managed to give him a lopsided smile. The gravity of everything that’s transpired today was slowly beginning to weigh down on your shoulders.

When the coach’s assistant arrived in the hospital, the game had already been concluded. Without their main offensive player, Mikage Shihan had to surrender their title to Aomori High for this year’s tournament.

When the news fell upon your ears, the sting of loss almost rivalled the throbbing ache in your knee. But before you could get emotional about your own hastiness, the nurse that attended to you in the emergency room informed that they needed an x-ray so the doctors could treat you accordingly.

Your eyes trailed back to the chatty stranger. He’s gazing at you expectantly and though there’s something about that sympathetic look he’s giving you that’s making warmth dance across your skin, you weren’t really the type to confide in people you just met.

Just as you were about to reject his offer, the door to the room where they conducted the x-rays swung open. The person inside called out your name, saying the machine was up and running. Talk about being saved by the bell.

You gave the stranger a curt nod as you tried to stand up from your seat, almost crumpling to the floor when the sharp pain from your knee shot up in your leg again, but you resisted it. Too many people have seen you in this sorry state already. You didn’t intend to add more to the list.

When the door closed behind you, you completely missed the way Oikawa Tooru clutched his own knee in a deathly grip as the pain, that he’s now realizing really wasn’t his own, came to life once more.

His knee was fine, but he’s pretty sure he accidentally stumbled into his soulmate in the process. At first, Oikawa didn’t know if Iwaizumi would understand, but thankfully he did.

“It happens,” he told Oikawa as they were heading home from practice. “Not everyone experiences it though.”

Iwaizumi told him about how Hanamaki and Matsukawa used their own bond to grate at each other’s nerves. Oikawa did a double-take on that one. He asked Iwaizumi why they didn’t bother telling him, their most trusted friend, about their status as soulmates. Iwauzmi smacked his head, reminding him how much of a chatterbox he was and that Makki and Mattsun wanted to keep it private.

“Ow!”

The woman that’s overseeing your therapy shot you a concerned look. You’re in the middle of doing the exercises that aid in rehabilitating the torn ligament in your knee, and you were on the last of your reps when suddenly, you lurched forward as if a ghostly hand had smacked you upside the head.

“You doing all right there, bud?” your therapist asked, placing a hand on your shoulder.

You rubbed the side of your head, still stinging from the contact (or lack thereof). “I feel like my head was spiked by a volleyball player.”

She laughed. “Really now?”

“Yeah, I’ve been feeling it really often. One time, I was eating and my face nearly pummelled into a bowl of ramen.”

“Your soulmate must piss a lot of people off, then.”

You stared at her, but laughed it off as one of her jokes. Surely, she didn’t mean you actually had a soulmate right? Only a few people were blessed enough to be given one. Besides, whoever got stuck with you as a soulmate would be damned to the achingly slow healing stage of your knee for an indefinite amount of time.

But a hopeful part of you wished that, if you did have a soulmate, they wouldn’t be an athlete like you. Your own tribulation would only weigh them down in ways you can only imagine.

Oikawa could bear with the pain.

On good days, it was just a faint throb in his knee that he could ignore for the most part. His performance wouldn’t be easily affected by a twinge of pain. He had a pretty high tolerance for it, after all.

But there were also times like these when he’d wake up in the middle of the night, clutching his leg as he stifled a scream. What were you doing in such an ungodly hour?

He laid in his bed until the agony subsided back into the usual telltale throb that reminded him that though it’s no longer volatile, the sensation was still there. You were still in pain. He didn’t like the idea; not one bit.

That was the first time he looked you up. He clumsily spelled out your name on the search engine in the way that he remembered the x-ray technician from nearly a month ago pronounced it. He expected to see links to social media accounts you probably owned, but instead he was faced with a bunch of news articles from online high school sports magazines.

Curious, he clicked on the first link.

“Hyogo’s Own (Surname) (Name), Out of Commision for Good?”

Oikawa vaguely recalled you mentioning that you were from Hyogo and nothing else. It was a district far off on the other side of the country. It would take more than twelve hours to drive there, yet he had found you sitting in a hospital in Sendai with a dead look in your eyes. He always wondered how exactly you wound up waiting to get an x-ray of whatever was afflicting you so far away from home, but the pieces slowly came together as his eyes grazed every word in the article.

“The coach of Hyogo’s Mikage Shihan is yet to release a statement with regards to their star player’s condition. But from what we’ve gathered from the team’s captain, Matsumoto Hiyori, she sustained a severe injury in her right leg. Some speculate that it was a dislocation, but others insisted that it was just a torn ligament. Whatever the cause may be, the football scene would be having scarce glimpses of one of Japan’s top three high school strikers, both in the male and female divisions.”

Your back collided with the wall as Harada roughly pressed you against it, holding you by the shoulders as unveiled fury burned in her eyes.

“Do you really want to end your whole career because of your own stubbornness?” she spat.

You have half the mind to tell her that your career would end sooner if you didn’t practice, but Harada would only remind you that you were given a three-month probation from any sporting activities. You hated that your doctor was right, that Harada was right, but could they blame you?

Soccer was all you had – it’s all you’re good at. You wanted to feel the rush of running through the field, the sun glaring at your skin, and the sound of grass crunching under the soles of your shoes. You ached for it.

“Just one month more, (Name),” she whispered, her fingers trembling. “One more and you’ll be free to play again. But right now…your knee still needs to heal.”

You knew that. You knew it far too well more than Harada or anyone else could ever understand. The burden of waking up every morning, feeling like your knee was going to snap off its sockets at any moment was already fair enough of a warning. But you couldn’t help yourself. You needed to move, to constantly be doing something because you’d rather incapacitate yourself entirely than spend another second feeling worthless. Seeing everyone do their drills on the field as you watched them between the barrier of a chain-link fence ate away at your sanity more than you expected it to.

The door to the locker rooms abruptly creaked open as your team’s goalie, Suzuhime, and your captain, Matsumoto, made their entrance, shattering the tension that nearly suffocated you.

Their gazes, oh how sick you were of those pitiful gazes they sent your way. Why did they always look at you like you wouldn’t be playing alongside them anymore? It infuriated you to no end and the frustration that’s been building up in your chest for weeks just…burst.

“Why does everyone have to keep deciding what I can and can’t do for myself?” you snapped. “It’s my body, it’s my career, why do you have to meddle with what I want to fucking do with my life?”

Poison might as well dribbled from your chin at the sharpness of your tone. The two newcomers shot you wide-eyed stares, unused to your seething behavior, but Harada remained unfazed. She’s known you since you were children and even if you were a collected person for the most part, she’s borne witness to your rage a handful of times. And she knew how to handle the situation accordingly.

You were armed with an arsenal of even more hurtful things to say, but before any of them left your lips, the sting of Harada’s palm smacking against your face snapped you out of your haze of indignation.

The frown you didn’t know you’ve been making loosens as your lips parted in surprise when tears fell from Harada’s eyes.

“You’re not the only one who’s hurt by this, you know?” she interjected with a shaky breath. “We hate seeing you in pain. We hate it when you try to push yourself to limits you can’t reach anymore. So please just–” she exhaled, “–try to understand why we’re keeping you from training.”

Matsumoto came forward, pulling the two of you in a tight embrace. Suzuhime muttered something about unwarranted affection, but joined in regardless. You couldn’t react. You never really thought of it that way until Harada slapped you with the truth (no pun intended).

“Can you promise me one thing, as your captain?” Matsumoto pressed her lips in a thin line.

You nodded.

“Focus on getting better. The field won’t disappear, but your career can. Wasn’t that one big shot university in Tokyo eyeing you for a sports scholarship? You can’t lose that.”

And she was right. There was more to your life than this measly little slip-up. In five years give or take you’d be laughing at this whole thing like it was an inside joke. Everything was going to get better.

With that, you wiped the tears that ran across Harada’s cheeks, mumbling an almost inaudible apology.

“Man, you guys are too uptight,” Suzuhime whined. “Let’s all just get some pork buns like we used to!”

The idea never sounded better.

“What’s up with you?” Iwaizumi spared Oikawa a mindful glance. Their captain was rubbing his cheek instead of warming up for practice.

“I think she got slapped,” he muttered.

Hanamaki, having found out about Oikawa’s newly discovered soulmate bond, cackled. “You want to return the favor?”

“Shut the fuck up, Makki.”

“A soulmate?” Harada cocked her head to the side. “Don’t you have one, Suzu?”

Redness crept up Suzuhime’s face for having been singled out. “Um, yeah. It’s my childhood friend. You don’t know him. He goes to another school.”

Matsumoto scoffed. “That’s just high school girl-talk for ‘my soulmate doesn’t exist’.”

“Hey! He does, too!”

Harada waved away their impending banter, her attention solely on you. “So you think you have a soulmate?”

You nodded, eyes drifting towards your half-eaten pork bun. “They get hit a lot. I’m worried they’re in an abusive environment.”

“How sweet,” Suzuhime sighed. “My soulmate doesn’t care about his health at all. He always gets into scuffles and the bruises take ages to heal. When I talked to him about it, he just shrugged it off!”

“If he exists, that is,” taunted your captain.

“Matsu, I am going to tape your damn mouth.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

“Ignore them,” Harada told you. “So, what do you plan on doing about it?”

You’ve been asking yourself the same thing. Soulmate bonds are a surefire way of determining that someone was out there fated to be with you. But the tricky part was finding them. They could be anywhere in the world and the only means you had to contact them were the shared sensations of pain you felt on both ends of the bond.

Your eyes drifted onto the black knee brace you’ve been coerced to wear for the duration of your therapy. It served as a visual reminder of what had happened. But then again, the dull ache that made itself known every now and then still haunted you. Did your soulmate feel that slight ounce of pain, too?

“I think,” you sighed, “I’m just going to wait it out.”

This was bad.

Oikawa Tooru was known for his exceptional talent as a setter and a jump server. He wouldn’t have the audience from the stands hyping him up when it’s his turn to send a merciless blow towards their opponent. But jump serves were the only serves he made, since he refused to settle for anything less. This put an unnecessary strain on his knees that he knew, from the start, he would pay for when the time comes.

That time was now.

He hissed as Iwaizumi soothed the taut muscles in Oikawa’s legs. Matsukawa handed their ace an ice pack, which he placed over their captain’s aching knee.

“Is it yours?” Iwaizumi asked.

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

Matsukawa snickered at the side. “Of all the soulmates you could have ended up with, they just had to be an injury-prone idiot, too.”

Normally, he would’ve told Mattsun off for being mean, but honestly, he couldn’t have been more right.

“Shouyou’s playing volleyball now?” you clarified to your mother, who was giving you your afternoon massage.

She hummed. “Your aunt told me their school’s fighting to qualify as Miyagi’s representative for nationals. They got us tickets to watch their semifinals game.”

You couldn’t ever picture your little cousin, Shouyou, being able to touch the top of a volleyball net. He never even showed the vaguest interest in any kind of sport! Whenever his family visited yours in Hyogo a few years back, you always tried to get him into soccer one way or another. But he was as stubborn as an ox. Now, you’re hearing he’s playing to qualify for a national-level tournament for their prefecture?

“Miyagi, huh? That’s where I…” You frowned. No, you weren’t going to dwell on it any longer. “When’s the game?”

“This Friday, but we’re leaving on Thursday night. Your father’s driving.”

School wasn’t particularly hectic this time around, so you shrugged, agreeing with your mother to go all the way back to the place where some of your dreams were crushed. It wouldn’t do anyone harm, right?

Things were looking pretty dire for Seijoh. The little chibi – no, his entire team wasn’t letting up at all. It annoyed Oikawa more than it should. How did they still have that much determination left?

Oikawa’s breath came out a little shaky as Mr. Refreshing and the little shrimp attempted to send the ball back to Seijoh. But Oikawa saw through the feint. Sugawara set it into the ace’s direction instead, who promptly slammed it down with unparalleled precision. Hanamaki was quick to react, diving for it without a second’s hesitation. The receive was off and it was flying away from the court, but Oikawa’s feet moved before he could even set a plan in stone.

He forced his legs into sprints as he snapped his arm and pointed an index finger in the direction of the person he trusted most. His eyes flashed with fiery determination and the flames spread to Iwaizumi’s as well. It seemed impossible. It would be one of the riskiest sets he would have to make in his whole career thus far, but if he didn’t take it, he would just be admitting defeat.

Oikawa launched himself into the air, twisting his torso in the direction of Seijoh’s ace and put the ball back in play all the way from where he set it from outside the court. Iwaizumi nodded in understanding, bending his knees for the sole purpose of connecting it. Naturally, the rules of physics still applied in a volleyball game and gravity eventually brought Oikawa back on the ground, at the cost of his back colliding with some of the metal chairs set aside.

But Iwaizumi didn’t disappoint. He was already flying, arm pulled back in a spiking stance before the ball could even come to him. He trusted Oikawa’s accuracy enough to make this shot possible. There was no one else that could pull this off.

The captain grit his teeth, struggling to get back on his feet, but a sheet of black cloth was on the floor, making him lose traction in his shoes. The urgency in his action made him slip, his bad knee – your bad knee – colliding with the floor. The familiar sting in his bones flared back into life, but he couldn’t afford to pay it any mind.

He was running. Running even if his knee screamed for him to stop. Running even if his lungs burned for a breather. Running because even if Iwaizumi connected his set with a beautiful spike, that blasted Karasuno delinquent was definitely going to receive it–

A pained scream momentarily distracted him from everything happening on the court. It was strange. He never let what was going on in the stands distract him from a game, whether it be Seijoh’s supporters egging them on or some other matter than didn’t require his attention.

But he could see it. The way you crumpled on the stairs a few levels above in the stands, clutching your knee to chest as you howled in agony. His heart stopped at the sight.

What were you doing here?

“It hurts! It hurts!” you sobbed into your father’s shirt, fingers clamped around your aching leg. The all-too familiar pain erupted in your knee at the very same time that familiar face slipped on the court. You knew it wasn’t just a coincidence that the chatty stranger from a few months back was in the very same match as Shouyou.

“Shh, we’re going to get your meds, baby,” your father cooed as he carefully hooked his arm under your knees and supported your back with the other. “Just hold out for a while.”

You could vaguely hear your mother apologizing to your aunt, but all your mind could focus on was how beautiful his eyes were. They were looking straight at you with crackling intensity. But before you could spend any longer drowning in those hazel eyes, your father carried you out of the stands, whispering words of consolation in your ear.

“Oikawa-san!”

Yahaba’s shout pulled Oikawa back into focus and he could clearly see Tobio running about on the court, going into position for their freak quick. A menacing smile graced Oikawa’s lips. That’s what he wanted – for his junior to use their ultimate weapon and fail.

But something was wrong.

Iwaizumi, Kindaichi, and Kyoutani – the three of them, at the same time, lunged in an attempt to sully the ball’s trajectory. But they shouldn’t. The chibi’s arms were angled too obtuse. The shot was definitely going outside. He was about to bark at them to stop being a couple of idiots, but there was no reversing it.

Even if you can’t stop it, touch it, that’s what Oikawa always told them. He shouldn’t go back on his own teachings now.

The chibi’s spike grazed Iwaizumi’s fingers. Out of instinct, Oikawa pulled his arms to the side in a pathetic attempt to receive, but he knew it was in vain. If only he stood a few feet at the back, maybe he could have had better odds.

But fate has always been cruel to the ordinary.

As all eyes were on the outplayed volleyball, none of the players dared to draw a breath. But seeing that Oikawa was already their last line of defense, it collided with the floor, the echoing sound imprinted in his mind for the rest of his days.

Seijoh had fallen.

“When I find that boy, I’m going to beat him to a pulp,” your father flatly proclaimed when you finished your story. The three of you were back in the Hinatas’ living room, your mother having soothed your knee with her otherworldly massage.

“Dad, no,” you pleaded, but knew he didn’t mean the threat. At least, not entirely.

“I’m going to have to agree with your father, sweetie,” your mother caressed your hair. “He must know what’s going on with you by now. He should be more careful.”

You rolled your eyes. “Mom, I should have been careful. Who knows what he went through when I got slide tackled in the Aomori game.”

She hesitated before sighing in defeat. Your parents then shared a look, presumably having a telepathic conversation as to what your next course of action should be.

But before they could make that decision for you, Shouyou emerged from the hallway.

“You’re…soulmates with the Grand King?”

You didn’t know who this ‘grand king’ was, but he probably meant the chatty stranger turned volleyball player you met eyes with earlier today. You shot Shouyou a pained smile.

“Yeah.”

“Iwa-chan, I don’t get why we’re in rival territory. Why won’t you just tell me?” Oikawa simpered as Iwaizumi dragged him along further inside Karasuno’s campus. A few girls they passed by shot him knowing glances, which was odd. Most females would swoon at the sight of Oikawa Tooru.

“Shut up, Shittykawa,” Iwaizumi dismissed before letting go of his best friend’s collar when they arrive at the school’s gym. “Someone wants to see you.”

Oikawa narrowed his eyes. “If it’s Tobio-chan, tell him to forget it! As if I’ll let him gloat about their victory in my face.”

“Dumbass, it’s not him! None of the players are looking for you!”

“Then why are we even here in the first place?”

“Uhm, hello?”

It’s been months since Oikawa’s heard that voice, but even now, he could still associate your face with it. You peeked your head from inside Karasuno’s gym. The sound of volleyball shoes scraping against the polished floor spilling from inside almost made Oikawa nostalgic, but he was preoccupied with something else entirely.

You grinned at him, but your eyes held a hint of shyness in them. Oikawa didn’t know whose breath hitches, but he’s definitely having a hard time taking in oxygen at the sight of your face, more vibrant than the first time he saw you in Sendai. His eyes glazed over the knee brace slapped on your right knee – it looked painfully similar to the one he needed to wear in games.

“I’m sorry I gave you such a hard time,” came your sheepish apology. “If I’d been more careful back then, you could’ve beat these guys… But I was rooting for Shouyou from the start, so…”

Oikawa didn’t know anyone named Shouyou, but he must have been someone close enough to you that you’d go all the way from Hyogo to watch their game against Karasuno. He made sure to shower whoever Shouyou was with infinite affection for finally, finally bringing you back to him.

Shit, he’s hot.

You didn’t remember mister chatterbox from the hospital being this attractive. Maybe you just had such a terribly pessimistic view of the world at the time that you missed how unfairly good-looking he was.

You could feel the warmth spreading all over your face at apologizing profusely for your past mishandling of your current predicament. But he dismissed all of your concerns with a lighthearted laugh that sounded like a symphony in your ears.

“(Surname) (Name), Japan’s number three striker, is apologizing for an injury she didn’t even mean to get? You’re quite the saint, are you?” The way your name rolled off his tongue tugged at your heartstrings more than it should. Stupid soulmate bonds, making you lose composure all the damn time.

“You know who I am?” you queried, rather amused with this revelation.

He offered a nonchalant shrug. “I do my research.”

The two of you stood there, carefully taking in each other as much as you could. You almost felt bad for the friend he brought with him, who stepped aside as to not interrupt your first meeting with your soulmate. But knowing that he’s the boy who’s always getting smacked in the head, the one that made you feel the sting of a service ace on the tips of your fingers, and the very same guy that powered through the burden you unknowingly shoved into his plate all with an award-winning grin on his face, it was all worth it.

This was Oikawa Tooru, one of the most amazing setters in the high school volleyball scene.

But why did he look like he was about to cry?

Oikawa couldn’t help it. He threw his arms around you and took a long whiff of your scent. Ever since he ensured your identity, he couldn’t help but think of all the times your pain was transmitted to him. Those days were difficult for him, alone, already, what more for the person actually suffering the affliction?

Gentle fingers tangled themselves in your hair as he pulled you as tight as he could into his own body. His arms shook with the sheer emotions coursing through his veins and–

“Why are you crying?”

He sighed, placing his hands on your shoulders. You eyed him bizarrely, but concern was lining your features, nonetheless.

“I hurt you.”

You snorted.

“I’m pretty sure I’ve hurt you more times than the other way around,” you retorted, smiling up at him. “What kind of athlete would I be if I had a shitty pain tolerance?”

His eyes widened, taken aback with your reply. Admittedly, he already planned his first meeting with you in his imagination dozens of times. Only he didn’t expect for it to be in Karasuno, a day after his last volleyball game in high school. But he imagined himself letting his emotions lose, apologizing for hurting you, and you clasping his hands in forgiveness. He didn’t exactly write it in the script for you to take the blame, yourself, too.

You were simply full of surprises.

You spent the rest of the afternoon talking and talking until the sun was beginning to bleed into the horizon.

Oikawa Tooru was an interesting person. He loved volleyball, had a penchant for milk bread, and admitted that he may be quite the narcissist at times. He told you that Tobio-chan, one of Shouyou’s teammates, was a junior that finally surpassed him. (There was a bitter undercurrent to his voice as he told that part.) He was going to Tokyo for college and–

“For real? I’m headed for Tokyo, too,” you chuckled, lacing your fingers together on your lap.

Oikawa quirked an eyebrow. “Do you happen to be on a sports scholarship as well?”

You hummed, smiling playfully. “I dunno. Could the number three high school striker of Japan be able to land a scholarship even after this shitty injury?”

“Hmm…probably not.” Oikawa shook his head.

That reply garnered a pout. “Why not?”

He shrugged. “I haven’t seen her play yet. She’s seen me play, and we both know that my skill is already university-tier.”

“Yet, you still lost,” you sighed dramatically.

The offended look on his face was priceless. “You didn’t have to go that far!”

You bellowed a hearty laugh, clutching your stomach at the puppy eyes he’s sending your way. Never could you have imagined that same boy from the radiology center being gifted with a whimsical persona so in tune with your own. Weirdly, you’re thankful for the injury that linked you to him.

But as your laughter died down, the sun had already set. Your mother told you to be back with Shouyou and from the looks of it, the boys were already cleaning up inside the gym.

You glanced at Oikawa, who was contently gazing at you with a small smile.

“I’m going back to Hyogo tonight,” you imparted.

He gave you a curt nod. “Have a safe trip.”

“What, you’re not going to proclaim your love for me and force me to never leave your side again?”

Oikawa wrinkled his nose at such a bold statement. “You’re pretty, but not that pretty.”

“Hey!”

“I jest. I jest,” he chuckled, tucking in a lone tuft of your hair behind your ear. The graze of his fingers against the skin of your cheek made your lips part in a mute sigh.

“All I’m saying is what’s there to fret about when we have–” he gestured towards your knee, “–this bonding us?”

“You saying you want me to get injured again, Tooru?”

“Oh, say my name again.”

“Pervert!”

“No! It really sounded nice in your voice!”

“(Name)-neesan!”

Your heart almost sank at the sound of Shouyou’s voice. He emerged from the entrance with his gym bag slung across his shoulder. With a polite smile, he asked if you were ready to go.

You almost told him that, yes, you were, but that’s until Oikawa hissed at him like a cat.

“You’re the Shouyou that brought us together?” he accused with thinly veiled apprehension, to which Shouyou laughed.

“That’s right, Grand King! You owe me now!”

“I owe nothing to any of you Karasuno folk!”

You rolled your eyes to pull Oikawa into an abrupt embrace, which effectively snapped him out of his hostility towards your younger cousin. He stammered with his words, but they remained forgotten when you whispered in his ear:

“See you in Tokyo.”

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu!! headcanons #haikyuu x reader #oikawa tooru #oikawa tooru hc #oikawa tooru x reader #im crying #soulmate au #this was so much fun to wrITE #I LOVE HIM #the grand king of mY LIFE #hqscenario

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gaycrouton · 5 years

Text

Sex Education

For: @xfpornbattle ‘s December/January 2019 Porn Battle and in honor of Sex Education coming out soon.

Prompt: AU where Mulder is a sex therapist helping Scully out using toys on her or more (I took liberties because I don’t like writing AU’s so I hope it’s still okay)

"You're lying," she balked at him, invigorated by the prospect of learning something new about the man she knew better than herself.

The new information was accompanied by a new facial expression; she couldn't remember ever seeing Mulder look half as shy as he did right now. Shifting his weight on the couch, he let out a wavering, breathy laugh as he sighed, "I wish I was."

He'd come over to her apartment for their weekly movie night, becoming weekly after that night all those months ago when he took her to the batting cages and they couldn't bring themselves to end their date. They didn't call it that of course, merely wishing to spend a little more time together. It resulted in her hanging out at his place while they watched whatever D-List movie was playing on TV. Now it was second nature for one of them to haphazardly clean their apartment while the other got food after work on Friday. The only thing that changed from week to week was whose apartment it was at and what movie they watched. Everything else stayed the exact same; the packs of beers, a box of his and hers pizza, her hawaiian, his meat lovers, the same ol' couches, the same rampant sexual tension they never seemed to fucking act on.

Maybe they sat closer than they would have a few years ago and maybe their hugs lasted a bit longer than what most would deem appropriate, but neither of them had made a move. Part of her was curious if this new bit of revealed information was some attempt to drunkenly flirt, test what her reaction would be, but based on the discoloration in his cheeks right now, it might have just been a tipsy slip of the tongue.

A slip she was not about to let slide.

Commercial breaks seemed to be far more important to them on these nights than the actual movies were. As soon as the screen faded from a film to an advertisement, one of them was inevitably already speaking, desperately wanting to capitalize on a moment where the only thing they could do was make small talk for an intermittent three to five minutes. It was a small intimacy, but one they both cherished.

However, this time as Die Hard faded out, her words got caught in her throat as she was distracted by the first commercial. A blonde british woman advertising her at home therapy. Sex therapy. As she proclaimed all the various sexual disorders she could help solve in graphic detail, Mulder chuckled lightly to himself.

"What's so funny?" she prompted, nudging his knee with her own.

"Oh, it's nothing. This just brings up some old memories." He must've read the implications of his words in the expression on her face because he quickly added. "No, no I didn't go to one. I was one."

Scully'd initially thought he was joking and she couldn't believe he was insisting he was serious. Now she was just sitting there watching Mulder try to change the subject. "No, no. I've read your file. I've seen your CV. Sex Therapist was never listed. I would have definitely remembered something like that."

"I did it when I was studying at Oxford to make extra money. It was an underground operation just to help some underclassmen with their problems or insecurities. I went under an alias so no one would know I wasn't licensed." He grabbed another beer out of their shared cartridge and she was internally encouraging him to drink more if it loosened up his tongue this much.

She didn't care that Bruce Willis had returned to the screen, she had her own mission to deal with. "What was your alias?"

"Jean," he admitted, "Spelled j-e-a-n, not j-o-h-n. I thought it would make me seem classy," he laughed.

"How long?" she asked, completely turning her body on the couch to face him, pleased when he did the same. They rarely talked in depths about themselves, especially not about something so revealing.

"Basically three quarters of my time there, I'd say. The latter three quarters." He clearly was taken by surprise at her complete and utter interest on the subject and was answering honestly to keep her undivided attention.

"What made you want to do that of all things?" She punctuated her question by finishing off her own beer and grabbing another.

"Oh, um," he bashfully started, playing with the rim of his beer bottle. Then he murmured something and she had to interrupt him.

"I didn't catch that last part. What'd you say?"

He bit his lip in that way she oh-so loved before continuing, as if debating saying the words at full volume. "I was told I'd be good at it."

"By wh-oh," she exclaimed realizing what he was implying.

"It was college," he shrugged, laughing off the fact he just told her he apparently excelled enough in bed to be asked advice. Excelled enough to get paid for said advice.

"I'm learning so much about you," she beamed, the liquor having loosened her inhibitions enough to flirt a little. "Were you good?"

"Well everyone I was with left satisfied. A few times over," he smiled in humble honesty.

She felt a gush of arousal seep onto her panties at this admission. Fox Mulder, giver of multiple orgasms. Good to know, though not what she had meant. "Good to know," she actually voice in a tone she didn't mean to be so husky. "But I meant were you good as a sex therapist?"

"Oh!" he proclaimed, an embarrassed laugh breaking apart his sentence. She could see the back of his neck being stained crimson from here. "Um, I guess. A lot of my clients told me I was a big help. It was really just me combining classroom experience with knowledge of, um, my own experience. But, I don't know, I'm not sure if I was really even giving the best advice."

"Let me be the judge." The words left her mouth before she even had a full chance to register what she even meant by them.

"What?" he squeaked, eyes widening.

With an uncharacteristic giggle, she adjusted herself so that her shoulders and neck were supported by the arm of the couch and her calves laid across his lap, laying in the perfect therapy pose. She laced her fingers across her abdomen and watched in amusement as he tried unsuccessfully to be subtle as his eyes appreciated her body. "Give me some therapy," she demanded.

"You want me to give you sex therapy?" he asked incredulously, amusement dancing in his expression.

"Yep," the beer answered.

"You're sure?" It was cute how nervous he was right now and it just added to her confidence.

"Come on Dr. Mulder," she all but purred, "Why not?"

He cleared his throat and reached over to her end table to pick up her reading glasses, putting them on for dramatic effect. "Okay, Ms. Scully. What brings you here today?" His baritone somehow seemed deeper than normal, resonating in her bones and she had to repress a shudder.

"Hmm," she pondered. She hadn't actually thought that far ahead. I'm here today because I'm so sexually frustrated because of my partner that he's all I can think of when I masturbate. That I come home every day soaking wet and desperate from being so close to him that I rip off my clothes and jack off. The right answer seemed a little too on the head. "I'm not sure. I guess just to hear your expertise on the subject," she shrugged coyly.

"Have you seen a Sex Therapist before?" he asked, lightly placing a hand on one nylon-clad calf. She shook her head against the fabric of the couch and watched him intently. "That's perfectly fine. We can start with some foundational questions."

"Okay."

His voice returned to it's prior shy state when he asked his next question, "And you want this session to be exactly how I would normally treat a session?"

"I want the full Jean experience," she confidently stated, smiling at him in encouragement.

"Okay," he drug out in a tone that implied she didn't know what she had in store for her.

She didn't

"Describe your first orgasm, in as much detail as you can." His smile widened at the same rate as her eyes. Clearly, he assumed she wasn't going to answer, but she was more than a few beers in and most of the blood in her body was in one area leading her decisions right now.

"I believe my first ever orgasm happened when I was twelve." She saw Mulder's eyebrows shoot up in surprise and she tried to conceal her pride in surprising him but continuing. "I don't fully remember the events leading up to it. It was a wet dream. I just woke up in the middle of, what I thought was, a really intense shudder and a weird, sticky feeling on my crotch." She started giggling at the memory and she shifted a little on the couch, "I-I also had my favorite teddy bear squeezed in between my thighs with a near-vice grip as I grinded his face into the pillow."

He laughed out loud along with her before asking, "Do you remember what you were dreaming about?"

"Oh god if I know. I don't even think I thought about boys back then. I truly have no idea."

He nodded in deep concentration and she presumed if they were in Oxford in 1984 he would have been taking diligent notes on her little teddy bear rendevouz. "When was the first time you brought yourself to orgasm?"

She let out a little laugh and, regardless of the fact she was a little tipsy, she couldn't believe she was actually divulging this in front of Mulder. Part of her thought she should stop to spare herself embarrassment in the morning, but there was something about the intensity of his eyes, the absolute curiosity about her answers, that made her keep going.

"Well, even though I didn't necessarily know that it was on orgasm I was having at that time, I knew it felt fucking fantastic, and I was desperate to have it happen again. For months after that, god this is so embarrassing," she laughed, covering her face with her hands. She felt a hand touch her elbow and she spread her fingers on her face to look at him.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want, but know I won't tease you for anything you say." Then, holding up that same arm in a mock boy-scout salute, added, "Doctor-Patient confidentiality."

She smiled at him and put her hands back on her ribs. "Well, for months after, when I was positive Missy was asleep I would try to recreate it. I would take that poor little bear and just squeeze my thighs together around his neck hoping it would do something."

"Did it?" he asked, trying to hold back laughter.

"No!" she explained through a chuckle. "So eventually, I walked myself to the library and went to the Human Anatomy section."

"Of course you did."

She rolled her eyes at him and nudged him in the stomach with her free foot. "And I eventually found some human sexuailty books. The female sections weren't very detailed, it was the seventies,-"

"Probably couldn't see anything through all the hair," he joked.

She snorted and continued through a laugh, "Anyway, I learned enough. Where the clit was, what it should do, the vaginal passage, you know all the good stuff." He nodded in affirmation of the good stuff and she resisted rolling her eyes again. "So I went home, took a hand mirror and looked at myself. I tried to put a finger inside but it hurt, so I just focused on the clit. For the first few minutes I didn't think it was doing anything, but then I felt something in my gut. Like I was running up a hill and I didn't know what would be at the top, but I just had to know. Soon the mirror was forgotten and I was giving myself tennis arm on my bedroom floor."

"Then what?" he asked, his eyes not having moved from her during her entire description.

He started smiling when he saw the look on her face, knowing something embarrassing was about to be revealed. "Well," she started, trying to ignore the way her face was undoubtedly flushing at the embarrassing memory. "I came. Hard. It was like every cell in by body had bloomed and was tingling in pleasure. It felt so incredible, and it was so sudden, that I screamed 'oh my god' at the top of my lungs."

"Don't tell me-"

"Yep, my entire family was home. I heard someone running down the hall so I put my shorts on as quickly as I possibly could. Then Missy barged in and I told her I saw a spider."

"Did she believe you?" he asked, fully engrossed in the story.

"Not even a little. I was flushed and sweaty, my legs were trembling, and my underwear was still lying on the floor. She told me not to do that when mom and dad were home before walking out and yelling that there was a huge spider in the room, but she took care of it."

"Did you stop masturbating after that?" He'd resumed his professional voice and somehow it made the confession less embarrassing.

"Of course not!" she exclaimed. He smiled and nodded appreciatively, taking more mental notes.

"When was the first time you achieved orgasm by someone else?" he asked.

Now she was reminded of why she didn't like therapy. They always seemed to discover what she'd been trying to hide. She'd come from thinking about other people, him, but in all honesty, no one else had made her come. She'd gotten off touching herself during sex, but the other participants really didn't really contribute. It was always her expertise and imagination that pushed her over the edge. "Um, like-"

"The first time someone else made you cum, could be by hand, mouth, dry humping-" he offered, noticing her struggle. She wondered if he'd be able to tell if she lied. Probably. She didn't have a chance to come up with something because he'd already figured her out. "No one else has made you come?" His professional voice couldn't mask his absolute shock.

"N-no."

"Were they not stimulating you?" he asked. He almost sounded like he wanted to enact revenge on her former lovers on behalf for her lack of pleasure.

"Well, they would try, but it just never worked. Usually I'd feel so bad for them that I'd fake it."

"Couldn't they tell?" he asked with the cute naivete of someone who's never slept with a man.

He was staring straight at her and, in another move that simply had to be fueled from the beers she downed, she pulled a Meg Ryan. Rolling her eyes to the back of her head she gasped loudly and arched her back. "Oh, fuck," she cried in a high breathy voice as she let her body tremble against him. Then as if she never did she fell back and deadpanned, "It's not that hard."

But he was. That much she could feel against the side of her calf. She wasn't about to look and confirm her suspicions though because that would mean missing out on the way his eyes were devouring her like she was sex personified. When she had fallen back he gasped lightly and licked his lips shifting his his upwards ever so slightly as if possessed.

"They never knew any different," she shrugged, shoulders heavy against the tension in the room.

"I could tell," he stated confidently.

"Oh really? How?" she prompted, curious as to where his conviction came from.

"From the very little I know about your sexual history, I think there would be more hip gyration, more focus on your clit." She didn't need to check to know she was soaking wet. Her arousal had probably started to seep onto her nylons and inner thighs, and she was suddenly second guessing her position, hoping Mulder couldn't smell her in the air.

"Besides, this is just speculation, but I've always imagined that during sex your voice would deepen. I don't think I've ever imagined a pitch so high."

"Imagined?" she repeated so softly it was almost a whisper. Was Mulder sitting here, hard on her sofa, confessing that he'd imagined her coming? Making her come?

"Hypothesized," he clarified as if that was any different. Before she had a chance to call him out on that, he continued "Are you comfortable with your body?"

Her brows furrowed at that, not quite sure where he was going. "More or less."

"More or less?" he repeated, looking confused.

"I mean, I guess," she shrugged.

"You guess?"

"Are you just going to parrot my answers back to me?" she laughed. She could be as self-assured as she wanted, but she had the same insecurities as any woman. Are my thighs too big? Are my boobs too small? Is my skin clear enough? Does this outfit flatter my body? She most certainly didn't hate her body, on a certain level she could find herself attractive, but she didn't know if she could consider herself hot or anything.

"Are you insecure?" he asked, his brow furrowed.

"I don't see how this pertains to my sex life?" She tried deflecting.

"If you aren't comfortable in your body, it might be distracting you during intimacy and preventing you from achieving orgasm. You might be too concerned what others think." She had to admit, interesting theory. No wonder people paid him for advice, that was pretty good. However she didn't really think that was the case. She wasn't really concerned about how her body looked during sex, she was more concerned about how her partners looked during sex, specifically within the past few years. Her lovers had an uncanny way of not being Fox Mulder and she found it distracting.

"I don't think that's it. I think I definitely don't think I'm ugly or repulsive. I'm not really concerned about how I look during sex."

He laughed and for a second she was offended until he incredulously stated. "Not ugly or repulsive? That's the best you can do?" She shrugged and the hand on her calf moved to her knee as he leaned forward slightly. "Scully, you are absolutely stunning, and I don't have to guess about that. If I had your body I'd walk around naked all the time," he joked though he was serious.

She averted her eyes as she bit back a smile. "That's sweet," she murmured appreciatively.

Easing back he stated, "But that's just my expert opinion." He cleared his throat and adjusted his sitting position slightly and she pretended like she didn't feel his erection rub against her. The only sign she did being the way her eyelids fluttered shut. When she opened them he was staring at her with a smirk, but she couldn't summon the will to be embarrassed.

"Do you currently consider yourself sexually satisfied?" he asked, not fully hiding the way his eyes flickered down her body.

"I take care of myself," she answered honestly. Satisfied was a qualifiable term and she didn't know what scale they were using. Did she come regularly? Yeah. The way she dreamed of? No.

"How often?"

She swallowed, as if it could take away any hesitance, before answering, "Daily."

"Are you sexually where you want to be right now?"

"Isn't that just another way of asking if I'm satisfied?"

"Let me rephrase. When you masturbate-" She still couldn't fully believe she was having an in-depth conversation about her sex life with Mulder. She didn't know if the shock would ever wear off. "-are you content, or are you fantasizing about getting off in a different way."

Rolling her eyes, she lamented, "Mulder. I have a vibrator under this very couch as we speak. I don't think that really screams 'content'. But who doesn't fantasize about something more? I achieve orgasm everyday though, so how much can I complain?"

His eyes lit up with this knowledge and a little hum resonated in the back of his throat. A sound of pleasure that she admitted she'd pleasured herself on the very place they sat. "So," she prompted, "What's your prognosis?"

"In my professional opinion?" he asked, earning a nod. "I think that you hold on tightly to control. Both in your professional and personal lives, you prefer to have a sense of control or at least knowledge about what happens. I think this translates into your sex life. It's easy for you to make yourself come, but harder to let other people because you don't like giving such a vulnerable part of yourself to someone else."

"Hmm," she pondered thoughtfully. Part of her felt exposed by his honest evaluation, but she couldn't dismiss it. She was nothing if not self-aware enough to recognize he was right. "What would you recommend?"

"Let go. Let someone else control you, sexually." The thought scared her a little bit, she'd been controlled enough in the past against her will to be wary. Pfaster, Duane Barry, her abduction, the list went on and on. The thought of letting someone else do what they wished with her was intimidating.

"So, I should just find someone that will do what they will, and I'll come if I don't try to regain control?"

He shook his head almost immediately and leaned infinitesimally closer to her. "I don't mean find some random guy. No. To accurately help you, I think you should be with someone you trust. Someone you know will respect your boundaries. It isn't about letting them do whatever they want to you, it's allowing them to take full responsibility for bringing you pleasure." She wasn't even sure he was conscious of the way his thumb was idly stroking her leg through her nylons right now.

"That sounds nice," she whispered, her voice quivering slightly.

"Do you have someone you trust enough?" She heard it in his voice. That strong combination of lust, hope, and fear. Putting himself out there and hoping she'd notice, but fearing she might possibly have some other man she trusted with her life stored away that he didn't know about.

"I do," she nodded. "I trust him more than anyone."

"Do you think you'll ask him?" he asked, moving his hand to rest above her knee, his pinky finger just barely slipping under the hem of her skirt.

"He's in the middle of a session right now," she teased lightly, deciding to be bold as she bent her knee so she could rub her stockinged foot against the bulge in the front of his pants. His hips involuntarily jumped as he thrust against her. "Would it be against the rules to ask my therapist?"

"Never," he proclaimed like a prayer. Before the last syllable even left his mouth, he'd moved himself in between her legs, grabbing her hip and neck as he pulled her flush against him in a searing kiss.

She couldn't help the guttural moan that ripped from her throat as she felt him draped over her. His erection was pressed to her lower belly like hot steel. She raised her knees so her legs were bent, inviting him closer and not caring how her skirt rode up her thighs to rest on her hips. She undulated her arousal against him causing him to moan, "Fuck, Scully," into her mouth, and she ate up every word greedily.

He pumped his hips into her gently, a rhythm matching a gentle nudge, but it was painfully erotic. Suddenly he shifted his weight onto his haunches and reached up her skirt, feeling around until he found the waistband of her nylons. He wasted no time slipping them down her legs, making sure to touch every inch of skin revealed. As he did this, she was eager to help, and she quickly untucked her cotton shirt and ripped it over her head, discarding it gracelessly against the ground. Before it even reached the ground, Mulder was groaning, "Oh my god."

Always a man for reciprocity, he took off his own shirt and threw it on top of hers, making a little pile. She didn't know what he was doing when he leaned over the side of the couch, easing his forearms on the wooden floor as he reached for something. She hadn't remembered him dropping anything, but then his intentions became clear when he resurfaced with her pink, oval shaped vibrator. She shot him a question in her stare and he was quick to reassure her, "I want to make you come with something you're familiar with first."

First. Implying the first of a series. A series of orgasms about to be brought upon her body by Mulder. Mulder. She gave him a toothy smile and he covered it with a kiss. She was a little too preoccupied with his body finally touching hers to enjoy the initial kiss, but now it was all her mind could focus on. She could taste the stale beer and pizza on his tongue that she was sure he could taste on hers. God, she'd imagined that pouty bottom lip could do wonders, but actually feeling the way it puckered, sucked, and nibbled on her lips was mind-blowing. His tongue slid against hers and it only added to the surrealism of all this.

They had to break away to gasp for breath and they took a moment just panting, looking into each other's eyes. "You sure you're okay with this?"

"More than you could ever know," she whispered, rubbing her leg against his straining erection. He moaned and lowered his head into the crook of her neck for a moment as he indulged himself, grinding himself into her.

Then, as if possessed, he leaned back again, this time hooking two fingers under her underwear, dragging the saturated scrap of fabric down her legs. "You are so beautiful," he praised, licking his lips while staring straight down at her exposed sex. She let out a little laugh as she watched him turn on her vibrator, the buzzing sound filling the room with noise that perfectly mirrored what she was feeling inside her body right now.

Instead of placing the toy on her immediately, he put it on her sternum, dragging it painfully slow down her skin, breaking off to rub it against her nipples, playing with them until they were hardened peaks straining against the cups of her bra. Then he descended lower, going in between her ribs, over her belly button, sliding over the bunched fabric around her waist, tickling the hairs of her pubic mound before oh god.

He placed a strong hand on her abdomen to prevent her from arching off the couch, which was her first instinct as soon as the silicone touched her clit. "Ugh, fuck," she growled, undulating her hips against him.

"What do you usually fantasize about when you do this to yourself?" he asked, his eyes so focused on her she was pretty sure the entire apartment could burn down around them and he wouldn't be able to look away.

He alternated between pushing the tip of the toy directly against her and dragging the flat edge back and forth over her. "You," she moaned as she raised one leg over the back of the couch. Mulder did her one better and grabbed the ankle, bringing it up to rest against his bare chest as he placed an open mouth kiss against the bone of her ankle. "What a coincidence. You're always at the forefront of my masturbatory fantasies."

She could feel a tight coiling in her gut and she was amazed he was able to do this to her in what felt like a matter of seconds, though seven years of foreplay was probably more than enough to her her to this state. "W-what am I usually doing?" she asked, still curious through her lust-riddled brain.

"This," he stated, pushing the vibrator down on her by thrusting his hips against it.

She couldn't believe how he'd timed that, nor the amount of self-assured confidence he had with that statement. As soon as the word left his mouth and his hips moved, she was sent into a body quaking orgasm. "Mulder!" she moaned, deep in her throat, her hips lurching upwards to meet him. The vibrations must've felt good for him too because she saw him bite his lip as he struggled to keep his eyes open, obviously wanting to enjoy the sight of her in the throes of a passion caused by him.

Her hands were grasping the couch with a deadly grip and she wouldn't be surprised if she left permanent marks. She ground her hips against his soaking wet hand, desperate to draw this out. Eventually, she became over sensitized and she grabbed his wrist lightly, grateful when he pulled the toy away, turning it off and setting it on the coffee table before returning to her. He placed kisses to her still humming body, and she could feel his pride through the upward curve of his lips on her skin. "I guessed right."

"About what?" she asked, trying to catch her breath.

"I accurately depicted the sound of your orgasm voice in my fantasies," he beamed. "Low." Kiss. "Husky." Kiss. "Smooth as honey." Kiss. "And insatiably arousing." She laughed breathly as she reached in between them and tugged at his belt.

"Wanna hear it again?" she teased in her most seductive voice.

Mulder actually moaned in response and quickly stood up, whipping his belt off as he disrobed the rest of the way. She followed suit, unfastening her bra and easing her skirt down her hips, laying bare on the couch admiring his impressive physique. "You're stunning too Mulder, do you know that."

Her comment seemed to hit past his lust riddled mind and he let out an adorably bashful laugh, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck where he was most certainly turning red again. "Oh, uh-thanks." For once the man she placed all her faith in stood in front of her with uncharacteristic uncertainty.

She opened her arms out to him. "Come 'ere."

He fell onto her gently and they both gasped as bare skin touched bare skin. Not wanting to get distracted from her mission, she kissed the tip of his nose before looking deep into his eyes. "I'm serious, Mulder. You're so attractive it drives me crazy. So crazy that I come home from work everyday aroused beyond belief and masturbate to the thought of you."

She must've gotten to him because he was fully smiling now, a toothy grin that she cherished. "You really know how to make a guy feel good, Scully."

She raised her hips so her wet arousal grazed against his swollen head and he grunted, resisting the urge to buck into her. "You have no idea, yet," she teased, rotating her hips to grind against him.

He laughed at her lame joke, but the traces of laughter on his face were replaced with ecstasy as he pushed into her. Inch by inch she couldn't believe how good he felt. Every centimeter deeper he went gave her new sensations and he seemed endless. Eventually, he was buried hilt deep and she could feel his balls pressing against the flesh of her ass. They stayed like that for a moment as she got used to being this filled.

He placed slow, languid kisses to her neck and she couldn't remember if she'd ever had such a thoughtful lover in her entire life. She was sure she didn't, none of her other lovers had been Fox Mulder. "I'm ready," she panted into the still air, and he complied immediately.

She moaned softly as she felt him ease out a few inches before plunging back in. His thrusts seemed exploratory, like he was trying to find what she responded to most. He didn't have to search for long, because one particularly good upward stroke had her gasping his name and clutching at his shoulders.

"You like that?" he asked, hitting the same spot again and getting an affirmative moan. He reached down and lifted her thighs higher on his own, allowing him to slip deeper into her. She hoped he didn't mind the crescent adornments she was leaving on his back, but figured he wouldn't since he was leaving matching ones on her hips. His thrusts started to pick up the pace and their breathing started to fill the room along with the sounds of their arousals meeting. A cacophony of sex.

She felt herself running up that familiar hill, pleasure building on pleasure, and it was burning white hot in her groin. "M-muhl-der, I-I'm so clos-se," she whimpered, writhing underneath him.

He let go of one side of her hip and brought it up to his mouth, licking the pads of his fingers before bringing it down to the apex of her thighs, swirling the saliva-coated digits around her swollen bud. She gasped and bit her lip, concentrating on the sensations brewing inside her.

"It's okay, Scully. Lose yourself. Come. It's just me and you." Her and him, she thought to herself. Mulder and Scully.

She came again, the intensity surpassing the last one and making her cry out Mulder's name, maybe God's, she didn't know the difference right now. Her body felt like it did the very first time, every cell blooming in pleasure, her whole body tingling with the waves of her orgasm. Mulder made her feel this way.

He threw his head back and his grip on her hip tightened as he came inside her, not relenting in her thrust in his final act of altruism to give her an unbelievable sexual experience. He'd already succeeded in that by just being here.

Slowly he adjusted her quivering body so he was laying next to her with his arms protectively wrapped around her, placing kisses to her sweaty forehead as she came down from her high. "You amaze me, Mulder," she praised through her sated sleepiness.

"As you amaze me," he returned, squeezing her tighter against him.

She raised her hands up and slid one around his waist and brought the other up to rest on his chest, feeling his thrumming heartbeat under her palm. "I'd like to have a few more sessions with you if you don't mind," she joked, using his arm as a pillow as she rested her eyes.

He placed a kiss to her forehead before laughing, "Anytime. Seriously."

Thank you @jodie-fosters-foster-child for telling me to do this prompt <3

#msr fanfiction #xfpornbattle #msr smut #x files fanfic #gaycrouton #onlytheinevitable #my fanfiction #dana scully #fox mulder #sex education

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one-and-a-half-yikes · 5 years

Text

This AU Idea I never finished

ABYSS

CHAPTER 1 (no longer a thing RIP)

Henry Crosem liked to think of himself as a simple man. Ever since he was a boy he’d only ever had his sights respectively fall upon the category of:

Get good grades.

Get a good scholarship, specifically in the art field.

Maybe find himself a beautiful wife who could cook about as well as him.

They’d get married and have kids. How many kids Henry was never sure about, he just knew he wanted some kids. A couple of girls and a couple of boys.

Then he’d get old and have grandchildren. He would die happy with the ones he loved.

A simple, American way of thinking. Just living a happy life till the end of days. Nevermind the dreamers with big ideas and egotistical mindsets with business, business, business on their minds; all Henry wanted to achieve at was being happy.

Forever.

He had never imagined himself as someone who was an amazing artist. It just so happened he was capable of drawing cartoons the best. Everytime he put pencil to paper those sketches became outlines and those outlines seemed to almost always breathe life in them with their exaggerated facial expressions and happy-go-lucky smiles adorning their round, plump cheeks. Pie cut eyes colored in black held all assortments of emotions ranging from melancholy, angry, grumpy, sad, bored, irritated, you name it; he could draw it.

An amazing cartoonist is what they’d called him.

He’d do well working for Fleischer or Disney, they would praise to him.

Henry, however, liked to think otherwise. It had never been a case of what studio he would go to, more like what kind of college would give him the best experience of his twenties. There was never a goal to join a big studio, too much expectation to follow the rules, stick strictly to the guidelines, don’t go off script! If there was one thing Henry Crosem hated more than algebra as a whole, it was having his creativity diminished or restrained into oblivion.

With the creative liberty he gave himself, he had managed to create something quite amazing. Something you wouldn't expect to get pass the parent censors, but this was Henry they were referring to and so they didn’t question the sharp horns and gleefully, creepy (but not sinister) smile that adorned the white of its face.

It had been created, though it had no name. It would be four exact months before a name that would be recognized and feared in the land would be given to the cartoon character.

…

“Bendy.”

“Huh?”

“No, I mean the name - for the character - should be Bendy.”

Henry looked over at the voice who had spoken. It was a boy, well a man technically, but he had a few set features that made him seem like a boy, with a lanky build about him. His knees were knobby, and one even appeared to be slightly crooked (he was not wearing long pants like he usually would to hide such an extremity) and an angular and narrow face, his eyes were kind of big, and they were a bright brown swimming with mirth, his cheek bones portruded from the sides of his face, chin just a tad too sharp for one’s liking; his ears were pointy and big and stuck out like elf ears and his nose was sharp and curved up a bit at the end. To top it all off, he wore big, goofy-looking glasses that lo and behold, completed the nerd aesthetic to a fine degree.

Henry gave him a raised eyebrow and turned to look down at the little doodle he had created. “Bendy, huh?”

The picture itself was simplistic in design with “Bendy” waving enthusiastically at nothing in particular with a big smile on his face. Behind him lay a sweetly curved tail with the tip being drawn to look like the tip of an ink pen. A niche little design Henry was especially proud of.

Joey laid back into the bench he was situated on and shrugged, “It seemed like a good idea to me - I mean, it’s just..remember that essay from a few months back?”

“What essay?”

“The one where I specifically remember coming into your dorm room and witnessing you bashing your head on a table while muttering about how much you want to jump out a window.”

Oh. That one. Some time ago, three months actually, Henry had embarked on an amazing journey through literature, in which he was told to write an entire essay on character designs and how they should and must coincide with their personalities in some shape or form. The teacher had given the students permission to use their own characters they had created in the essay as an example, and naturally, Henry had picked the first ever toon he'd called an actual success. The little toon demon had had many names running through Henry's brain, but none had ever stuck, and when he had found one halfway through his essay and sleep deprived he'd accidentally misspelled the name, and what came of it was jumbled jargon of what should have been Bentley.

Luckily, it was his own work and so his teacher completely glossed over the typo when he'd turned it in, didn't mean anything to Henry who was a wreck throughout the whole endeavor and beyond. To hear Joey bring it back up again had him quite annoyed and embarrassed, which was always a good combination of emotions.

“I mean...that doesn't...really...sound - feasible?...” Henry stated, wincing at how his voice strained on the last word. He'd had a sore throat for a whole week, and it was annoying - agitating - at best.

Joey suddenly leaned in, eyes wild with excitement. “But, it could work so well! Like a pun!”

“...a pun?”

“Well, I mean, he's a toon; and they're pretty bendy aren't they?” Joey stated in a matter-of-fact tone. He shrugged.

“Well yeah-” Henry muttered, finding himself becoming a tad more convinced.

“Then it's perfect!” Joey exclaimed, arms flailing about. He almost fell out of his seat in the process of his jerky movements.

Henry snorted and rolled his eyes at his friends antics, then glanced back down at his crinkled, white paper. Hesitantly he reached for the pen he had laid down on the table, before lightly gripping it, and, holding it steadily, etched the word ‘Bendy’ into the paper.

“Bendy...huh?”

Well...it wasn't that bad of a name…

…

The name for the studio, was pretty lacking in creativity.

Joey Drew Studios.

It was bad enough that Joey's name was viable to turn into someone's pun of the week, but then to gleefully add it to the studio's name - considering on the fact that it was an animation studio to begin with - didn't make it better, and Henry so badly wanted to bury himself into the sandy and gravel parking lot.

Beside him Joey stood proud and tall with his hands on his waist looking up at the crooked sign reading his name in big, blocky letters. A smile, all teeth exposed, like it could light up a Christmas tree was plastered on his face, and with some carelessness, the man slammed a hand upon Henry's shoulder with more force than he had intended, especially for someone so skinny.

Henry looked, and his moss greens met excited browns that seemed to have a smile of their own. It was infectious in a way and the chestnut haired man smiled as well.

“With this, Henry. This studio; you and I...we're gonna go places...big places…”

Joey said it with confidence and bravado and Henry couldn't help but to believe him. Even if he thought that couldn't be further from the truth.

Even though some part of him felt like this was lie. A big lie.

One of many lies yet to be made.

…

The place itself was desolate and gray.

Faded, yellowed walls with torn and shredded wood, along with the pervasive smell of old ink was all that was left of a dream.

And Henry had long since cried about it.

Shuffling through the strangely quiet halls of the studio, he tried to keep his breathing as shallow as possible, especially with the aforementioned dust and...rotten wood, he hoped that was what that smell was. Stepping lightly over wooden boards so as to not immediately fall down another hole the man continued on, clutching a broken and bent pipe against his chest, if only if to feel secure if nothing else. His axe, which would be his third axe having been lost, had broken while in the midst of a fight with a hoard of searchers. He’d narrowly escaped death for the twentieth time before giving up and thrusting the rest of what was left of the weapon into the ‘stomach’ of one of the moaning creatures of blackness.

Didn’t mean anything though because he still ended up with a mouthful of ink that he just barely managed to stop from slithering down his throat. He scratched at his neck feeling an itching sensation welling up inside him.

Another coughing fit.

Not now! Not now! Henry cast his eyes around the space he was in but all he could see were blank walls with questionable dark stains splattered on them that definitely didn’t look like ink to him.

Walking just a little bit faster till he was going in a light jog he made it to the end of the hallway where he came across two passages.

A wheezy breath in the form of an exhale escaped passed his lips, releasing some of the pressure from off his chest. With a quickness, the man hadn’t known himself to have he slapped a thick hand against his mouth silencing any further noise less he make a noise loud enough to attract attention to any monsters roaming the halls and be killed off - that, and he didn’t even know of any other Bendy statues that could be down here. And besides that, he couldn’t afford to get into another fight, not now; not after having to deal with killing the only true companion he’d found solace in in this hellhole of a studio turned into a beast of nightmarish proportions by that fucking someone he thought he could trust. And then having to fight them afterwards when they didn’t get their way, Henry just slightly escaping the inky person’s grasp and making a beeline for the exit. Now he found himself incredibly deep within the studio, and at this point he was certain that there was no way of escape, all he could truly do now was survive, and maybe hope that he could come across someone else trapped here as well, although the likelihood of that being the case was quite small as far as he was concerned, and yet optimism had always been one of Henry’s defining characteristics. Now alongside being able to cheat death itself!

It was funny though really - the ink could destroy you or heal you, yet it could never figure out which to stick with when it came to Henry, which technically gave him the advantage to do as he pleases, but there was a need to still be cautious around the stuff…

He wondered if that’s why Wally and Norman ended up sharing the same fate...

Henry shook his head, his faded, chestnut hair bobbing lightly with the motion. He couldn’t think about those things now. When he found a safe room to rest in he could reminiscence and cry like a bitch then, right now he needed to focus. The pressure in his chest had built up even more and the wheezes were turning into full on gulps for air as he tried to maintain composure, but it was kind of hard to do that when his lungs felt as if they could burst at any second, and he was sure that if he stopped now to let out a polite and quiet cough he would end just showing that it was truly possible for a human to projectile vomit from a distance.

But he couldn’t stop, and his coughing fit could very well leave him vulnerable to any ambush.

Better to be safe than to be sorry.

That’s what he told his daughter at least.

“But the spider looks so cute! Why can’t I touch it? It ain’t doin’ nothing!” A small girl with pale skin and dark hazel hair and intense dark blue eyes stared up him with a small pout, her brow furrowed.

“Only if you wanna get bitten!” Henry exclaimed sitting the tool box covered in oil. He’d been working on the family car has it had broken down for the third time in a row and he wanted to check it out and see if he could fix the problem himself before even entertaining the thought of going to a car shop to get it repaired. He turned to her and placed his hands on his hips, a steady, playful glare directed at her. “Your mother and I don’t have the means to pay another hospital bill because you’re feelin’ a little adventurous.”

The girl pouted just a little bit more to the point of where her bottom lip began to wobble, and with some cursed talent she managed to give off the impression that she was about to cry. Luckily, Henry had had plenty of time to get used to her ‘pouty face’ and so was able to ignore it. He waggled a finger at her with a stern glare, “Nuh-uh, ain’t happenin’.”

“Daaaaaad!” She stomped her feet on the hard packed earth causing small dust clouds to poof into existence. She balled her small hands into small fists and glared back at him silently. Her dark eyes reflecting a storm, yep, she certainly was her mother…

“Better to be safe than sorry my dear!” And he said this in what he considered to be a perfect match to the Wicked Witch’s voice from ‘The Wizard of Oz’, though of course his wife and child would digress heavily on that front.

So caught up in his memories, Henry completely forgot to pay attention to just about...well anything, and so when the first cough, which turned into a second and then a third came loose from his throat, he immediately collapsed on his hands and knees, inhaling shaky breaths and desperately wishing for some water to alleviate the misery his throat was under. Coughing seized for a moment before making a comeback faster than he could anticipate, and soon he was hacking and choking on bits of ink lodged in his throat refusing to come out anytime soon. Spat on the ground and looked in horror and the wet chunk of dried ink and blood glistening in the dim light of the hall.

He stood back up hastily, groaning and still spitting and hacking and wheezing and coughing. As he did this he could hear the sounds of heavy moans from behind, and he turned to see thin amalgamations of a half-human half-melted deformity crawling across the floor, its thin arms shivering as if they could collapse at any moment.

A searcher.

Although this one was small, where there was one, there would be ten more to count and Henry knew he definitely didn’t have the strength to fight them all off.

So he ran.

Or attempted to at least. Instead he hobbled a meger pace that would grandmas seem faster in comparison to a man in his late fifties.

He wasn’t anywhere near the end of the hallway when he heard a ghastly screech from behind, and, deciding that looking back was really stupid (he was going to die anyways though) he looked behind him to see ‘Bendy’ casually making his way out if the inky portal he’d created. From the looks of it, he was now more skinny than before, with what was supposed to be a spinal cord now looking closer to sharp spikes protruding from his back. His ribcage was more defined and poked through his ‘skin’ showing bits of white. If Henry dared to squint and look closer he could even make out bits of dark ‘flesh’ hanging off the ends of the white marrow.

The monster seemed to look to his left before looking to his right and staring dead at him.

Or at least he thought he was staring at him.

It paused, as if observing him, and then with a loud cry unlike all the others he’d heard before, it charged with clawed, inky limbs outstretched, ready to kill him immediately. At that point, still hacking up blood and ink, Henry allowed the creature to grip him, its claws digging deep into his flesh. He cried out in agony, but realized it was pointless because it was all the same dance and no amount of pleading or crying or begging would cause the pain to end; his suffering would continue onwards whether he wanted it to or not. And he was pretty sure this thing was just sentient enough to be able to understand how to sneak up and kill its prey, but not enough to have a moral conscience. Or at least that was the only theory he could come to.

Then again, was it really a theory? The amount of times he had been ambushed by ‘Bendy’ was immense after all.

Henry had long since stopped screaming, even as those wicked claws ripped flesh and skin from his white bones; even as he felt those same claws puncture a lung, causing him to gasp desperately for air; even as he had his intestines ripped violently from his stomach and in his faded moments of lasting life he watched the creature, with an ever present grin etched onto its face, crush his heart.

Blood was splattered everywhere, some of it old, and some of it new. Although if you asked Henry he wouldn’t be able to tell you the difference.

Henry’s entire body had been eviscerated and mutilated beyond recognition and could very well be described as a smears of red and chunks of flesh scattered about. Because that was basically what he had become, and still was technically.

Struggling through the tunnel of ink he could feel bits of his body wriggling and growing back. It was at this point, as he grew a neck for his decapitated head, that he realized he had just mere moments ago been nothing but a floating mass of empty air, or better yet, if this world worked the way it evidently did, he had been nothing but a floating soul amongst the ink that was now regrowing a body. And that was kind of cool, but also terrifying.

Everyone else lost their soul to the ink and yet he was still here?!

He had died in the worst way imaginable. In a way that should not have ended with him emerging from the ink puddle next to the Bendy statue he had become familiarized with. Everyone else was gone, but even when he lost all his body parts his soul was able to go on…

Apparently, Joey was really fucking adamant about keeping him alive…

Fuck you, Joey...just- fuck you…

“Welp, twice times the charm I guess…”he muttered making his way back down…

Shit where the fuck was he?

He paused and looked both ways before a sudden realization dawned on him.

“Seriously, fuck you Joey…”

…

Successfully raiding a trashcan for food in a world dominated by inky creatures that didn’t necessarily need food to survive was always a blessing.

Which was incredibly ironic considering on the fact that this place ran on Satanic magic.

At least Bendy liked to think so.

Curved, white claws dragged through rubbish pulling out scraps of meat and black, fleshy things covered in ink. The toon was sure it was worms. He shrugged and shoved the food in his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. Two more days before he would at least reach the sewer parts of the city, though of course he could cut that down to one-in-a-half if he snuck aboard one of those supply ships those Goldies were stationed in. But then again, everyone was looking for him most likely, or would soon.

Snatching a few more scraps of rotten meat covered in ink he shoved it deep into his pant pockets which were a dark, navy-green coloring with a dark, gray-orange coat wrapped snug around his top torso.

The toon jumped up and looked around wildly with oddly off-model eyes. He had stopped in one of the many alleyways designated throughout the city. In the distance, he could hear the sounds of shouting and yelling and the sounds of blaring horns.

Guards…

Great - more hiding. And just when he didn't feel like involving Boris in anymore danger than he already was…

And he didn't trust his magic to be cooperative with him at the moment with his nerves all frazzled.

#holy shit #walls of text #long reads #one-and-a-half-yikes #big yikes #being revised #batim au

1 note · View note

sugar-petals · 6 years

Note

Omg I love your writing style so much ❤️ It always hits in the right places 😏 As I see you have requests open may I ask for historical AU with Taehyung being a nobleman son and his and reader's wedding night when they never (or barely) saw each other before a wedding? You know they don't know each other but they have to do it 😩 If you don't feel like writing this anything else with Tae will be fine with me 😉

My Word To Treat You Well [M]

length | 3.5kgenre | angst, soft smut, enemies to lovers, fluffy endnote | The other members are side & main characters!warnings | bullying, homophobia, child abuse, evil kings… doing evil things

Appalling. Twenty or more people would offer you a hundred bucks to know whether Prince Taehyung was good in bed or not.

Probably to sell the juicy secret to The Daegu Herald or Gyeongsang Sentinel for twice the money. You’d get extra pay for revealing what he was into. Meanwhile, you yourself wondered about that. The cash went past your gloved hands under mid-July’s oppressive evening heat, waiting for the crowds to disperse with your relatives departing, too. The tedious diplomatic talks, over-the-top banquets, shrill music, and painful dances were over. Familiar stars shed soft lights on the rattling carriages that headed north from the Kim Palace. That was the only thing good about this day. It was hard knowing Ilsan was so far away. You mother, widowed Queen Choi, had left you with a plea to all the strength you possibly have. And she must know how it is.

You were looking forward to throwing your heeled shoes into the palace pond, not fucking the Crown Prince. He had been acting arrogant with his friends all day, tripping waiters. In fact, you thought he was Daegu’s number one blockhead. Next to his unruly partner in crime: Yoongi from the local Min family. He loved to harass and mock the elderly guests while Taehyung laughed along. The Min clan wears their blue emblem with such a toxic haughtiness, even Prince “Phony” Jimin of Busan wouldn’t compare. Thankfully, the latter had remained absent today and didn’t make things worse. Because that Min guy was already prickly, a textbook bad influence to Taehyung. The kiss in front of the altar had been enjoyable, that was true. He didn’t smell, he didn’t use tongue or teeth, he kept it short and smiled courteously. The Prince was attractive and well-dressed, sure. That was good enough down the aisle. He wouldn’t start too many dances either. But Kim had soaked up the aristocratic mannerism so much, at the ball it felt like he wanted to own this place. Which he didn’t. Namjoon was still the one in charge in both this province and the palace. It seemed like the Kim patriarch’s iron rule had raised a glaring thorn in his crown. And you had to deal with him now: In bed. It’s a cruel world.

Prince Taehyung comes waddling along the marble corridor with relative unease. He seems aimless, maybe drunk. Prince Prick is not with him. They had been glued together the entire day, more than you were supposed to spend time with Taehyung instead. On the one hand, protocol breach would cause atrocious chatter. On the other hand, having Taehyung off the hem of your hanbok frankly was congenial. Maybe Yoongi was quite a convenient figure on this chess board. You’d keep that in mind. Waiting for Taehyung to arrive was awkward enough. But as he just stood there blank-faced like a statue for a solid minute, you took the liberty to just drag him to your chamber by the lapel. What a huge moron. He lands on the canopy bed quite frightened, but it leaves you cold. “Let’s just get it over with,” you tower at the lower end of the bed, “you whip your cock out, shove it in three times, dump your jizz so Daegu gets an heir, and we’ll go to bed. Me, I’ll just pretend I’m dead.”

Taehyung looks even more flabbergasted. You don’t know if it was the language or the directness. Probably both. You let yourself fall right next to him, kicking off the nasty restrictive shoes. The chambermaids had at least managed to remove your bride headpiece and the ridiculous, scratchy ceremonial wig. It was one of the major reasons why you hated marrying in summer. They also fidgeted at your head to wipe off the goo that was supposed to be face paint before you snapped and sent them away. They should enjoy the evening and not bother with your oh-so costly attire that was only designed to trouble you anyways. It didn’t even look as beautiful and regal as what Taehyung had worn. He was all the rage while people slandered you the second you were out of sight as your mother had remarked. It was just important that he was married. It preserved the patrilineage and elevated his status, not you as the wife and new member of the family. The future Queen of Daegu, in fact. But they didn’t seem to respect that.

That way, they had “decorated” you. Criticizing all sorts of things about your appearance. Nobody in Ilsan had bothered, thought something was not right or good-looking. Nor did you. Queen Choi had insisted beauty was not a female ruler’s most important asset. It was power, plain and simple. That is what rulership is about. She warned you that the house of Kim had more double standards. You yourself didn’t think making a Princess less confident and secure in herself was particularly benevolent. Nose too long, hands too broad, voice too loud, height too tall, hair too coarse, eyes to narrow, skin too tan, hips not wide enough for having kids? All they wanted was a weak, pregnant fairy glued to Taehyung’s side by day. And a mute fuckdoll to keep his dick wet by night. You weren’t wrong saying you would play dead. That is how passive they wanted you to be here. And as anxious and self-conscious as possible, that no deeper thought about this rotten palace would ever cross your mind. “My ears are too ugly for me to have authority!” thought no king ever.

You undress ripping away the satin, pearls, embroidered sticks, emeralds, ribbons. All the layers of hanbok have to go. They land on the floor while Taehyung remains dumbfounded. Once the work is done, you’re in the underwear that’s been itching and sweaty all day. You lift the blanket, then roll your eyes at the Prince. “I’m kidding. Move, I want to sleep. Everything hurts.” You’re about to blow out the candle on your nightstand that Taehyung finds his words. “Hey, I’m sorry,” he murmurs, “I had hoped you had fun with us today.” He looks depressed now. “It’s arranged, this is not cloud nine,” you reply, “Good night, I don’t need your fake concerns.” Taehyung jumps up from the bed. “At least put on something comfortable, Princess,” he points to the showy wardrobe left to the entrance. “You just wanna see me naked to jack off while I sleep,” you growl, pulling the blanket tight over your chest. Taehyung rummages in the wardrobe, then tosses over a plain, long nightshirt. “I’ll go to the other chamber until you open.”

And indeed, he slips into the adjacent dressing room and closes the door shut. He turns the key, flicks it into your boudoir underneath the door. You quickly change into the green gown in a dark corner. It’s light and cooling. You tiptoe across the room and yank open the door after you unlocked, suspecting to catch Taehyung while he eavesdrops or looks through the keyhole. But no, he’s sitting at the window in a chair watching the night sky, startled at the vehement entrance. “Y/N, what’s wrong?” he whines, pale and daunted in the moonlight. “Nothing,” you snarl and return to bed. He just follows reluctantly. Where did insolent Prince Taehyung go? It has to be another joke or farce. He had entertained everyone with offensive shenanigans all day.

You curl yourself together at the farthest possible point from him as he comes to lay down. Soon, some of his warmth sneaks across underneath the blanket. Disgusting. The topmost dipshit of Daegu is in the same bed as you. That alone makes you want to puke. On Namjoon’s throne, at best. He raised the scum. For a while, everything remains silent. But the heat, moonlight, and his breath won’t let you sleep, let alone his mere presence. Who knows what he does to you when you don’t pay attention any longer. You would be glad to pass the night without getting groped at least once. After what felt like hours, you just wind back and forth. At some point, you accidentally ram him hard in the flank with your elbow. The following whimper sounds so horrifying that you jolt up in a cold sweat. “Please, please don’t hurt me,” he trembles, holding his ribs in pain. Serves him right. “I didn’t want this either. He beats me already. Please don’t hurt me, please!” He’s almost bawling. You’re quite impressed by these acting skills. “Calm it Kim, I was just trying to turn around. Can’t sleep, thank you very much.” - “Me either… I’m very sorry!” Now you bellow at him. “Sorry, sorry, I’m sorry all the time. Are you no longer mean or what?” Taehyung looks like he might as well wet himself any second. The guards might have heard, but you’d be happy to get thrown into a cold jail cell. “Y/N, if I’m not acting like that I’ll get hit,” he answers, pulling down the impossibly high neckline of his gown.

Oh.

Fuck.

Green and blue marks — everywhere. One above the solar plexus looks new. Taehyung notices you staring at it. “He did it so I would promise to be tough with you tonight,” he says, covering his chest once the shame becomes too unbearable. “It’s really all an act?” - “It’s how everyone here does it, it’s normal. But we shouldn’t speak about it…” - “And Yoongi? Jimin?” - “They’re not like that when we’re alone,” he affirms, “it’s all to play along. Jimin got shoved down the stairs by his dad last week. He broke his leg just because he refused to marry an unknown woman. Yoongi’s dad threatened to do the same. All three of us have to marry this year, it’s protocol. Jimin got denied medical attention by King Park. That’s why he’s not here.”

Now you get why Taehyung showed up dizzy and shut down after you grabbed at his suit. The dressing room reaction was similar. He’s not drunk, or anything like that. The King just gave him a heavy disciplining minutes before he appeared in the corridor. And Jimin — there’s no way the life of the party would stay at home without something this severe going on. It’s Prince Taehyung’s wedding, after all, the event of the year. They really pushed him down the stairs. You can’t believe it. He could be dead by now. The southern royals are as fucked up as you suspected, just in a way that’s… ten times worse than you’ve seen at the ball.

There’s a legitimate reason as to why you thought they were all completely unlike themselves. It really is a tragedy behind the scenes. You enclose Taehyung in a caring hug while he’s crying his eyes out, your nightgown soaking it all up. “I have to apologize, too,” you soothe while he hangs feebly in your embrace. The tears slowly disappear after you’re petting his hair, mumbling excuses. His body feels slack and empty. You suggest going outside to visit the small palace garden. Walking through the solemn corridors barefoot, hands intertwined, it feels much closer to how you wished your day should have been like. The guards at the main gate appear quite surprised to see you walk around at such a late time. But both stand tall with a nod and the obligatory congratulations as you state the destination. Taehyung hides his swollen eyes behind his bangs as you inform them. They let you pass without resistance.

You seat your husband on the edge of the central fountain. The surrounding roses, hydrangea, and dahlia flower beds emit a tranquilizing haze, along with the bubbling water and warm summer breeze. Your throbbing headache says goodbye. Walking on the tingly grass is a welcome relief, too. There are no clouds above you, the sky is lucid. The Prince looks up sighing deeply. “Taehyung, you like the stars, too?” He nods. You point out your favorite constellations to each other. Boötes, Virgo, Scorpius. Cassiopeia, too, she’s among the easiest to spot. Taeyhung looks handsome and frail in the tender moonshine. He’s really a beautiful man, rivaling the stars. Or complementing them. You pluck a cream white rose for him to hold, and he is careful with the thorns. “That’s for scaring you.” You pick another, coral red. “For the elbow accident.” A third one is bright orange and yellow. “To heal your chest.” You lean close to his face for the fourth flower – your mouth brushing over the bridge of his nose, then uniting your lips. “And this, Prince Kim, is my word to treat you well.”

Back in bed, you’ve cast away the heavy blanket and gowns. The clear moonlight has come to serve as an advantage now. Taehyung’s head is buried between your legs, tongue curling up and down gently. His large hands cup at your hips with fondness. You’re mindful not to put pressure on his upper body while you’re above him, facing his feet. His chest looks times worse than what you’ve seen when he first showed it. There are thin scars on his legs, too. You hope that every kiss mends them just a little bit, even if it’s just inside his heart. Taehyung tastes balmy and mellow when you circle your tongue around his length. It’s fun to plant your lips on his tip to sink down swaying right and left with your head, feeling his serpentine veins brush past the corners of your mouth. That’s a dick you’ll keep wet three times a day when the mood is right. He’s magnificent, better than all the savory cakes from the buffet. You regret having rejected a bath in your imperious fury earlier, now feeling ready to earn the title: Most obnoxious and smelling Crown Princess that the kingdom has ever seen. But Taehyung doesn’t care one bit, indulging you with graceful little flicks and dips at your clit. It’s so amazing. Maybe you’re not as malodorous and unbearable as you think. Because you’re comparing yourself to the sky-high golden standards of Taehyung. Which is probably what Namjoon’s mind control aims for. Then you will indeed think you’re just a meaningless fairy puppet by sheer comparison. That, you realize, is something to cast away. Taehyung is Taehyung, a wonderful delicate person and spouse. You are you. Queen Choi’s most unyielding daughter, to-be sovereign among her ranks of power, and impending defender of the Prince to install justice. Namjoon will pay for every mark he left.

After sunrise, you already have to confront a perverse mob of “two hundred bucks? three hundred bucks?” fanatics led by chief servant Hoseok. You command them to rather spend the money on sending Prince Park a proper doctor. They swallow the bait, pester for details. You know better not to get hanged for treason on your first day as Princess of Daegu. Instead, you send them off with a trusted contact’s name at Park Palace, knowing they will not stop until they discover the truth. If they can expose the secret on their own, they’ll think they’ve invented it. And then comes the craving for big money, and more investigation. Especially the Daegu Herald is predictable in that regard. You hope the story blows up. Someone has to take care of Jimin. Maybe you should send a letter.

The throne room is the next obstacle. You’re glad there was no breakfast yet so you are maximum ill-tempered. A heavily bearded King thrones golden at the very end, and almost loses his crown when you enter without bowing, still in your plain dress. But he catches himself – back to the fake smile, fake words, fake posture. “Ah, this is what I call a regal sense of duty. A good early morning!” he says jovially. His own father must have slapped him into this demeanor. They’re all despicable. This is the generation where it ends. “The whole palace talks about your tryst. Everyone is impressed by the Rose Prince! Truly a man. Making such romantic gestures.” You’re angry that someone watched and couldn’t keep it to themselves. But then again, the palace harbored many guests tonight that had been equally restless and curious. The garden is public anyways, and visible through many windows. But it seems like everybody had twisted the story around and pretends you’re not even part of it. “I’m not here to talk about that. I have a request, actually.” - “Oh sure Princess, go ahead?” Namjoon falls somber now. “I’m not happy with this situation,” you furrow your brow. “Just like I expected it to be,” he huffs into his beard, “Well, we can always nullify the marriage after a certain time. But that needs a special legal procedure and at least two produced infant heirs. I advise you to wait anyways. Taehyung will become a good man for you even if you don’t like him now.” This place is truly hell. Produce an infant heir. King Namjoon has lost his mind. You fortify your stance before the throne. “I wouldn’t divorce because of Taehyung. I would divorce because of you. I’ll take him back with me to Ilsan.”

“Because of me? You wouldn’t dare. I have organized the best wedding of the last fifty years. Kim Seokjin is not ready to become the Crown Prince yet! Taehyung is the heir. You have to be his Princess. The alliance with house Choi is important for trade, too.” - “All the reasons to leave. Without heirs. Just with Taehyung. From your words, I can tell he’s not as important to you as the lineage and your reputation. Nor am I.” The King looks like he is about to combust. He can’t hurt you. Taehyung needs kids and Daegu resources. “Choi, what do you want?” he bursts out, hammering his staff on the ground. “Stop beating Taehyung. And don’t treat me as secondary. That’s all I ask for.” - “But this is protocol!” - “Then why do you keep it hidden when it’s all fine and necessary?” There it is. The King is gritting his teeth hard. Who would have known the doll bride would have this much leverage. “I’ve sent a giant horde to Park Palace. If you don’t put King Park and King Min in their place and abolish the protocol, they will. If my mother comes to know about it, Ilsan and the Northern Kingdom ban trading gold, silver, spice, and silk. Say goodbye to your dynasty and alliances.” - “You’re lying…” - “Then wait and see. It’s the truth. The crowd just left. Jung Hoseok called in sick today, didn’t he? Guess why.” - “Stop, stop the crowd! We’ll revise the protocol all you want, just stop the crowd!”

For five hundred bucks, Hoseok gets an in-depth story about the ‘Rose Princess’ garden tryst. With a lot of embellishments and inexplicable plot holes, but still immensely detailed. Two days after, even the notoriously stuck-up Gyeongsang Sentinel readers send you presents after Hoseok sold them the story for a fortune. The five hundred bucks you spend for the messenger on horseback who had raced to the neighbor province, calling back the wild mob headed to Busan. Instead of you having to write a letter, Crown Prince Jimin sends you one instead. His leg has received treatment by the kingdom’s most expensive doctor. His father begrudgingly appointed him. Jimin is delighted to marry his lover in October – the beloved childhood friend and son of Busan’s Grand Duchess, Jungkook. An adoption is already on its way. The public is nowhere near as enraged as Jimin’s father had dreaded. Jungkook is very popular for good looks and charm and already well-known as Jimin’s second half. Queen Park appears to be very excited, too, especially since lifting the protocol has impacted her beneficially.

You’ll have to live with the fact that King Namjoon cares about grandchildren more than Taehyung’s less “tough” side or, well, you. That you hope will change with time. But he busies himself with Seokjin instead of you where his prospects fall on fertile ground, and Queen Kim keeps an eye on it. At least he is happy that Jimin’s marriage does take place and has decided for the family to travel to Busan in late September. Taehyung has developed a habit of walking in the park with you often in the meantime. Also, you meet with the citizens on the farmer’s market by horse. Huge masses of people gather to see and talk to you. Namjoon had security concerns and sent fifteen high-strung guards along. But Taehyung allowed them to stroll on the market (you called it “patrol”, tongue in cheek), keeping only the four that seemed not exhausted from being constantly yelled at by the King. It was about time anybody left the dusty walls of the palace. Many had only seen you in the drawings of herald papers and heard mostly peculiar stories save the garden one. After a pleasant afternoon you buy Taehyung fresh apples and tangerines, pick up the guards and ride towards the forest. There, you spend time with Yoongi who has earned your nickname of “Prince Perfect” after some initial misunderstandings. Together you practice arching or swim in the river, and discuss wedding presents that Jimin might like. You’re very happy with Taehyung who’s always watching you with a beaming smile, and glad that he’s able to wear normal necklines again.

My, this was a great prompt as usual. Thank you historical Tae anon (I’ll just call you this way) for the request. Asks: Always welcome my sweet cubs 🐯 I love you. - Caro

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captainwhogotthecanary · 6 years

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CC Week Day 7

Title: To Write on my Skin

Summary: Sara knows she has a soulmate; ink has been disappearing on her skin as long as she remembers. She's never gotten a response, but that doesn't stop her from trying.

Day 7: Soulmate AU. Canonverse mostly with a few liberties, and a happy ending (duh). Also on AO3.

Everyone has a soulmate, in theory. Nearly every time someone seems without a soulmate, it turns out their soulmate just hasn’t been born yet.

Sara doesn’t have this problem. The first time she remembers scribbling on her arm, she was three, and she was inconsolable when her little doodle disappeared immediately. Her father explained it to her, once she calmed enough to listen: the disappearing ink meant that she had a soulmate. The ink would appear with a tingle on her soulmate’s skin, instead, and if her soulmate drew on their skin, it would show up on Sara’s.

Since then, Sara’s been fascinated by the disappearing ink. She covers her arms in doodles, messages, notes. When life gets hard, she writes to her soulmate, letting them know. When life is good, she writes that, too. She knows nothing about her soulmate, though, save for the fact they exist.

She’s never gotten anything in return.

Sara studies her skin every morning and night, when she brushes her teeth, or when she wakes up or crawls into bed, depending how life is treating her or whether she’s somewhere that even has a bathroom. Her skin remains unmarked by ink of any kind, and decades pass before Rip Hunter shows up and assembles a team for the Waverider.

The first night, after she climbs into bed, she writes a direct question for the first time in years: “Does time travel affect soulmate messages?”

She doesn’t expect a response, and she isn’t disappointed. Still, the next morning, she adds, in tiny letters, “Is it possible to miss someone you’ve never even spoken to? Never met? I feel like there’s less chance than usual that you’re reading this.”

Her new teammates seem alright. She clicks best with Leonard, she thinks; they tend to find each other when they’re both on the ship. He’s quick and sarcastic, and she’s not sure he knows how to actually smile instead of smirk. It also helps that, unlike with the rest of the team, she’s not sure whether he has a soulmate. Most of the team bares enough skin often enough that she knows, after a while, who’s got a soulmate and who doesn’t. There are also those like Ray and Rip who’ve already lost soulmates but are open about it, eventually.

She catches both of them staring at the unmarked skin on their inner wrists, sometimes, and it’s heartbreaking. If Kendra does the same, she does it in private.

But with Leonard, Sara has no clue, and while she knows she does have a soulmate, they’re enough of a question mark that she gravitates toward the other question mark in the group. The topic itself doesn’t come up until they’re freezing to death, though.

“You don’t have a pen on you, do you?” Sara manages through the cold. She can feel his attention on her. They’re pressed up against each other, as close as they can get without actually cuddling. “I want to let my soulmate know this might be goodbye.”

He does have a pen in his jacket, actually, but she can barely get it to write, doesn’t even get through a whole letter before she gives up. She ends up wrapped in Leonard’s jacket before Leonard addresses it.

“I’m sure he knows.”

“How… do you know… they’re a ‘he’?” It’s getting harder for her to speak.

He’s quiet long enough in the cold that Sara’s eyes drift shut.

“Call it a hunch,” he says finally.

She’s not sure what to make of it, but she’s cold and tired and putting all her energy into survival.

And survive they do.

Something shifts between them, after that, so by the time Sara is left behind with Ray and Kendra, she definitely misses Leonard while she’s gone. When she’s reunited with the team, it’s hard at first, but it’s easier with him than with anyone else. She thinks it’s probably because he’s going through his own shit with Mick.

When everything starts feeling normal again, Leonard tries to get her to abandon ship with him and Mick, saying that something is about to go very wrong.

“You and your hunches,” Sara says, bemused, and Leonard opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, then scowls instead.

After Len’s escape plan fails, he and Sara are chatting in between playing cards when the soulmate thing comes up again. She grabs the pen she keeps beside her bed and scribbles out a quick message: I hope you’re good at cards.

When she looks up after putting down the pen, ink already gone, Leonard is watching her intently. She raises an eyebrow in question.

“What do you know about him?” Leonard asks, staring at the clear skin on her arm for another moment before meeting Sara’s eyes.

“Nothing,” Sara answers hesitantly. She’s not used to talking about her soulmate; most people consider it too personal to ask anyone but a close friend or potential soulmate, and Sara hasn’t had many close friends. Until now, apparently. “He’s never written me back.”

“Then why do you keep writing?”

Sara shrugs. “If they can see it, or even just feel it, at least they know they’re not alone.” She grabs the deck of cards and starts dealing, briskly changing the subject, and Leonard lets it drop.

They’re interrupted only a short time later, when Leonard’s hunch plays out and the ship is boarded. She and Len only barely hide away in time, and Sara finds his proximity while they’re hiding a bit more distracting than she thinks is warranted.

And then after they get out, he pulls a gun on her in his desperation to leave. He doesn’t shoot her, and she doesn’t for a moment think he’s actually going to, but it hangs heavy over them after Gideon’s interruption. They do as Gideon asks, and then they’re back on the ship, waiting, and instead of keeping her distance because she’s rightfully angry at him, Sara finds herself sitting and standing as close to Leonard as always.

Closer, even, daring to touch his ring. He stills at the contact, watching her, his almost-flirty look fading into something more serious.

“What?” Sara asks.

“You haven’t written your soulmate since this particular disaster started.”

“I’ve been a bit busy,” Sara retorts.

“I’m just saying, you tried to write him with a non-functional pen when you were actively dying.” Leonard seems oddly invested in this, and she isn’t sure why. “You’ve had chances. You could be writing him now. Why aren’t you?”

It’s not actually a bad question, but when Sara realizes it’s because any of her spare focus has been on Leonard instead of on her soulmate, she gets defensive.

“Maybe I don’t have anything important to say right now, okay?” she snaps.

“Important like hoping he’s good at cards?” Leonard snaps right back, and Sara registers how close they’ve gotten, how near his bright eyes are to hers, before she registers the words.

There’s no way Leonard saw what she was writing last night. The ink had already disappeared into her skin before she was at the right angle for him to see it. He’s staring at her now like he’s asking her to make the connection that’s right in front of her face.

Her eyes move to his arm. He’s always covered, always, everywhere that she’s ever drawn. She can still feel his eyes on her as he deliberately pulls up his sleeves, pushing them just far enough that she can see faded lettering in a few places, as well as fresh ink, exactly where she’d drawn such a short time ago:

I hope you’re good at cards.

“It’s you,” she breathes, unable to tear her eyes from her handwriting on his skin.

“It’s me,” he agrees, and her eyes fly back to his, and they’re so close, and she’s not sure what she’s about to do except that this moment feels extremely important and—

“The Time Drive is back online,” Gideon interrupts, and then their focus is back on saving the team, and there’s no time to talk about the fact that her whole life just shifted.

After they get most of their team back, Leonard shows up, spouting loaded phrases about how he doesn’t play by the rules, and how it’s the things he didn’t do that keep him up at night, and it makes her wonder whether he regrets never writing her back, but she’s too frustrated to ask until he says he’s been thinking about their future, and when she falls silent instead of responding how he expects, he speaks again.

“I imagine you have some questions.”

“You think?”

He smiles at the heat in her voice, actually smiles. It’s small but real, and it melts some of her anger at the gun, at what feels like his deception about being her soulmate.

Sara takes a breath. “You’re always in long sleeves. Is that to hide my writing?”

Leonard visibly considers his answer, then speaks carefully. “At first. I didn’t want anybody to realize my soulmate was so much younger than me.”

“Too young?” Sara asks, not sure she wants to hear the answer.

“Now? No,” he says firmly. “But when I was a teenger before the first time ink disappeared on my skin?”

Sara nods, acknowledging how weird their age difference had to have felt back then. “If that was only the issue at first, why keep covering up? Why never answer?”

Leonard looks down at his sleeve. “My father was the type of person who used love, even potential love, as a weapon. He used me and Lisa against each other. He would have found a way to use you against me, or me against you, if he’d known you existed. And you weren’t exactly stingy with the personal details; I could’ve found you at any time. So I didn’t write, and I made sure he never saw so much as a hint of ink on me.”

“And once we were on the ship?” Sara asks, quiet.

He looks up at her, meeting her eyes again. “Once we met, I was sure I wasn’t good enough to bind you to me forever.” The moment stretches until he looks down and off to the side again. “I didn’t handle it well when you wouldn’t just leave the ship. I was trying to keep you safe without telling you, and…”

“And so you pulled a gun on me.”

He nods curtly.

She lets it sink in, that as upset she is that he hid it, the biggest reason he’s never written on her skin comes down to protection, of himself and of her. And she gets that, she really does, but she’s still not sure of him in this capacity, because what if he never feels like they’re safe together, good together, like she knows they can be? What if…

She watches as he straightens and deliberately crosses to her bedside table.

“When I was about 15, I promised myself I wouldn’t ever write on my skin until I was ready to accept everything that goes along with having a soulmate,” he says, and her breath catches when he picks up her pen. “I was very careful never to make a mistake, never to accidentally make a mark that you would see.” She hears him uncap the pen in front of him. His back blocks most of her line of sight. “If you want to pretend this never happened,” he says, voice more vulnerable than Sara thought possible, “tell me now.”

Sara is silent, and Leonard exhales before—

Sara feels a tingling on the sensitive flesh of her inner arm, and she looks down to see the neat writing work its way across her skin.

I’m sorry, Sara.

It’s what she needs, the words and the writing, and she hasn’t even fully processed before she’s pulling him around to face her and pressing her lips to his.

They don’t get as long together as she’s hoping for before they have to go save themselves and all of time, but if everything goes okay, she knows they have plenty more time ahead of them.

Ray complicates things right away; Sara isn’t sure he’s ever going to leave them alone after he sees the writing on Sara’s arm and immediately puts all the pieces together. He’s ridiculously excited about it and decides they all need to stick together, something about sentiment and luck. When Ray approaches the Oculus, he’s got Sara and Leonard by his side. Mick refuses to leave Ray, for some reason Sara will try to work out later, and Rip and Firestorm go to guard the entrance and buy them time.

It’s good the four of them are with the Oculus, really; Ray runs into some problems and needs some help to be able to wedge down the button inside the machine, but they figure it out, and all six of them make it safely back on board the Waverider, taking off just as the Oculus explodes.

Ray tries to insist on all of them celebrating together, until Mick suggests that he and Ray have a beer alone–oh–and then Sara and Leonard are able to make their escape back to her room.

Their personal celebration is mind-blowingly good, years of tension and months of friendship and passion and flirtation coming together quite spectacularly. They’re still busy afterward, saving Kendra and vanquishing Savage, but they’re together.

And when, months later, Sara finally writes I love you on her arm when she and Leonard are separated one night for a mission, she feels the tingle of his response almost immediately.

He loves her, too.

#ccweek2018 #captain canary #my fic #soulmate au #I cannot wait to read any other fills for today #the whole week really #but especially today

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spitecremated · 6 years

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Tag muns you want to know better; repost - don’t reblog.

What inspired you to try / create this muse/s: Originally, creating Dabi’s blog was mostly a ‘whim’ - I had gotten really into The Theory(tm), and wanted to be able to explore the implications of that. His potential dynamics with other characters was really interesting to me, and I’d been looking into which villains I thought I could ‘do justice’ anyways.

Other than just really liking the concept / character? I had seen quite a few different portrayals, mostly within fanfics rather than in the RPC, that I didn’t.. agree with?? A lot of it was really one-dimensional; that was my main irritation with it, I think. So, long story short, I wanted to flesh out my own version of things. (And I’ve had a fucking blast doing so, honestly.)

From there, Kerri encouraged the idea, and well, the rest is history.

What is inspiration for your muse/s: Other than the source material, and various theory posts that I’ve stumbled across? It’s mostly a matter of taking what I already know from those, what I know about psychology, how I’ve written villainous people previously, and a lot of creative liberties.

I use music for inspiration, a lot, with all of my muses; that said, I have a Spotify playlist for nearly all of them. Reading other peoples’ portrayals (typically from quality fics or a friend’s writing, not my duplicates, to be clear there) has always been helpful, too. Outside of that stuff..? I’m really not sure; most of my inspiration just comes from thinking about my muses way too much, listening to music that reminds me of them, and babbling to people about it all.

Thread / AU that makes you really happy: Yeah so, I could babble about quite a few things for this, but I’m gonna stick with the first two that came to mind. First of all? Kerri and I’s ship with Dabi and Asuka ( @sensoryquirk ). I fucking live for Hero x Villain type dynamics, honestly, and I could talk about how much I adore that ship for hours.

But! That’s tied baaasically equally with my interactions with Kam ( @icey-burn ). I fucking LOVE writing with Kam, and our interactions between Dabi & Shouto have been some of the funnest threads to write on this blog. Whether we’re yelling about how much they love each other, or ripping each other’s hearts out with angst replies, it’s always a damned blast.

Something really special on your wishlist: I don’t really have a wishlist, honestly. There are plenty of things that I would like to eventually have happen, sure, but nothing that actually stands out?? At least, not that I can think of. My only big thing was having a Shouto to interact with, and being I’ve got a couple of those now, that’s already accomplished lol.

Share something related to your muse!:

LOOK AT THIS COMIC, PEOPLE.

It’s one of my absolute favorite pieces of fanart I’ve seen for the theory. You wanna talk about art that’s inspired me? THAT.

What do you think about your character’s design / how did you come up with this: This is one of those designs that people either love or hate, and personally? I adore it. There’s something ‘gritty’ about the designs of the villains in BN/HA, that I haven’t seen most other places, and I really appreciate that.

What has your muse taught you: It’s kind of ironic, saying that Dabi of all characters has taught me / helped me with anything, but to be entirely honest? There’s a few things, and they’re all.. actually pretty important?

1) Your scars tell parts of your story, but they do not define you. Your story matters, but the scars themselves? Those don’t matter anymore than you let them matter. They don’t lessen you, they don’t define anything, and they don’t have to change how you view yourself. They only succeed in doing any of that, if you let them, and you don’t have to let them. The story matters; the scars don’t.

2) You are allowed to leave the past, in the past. No matter the circumstances, and no matter your decisions from that point onward, you are not obligated to live in the past - you shouldn’t, for that matter. Read it like an old paperback novel, learn what you can from it, enjoy the good parts where you can. But once you’ve done that, once you’ve learned what you can from it? Set that damned book on fire, if that’s what you need to do in order to move forward. You can’t change your past, but you can start right here, right now, and change the ending of your story. Burn the bridges that you need to; nobody needs to understand your reasons for that except for you. If the past kicks you down 100 times, you get back up 101 — shake the dust off, and focus on your present, on a brighter future.

3) Nobody can force you to continue being the person you were yesterday. You are not obligated to respond to a name that does not belong to you anymore. You are not obligated to be the person that those around you, used to know. You are allowed to change, at any time, and leave the ‘old you’ in the past. Nobody can force you to live in the past, and absolutely no one can force you to continue being the scared kid you were before — you’re not him anymore.

( I could likely continue, but I’m going to leave it at those - they’re the main things. )

What is roleplay for you: Roleplaying is quite a few things for me, but to sum it up? It’s a hobby, and a more ‘relaxed’ way to keep myself writing when I don’t have the time & energy to be working on more “professional” writing. That aside, it’s a way to cope - a place to put emotions that I’m not sure how to otherwise deal with, and vent those in a creative way. So on, and so forth.

Just say something nice about other muns!: I haven’t been in an ‘active’ fandom in quite a while, and I wasn’t certain about joining this one at first. But honestly? I have not been this excited to log on every day, in ages. Everyone here has been incredibly welcoming, and while I could babble about specific people, there isn’t a need to - because every single person I’ve spoken with, interacted with? Has been a fucking sweetheart. You’re all wonderful, and I’m so glad that I decided to be a part of this RPC. Thank you all for having me, really.

Tagged by: @steelhardpecs

Tagging: I’m really late answering this, and idk who all did it already, so... If you haven’t, consider yourself tagged?

#( 𝙂𝙖𝙢𝙚𝙨 𝘽𝙚𝙩𝙬𝙚𝙚𝙣 𝘾𝙤𝙣𝙫𝙞𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 ⁞ Tag Games )#( 𝙊𝙪𝙩 𝙊𝙛 𝙎𝙥𝙞𝙩𝙚 ⁞ OOC )#( Mun Things. )#// Under the cut for length reasons!

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knightofbalance-13 · 7 years

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Re:RWBY Chapter 2 “Review”

http://archiveofourown.org/chapters/22649114

Remember that stupid little project that’s said to be a passion project but the writer out right insulted the original writing staff and blocked their only critic? Well, I’mma gonna point out every single flaw in each part of Re:RWBY for my followers. I would do this for the author but they've made it clear they don't want my opinion by blocking me so sucks to be them: I’m never directly criticizing them ever again.

So let’s begin:

The kind of view you could only get up close.

See, the reason here is that if this was said by a person, the weird dialogue here would be excused as a part of human speech pattern but since it’s narration, it sticks out like a sore thumb. What works as a character talking does NOT work as narration. It’s also a sentence fragement that, again, only works with casual dialogue, NOT narration.

That guy’s got a flaming staff!

See, this normally wouldn’t be a problem...but the author directly took an almost exact line from the original and decried it. So apparently they’re allowed to get away with this but the original writing staff isn’t. Hypocrisy people: it kills the enjoyment of a story. Also, the lack of a chibi Ruby makes this scene

“Just weapons?” she exclaimed in disbelief, “They’re an extension of ourselves! They’re part of our very being, and they’re really cool!”

See, this is a problem with the written style of Re:RWBY: What works in the original show does not always translate well to written form directly. This line is emphasized by the sheer emotion and speech that Ruby shows in the original. Here, it loses the charm. You’d need to be way more description to make this funny or charming.

That’s pretty deep of you.” Yang remarked with a smile. She had heard this a hundred times before.

Why is Yang saying it’s deep of her if she’s heard it so many times? had you said that Yang rolled her eyes and then smiled then it would show exhaustion on her end and thus be funny but now it’s just boring and awkward.

“Like you’re always up in people's’ faces, and Ember Celica’s all about aggression! And then you know, Dad’s not very confrontational so he’s got his whole thing, and me, well…”

Mind telling us about how Ember Celica is all about aggression because you didn’t write the trailers so for all we know, Ember Celcia is all about defense. I know that’s nitpicky but if they’re not going to be fair, I see no reason to be myself.

Also, rwde posters criticized miles for being vague...so this person just decides to be as vague as possible with Taiyang’s weapon. Yeah, even though I love Taiyang to death, that will not save this person from my knife.

“Are completely over-the-top and rip off your heroes?”

Yang’s brutal but that was just uncalled for, aswell as rather OOC for her. Goody, this writer can’t keep an already established character consistant, something any fanfic author worth their weight in ink learns day 1.

“Hey!” she said defiantly, “I love Crescent Rose for what she is, I just happen to appreciate certain amazing weapons as a base.” “So, you copied Uncle Qrow’s gimmick.” “Shh!” she hushed Yang with a pout. It didn’t exactly help that she hit the nail on the head with that comment. “I just love seeing new weapons, okay? It’s a lot like meeting new people, only better.”

Yeah, see the scene in the original worked better as it flowed faster into Ruby’s social awkwardness and made her more adorable. We also say Runy looking away from Yang, emphasizing this. Here, this is not the case.

“Actually, my friends are here. I should really catch up. You’ll do great! Just wander around and find some people! I’ll see you soon!” Yang sprinted off towards the older students who had arrived together with peers their own age. “But Yang!” “Bye!” she shouted, and melded into her circle of friends. It left Ruby rather dejected.

yeah, again this fails because Yang was talking really fast, zooming around with shadow people as friends and zooming away really quickly, leaving Ruby visibly dazed and confused with really wacky music playing in the background. All of these factors catch the viewer by surprise and thus make it funny. Here, it’s dull, flat and emotionless. And yes, it is possible to translate this to writing. Easily. Watch.

“Actually...” Yang drawled out, fiddling with her hair. All of a sudden, several people zoomed out of seemingly nowhere, the force of the movement sending Ruby into a spin, making her resemble a black and red top.

“Myfriendsarealreadyhere, Ishouldcatchupwiththem.You’lldogreat,wanderaroundandmeetsomepeopel. ‘kaybye!’ Yang rattled off quickly, zipping away so fast all she could make out was the dark sillouhtte of Yang’s friends, leaving her older sisters words to rattle around the poor girl’s skull as she desperately tried to get the world to stop spinning

“But Yang!-” She cried out, her rotations pettering out much like her hopes for the day

See? I managed to do it, keep it closer to the original and keep it funny. And it took me about thirty seconds. Not hard, at all.

“Where are we even supposed to go…?” she wondered aloud in a hushed whine. Did she have to worry about dorms? Did the school even have dorms? Well of course they had to, otherwise where would they live? She still had no idea where to find them or who to report to for a room key or even the names of anyone else in the huge place! “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Yeah, this was much funnier in the original as ruby said all of these in a paniced squeak, not a hushed whine. Also, the middle part was said not narrated, adding to the hilarity. Narration should only be used as an addition, NOT a substitute.

“This is Dust! It’s all Dust! Mined and purified straight from the finest Schnee quarries! Do you even know what the market price is for a mere ounce of this?” Little did she realize the powder spilled into the air with each reckless movement. “Uuhhhh…” Ruby sniffled. "What are you, brain-dead?" She slammed the case she held shut and dropped it back on the luggage cart. “Dust! Only the best Dust there is! You’re not gonna find a better producer on the planet and you’re out here knocking it around!” "Right, I... I know..." Ruby coughed and pulled her sleeve over her nose. “Are you even listening to me? Is any of this sinking in? What do you have to say for yourself?!"

Ah see here, the thing is this dialogue paints Weiss as your stereotypical rich girl and while she did have a few shades of it in the original, it was only her attitude that was this, not her dialogue hinting that there is more to her. So in essence: Weiss’ first lines are OOC.

Ruby, who had received enough Dust to the face by that point, finally sneezed one of the greatest sneezes of her life. The force of it blew the volatile Dust particles right back at the girl, where they ignited in a large but otherwise harmless explosion. It left her flawless white dress and fair skin covered in black soot. She began to dust it off and barely contained her rage.

Thing is: There are times to take liberty with the source material and thus you could have said that it created a crater ike it was intended in the original. But by sticking to it (for once) you’ve limited your self and contradicted your writing (”large but otherwise harmless?” me thinks this person doesn’t understand how explosions work.)

“Heiress. It’s heiress, actually,” announced a voice from afar. Both girls turned to see a dark-skinned young woman walk towards them. Silky black hair bounced with each step along with an oversized bow atop her head. “Weiss Schnee, heiress to the Schnee Dust Company” she said plainly. “Finally,” Weiss smiled smugly, “some recognition!” “One of the largest Dust producers in the world, hailing all the way from Atlas.” “Precisely.” The new girl shrugged and closed her eyes nonchalantly. “The same company infamous for its controversial labor forces and questionable business partners, not to mention the dangerous implications of a Dust monopoly on the world economy.” "Wha- How dare you- The nerve of... Ugh!”

One : Blake was pissed off in her second line, drawing a connectionto her disdain for Weiss. Now it seems like she’s just stating facts.

Two: They put the fuming after this but she starts getting angry immediately and thus should have been connected to the last line. This is basic writing technique and the author fucked it all up.

Weiss began to fume, which made Ruby chuckle. The black-haired girl offered her hand, when her tights-covered legs came into view, Ruby took it, hoisted to her feet by some hefty upper body strength. In contrast to Weiss, Blake boasted incredible height, and in contrast to Yang, all of her muscle came in toned, smooth arms.

That’s a pretty damn sexual description of Blake for an asexual like Ruby who is confirmed to not think about sex. Great, OOC and forced lesbianism. Wonderful. Would have worked if this were an AU but nope, this is meant to be a novelixation of RWBY so this is a problem. Also, “The black-haired girl offered her hand, when her tights-covered legs came into view, Ruby took it, hoisted to her feet by some hefty upper body strength” ? Couldn’t just leave out the comma? The line feels clumsy and awkward and unlike the writing staff of RWBY (specifically Miles) who was just starting out on the show, the author boasts being a better writer...despite amateur screw ups that my thirteen self would cringe at.

The rich girl scowled and snapped her fingers. A couple of servants came and collected the suitcases on the ground. She walked alongside her luggage cart as her servants rolled it off, but her thousand-yard grouchy stare stuck to the black-clad girl the whole time.

Problem: Weiss is never seen with any servants at Beacon and never mentions anything and wants to distance herself from her father. So this is still pretty damn OOC for her.

"I promise I'll make this up to you!" Ruby yelled after Weiss. With all said and done, she really did not want to make any enemies. “And thanks for the backup,” she said to the other girl, “guess I’m not the only one having a rough first day…” She turned to what she hoped could flourish into a new friend. “I’m Ruby! What’s your name?” “Oh, uh” she seemed taken aback by the question. “I’m-” “Hey! What did Sneezy get herself into over here?”

yeah, Blake walked awaynin the original encounter which left Ruby alone, making Jaune’s reach out to her all the more noticeable and making an immediate bond with her. But seeing as the author barely tolerates him, I guess I should be thankful they didn’ t ax him immediately.

Also: Sneezy? Nowhere near as funny as “Crater Face” which due to length and size is a clear parallel to “Vomit Boy” and also I assume this is a reference to Sneezy from Snow White? Yeah, wrong character: Ruby’s red Riding Hood so the reference is a screw up.

“Do they?” Asked the black-haired girl rather flatly. She put a hand on her hip and raised an eyebrow. Ruby noticed a black ribbon wrapped up her forearm.

Blake go away! You’re intruding on the best damn relationship in the show! And no I don’t mean romatically but Ruby and Jaune always had this bond with each other that made them really click as they share so much. This also helped Ruby gain some points as jaune is the Audience Surrogate and thus we feel closer to her.

Now it’s just Blake...and Ruby’s delivery with her higher voice is funnier.

“Woah! What’s that?” Ruby interjected again as she spotted what that ribbon attached to; a black rectangular sheath with a sharpened edge strapped to the back of the girl’s waist. “Is that your weapon?” “It’s, uh…” “Is it a gun? A sword? A gun-sword?!” “It’s more of a-” “And is the sheath a sword too? Wow! And that ribbon ties it all together. Is it elastic or something so you can slingshot it around?” “I’d rather just-” “You know,” Jaune cut in, “I have a weapon too.” “Don’t we all?” Ruby asked, and grabbed Crescent Rose from behind her back. She transformed it immediately and slammed the tip of the blade into the ground for balance. The gears and machinations at the base of the curved blade, as well as the Dust cartridge loaded up to the barrel made it impressive for reasons more than its size.

I am bored as shit right now. The gag of Blake trying to introduce herself is not funny, the two with real chemistry aren’t interacting and my patience is nearing it’s end!

“Is that a giant scythe?” Jaune asked, intimidated. “It’s also a customizable, high-impact sniper rifle.” “A…. a what?” “It’s also a gun.” The black-haired girl clarified. Ruby cocked the rifle’s slide to agree. Despite Ruby’s enthusiastic smile, the other girl hardly seemed as dazzled as Jaune. “Isn’t something like that a little dangerous for someone of your…stature?”

Ruined the line. The author ruined one of the most iconic lines in the series. There’s nowhere enough description for the voices to be funny, nowhere near enough build up of awkwardness to come out of nowhere, Blake bogs the scene down and the gun cock comes before the line. All of this makes it dull. The author made RWBY dull!

“Sounds like more of an heirloom to me,” Ruby chuckled. “Well, I like it. Not everyone has an appreciation for the classics. How about you, friend-” To her surprise, the black-haired girl had vanished while they conversed over Jaune’s sword. Not a trace left.

Not enough build up to be funny, don’t know enough of Blake to be meaningful thus she was completely superfluous. Blake was completely pointless, what was her poi-

“Shows concern and then runs off without warning,” Ruby mumbled, “she’d get along great with Yang. Didn’t even get her name!”

Ah, I see. A build up to a dumb joke and not even a good dumb joke and forced Bumbleby ship tease. Great.

"Hmm." Ruby looked around as students dispersed. "Hey, do you know where we’re supposed to go?” "Oh, I don't know! I was following you. Y-You think there might be a directory? Maybe a food court? Some kind of recognizable landmark?” Ruby giggled at the thought of them as two new students completely lost with zero help. Of course her day would end up like this and things would go disastrously badly! “Is, uh... Is that a 'no'?" "Heheh, hah…That's a 'no.'"

Joke falls flat because they haven’t moved a god damn inch, not enough description to be funny anyway and “disastrously badly” ? Really? Two adverbs in a row in narration?! Well, at least it ends as it started: Bad.

I mean it: This is on of the worse novelization of a series I have ever seen and I happen to be a fan of the concept. Not enough description to match the vibrancy of the original, chops up lines and characters until they kill scenes and OOC out the butt. If this is what critics of RWBY think it should be then I’m starting to think that RWBY critics are totally wrong after all. Especially if they are arrogant enough to think THIS is even close to equal to RWBY, let alone above it.

*Holds up a copy of Re:RWBY Chapter 2* Only one thing to do left. *Flings it the air, causing the pages to float down*

SILVER CHARIOT, CUT THIS SHIT TO PIECES *Silver Chariot appears and slashes and stabs all the pages with speed and precision befitting the Stand of Victory. The pages are quickly cut into pieces, then into fragements then into shreds and so on until the chapter is cut beyond repair*

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casimania · 4 years

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I love your Chloe/Dan/Lucifer/Pierce. What head cannon do you have for them?

Gosh thank you! I have lots of headcanons actually, I do want to write a couple of fics about them and there’s a lot of ways they could go.

But mainly (goddamn this got so long, I rambled a lot sorry):

Chloe, Lucifer and Dan get together just as season 3 starts. When Pierce shows up they’re still settling in (there’s lot of settling in to do, from Lucifer suddenly seeing on a daily basis Dan and Chloe being parents and having to deal with his own parental issues, to Divine bullshit happening to Chloe and Dan getting used at being in a relationship again with all their past issues). There’s a lot of ways they could come together: Dan and Lucifer sort of stumbling in a relationship while pining after Chloe and Chloe having complicated feelings (she Wants but Dan has already fucked her over once and Lucifer is sometimes erratic and self-destructive and she’s always second guessing everything). Or Dan and Lucifer becoming friends and Dan gets an accidental Devil reveal and gets out of it with a stronger bond with Lucifer and it helps Lucifer deal with his feelings with Chloe and confess (and after they shack up Lucifer belately realizes he has similar feelings for Chloe and Dan has been pining over both the whole time and Chloe has been battling resurfacing feelings for Dan but thinks she’s just being a sappy fool). Or even they just slowly come together at the same pace. They don’t even notice they’re basically doing family stuff together like “we’re just friends what are you talking about ah ah” but daydream about domestic stuff all the time and a lot of people genuinely think they’re all an Item.

I want Pierce role as the Sinnerman to be different also, just because. Less Murdery Crime Boss, more Espionage. Like a spy network. He’s hold and knows Things. His schtick is that if you fuck up he will know. He torments families for generations until their sins aren’t relevant anymore (but a lot of people do fucked up shit along the way so he gets more ammo for another couple generations). The Sinnerman name comes from this in this AU, he knows you sins and your forefathers’ ones. I really want him to emply the fact he’s the older human on Earth. He knows shit about everyone and he has tangible evidence to twist your arm. He has a chockehold on a lot of families. It’s also useful to reinvent himself or hide his tracks. I got the impression in canon the Sinnerman deal isn’t too old, here instead it’s been going on for longer. Less bloody but more deeprooted. Which is why it’s a big surprise when the Decoy Sinnerman starts offing people in fucked up ways. Pierce left him some liberty while trying to keep himself clean while working for the Law but that’s a bit too much. Also doesn’t make sense, starts getting actually worried when he notices he’s being slowly cut off from most of his sources. While killing the people making Deals with Lucifer the fake Sinnerman has also been offing people Pierce personally dealt with. And Pierce was so focused on Lucifer and Chloe and his goal he only realizes when his only option is to band together with them and Dan to bring him down.

Except, surprise! In this AU the fake Sinnerman is gonna be involved with Celestial bullshit on an Apocalyptic level so they really really have to work together. Cause since I’m hell bent on woobifying Pierce I need a big bad for them to join forces against. And I always felt like the decoy Sinnerman was heading towards something big only to be offed in an anticlimatic way (I guess it could make sense since the real dangerous big bad ended up Pierce in the end, but it’s nice to expand that role a little). And of course Pierce’s whole Cain deal comes out in the open and differently than in canon. And Chloe and Dan discover too. Which makes for some awkward (for Chloe and Dan) interactions at work. Like this is our boss, who is also literal Cain From The Bible and is Immortal AND a crime boss AND meets up like weekly to be killed by our boyfriend what the fuuuuuck.

Lucifer goes down a self acceptance journey (accepting himself as not a wretched monster who poisons and ruins everything he touches, but also accepting that not everything that happened to him was personally enacted by his father but it’s either shitty circumstances and consequences and his subconscious acting up) while Pierce gets some sort of redemption arc. Or “take responsibility you self-victimizing asshole”. I see Canon Cain as being Bad(tm) both because he downright said so (his saying Lucifer wanted to be Good was pretty telling that he, instead, embraced the role humanity seemingly gave him and reveled in it). He needs to realize he both has to admit he made mistakes and bad things on his own and to actually make the good choice for once. Cain at first was just like “God, my family and the whole of humanity says I am a mosnter and the source of Evil in man. So there’s no point in trying to be good. I’ll just do bad shit and it will be THEIR fault, not mine. I’ve been pushed into it”. He’ll need to put his big boy pants and do some soul searching. Instead of always running away. Similar to Lucifer, yet Lucifer, even while embracing his Evil Devil Role always desperately wanted to be good in his core. He’s a very human Devil while canonly Pierce was a human who pretty much shed his humanity. So yeah, he’s gonna face reality and I’m gonna find a way to rip a lot of shit out of him he’s bitten into and swallowed down and has been unable to face for thousands of years. I really wanna make him sweat blood about it. I got a few different ideas but he’s gonna come out of it different. Probably gonna fuck him up for a while, he saw the world one way for thousands of years and in the span of one year (and a half maybe) it gets all challenged pretty violently and he can either double down in his convinctions or accept the changes and deal with it. With being the only one responsible for who he is, shit can happen but in the end the final choice is yours, and Cain always ran from this truth.

Lucifer and Pierce come to some sort of understandment pretty soon. They both see each other as someone fucked over by God. Lucifer is desperate for someone who truly gets that aspect of his life while Pierce kinda hates when he find himself when they do get each other. Like it was all fun and games when it was some snarky banter, true heart to heart moments are what usually make him choose a new identity and skip town. Chloe is someone he comes to respect pretty soon when shit starts getting seriou. The choices he always has difficulty with? The good ones? She's good at making them, she can have the literal Devil on her shoulder goading her but she always asks herself “Is it right? Is this the kind of person I want to be? To make myself become?” and she chooses knowing it’s all on her (where he always was “Not my choice, not my fault”). And Dan, damn he has a lot of animosity and contempt for Dan at first. He sees a crooked cop getting off easily due to circumstances and he’s just seeing his one bad deed and undening curse. And he hates the idea of people getting off the hook easily. But they’re all forced in close contact or a while so he unwittingly starts knowing more about Dan and just, he’s still fun to make fun of (and Lucifer agrees with him on that) but there’s some begruding respect there. He’s fucked up he keeps fucking up but he keeps trying and after realizing some shit about himself and the Mark the animosity dies down a bit and he gets a little less petty. Which slowly turns into a moment of understand between them down the line and they’re not sure which one is more shocked.

Also regarding angelic self actualization! Lucifer is gonna get his wings back or devil face off earlier than in canon. He comes to accept hismelf a little bit more and either one of those things changes. The other changes after he’s sent Goddess away, cause that’s a little bit more of self-acceptance. He’s avoided a war and sent him mother off to a hopefully better place. Of course he still thinks it’s punishment first for shacking up with Dan and Chloe and being happy and refusing to go back to Hell (maybe the wings appear first, he thinks it’s God urging him to fly back to Hell) and then for sending Goddess in another dimension (and probs also killing Uriel). But at some point he’s gonna spiral down again, want to fit into this AU something like the plot of season 4 and him going down a self-hate and doubt spiral for a reason or another. Maybe less abruptly, having loved one helps some but can’t fix eons of fucked up slowly crawling back up. And on the issue of God. I’m gonna say neither the Mark nor the Fall were dished out as punishments made to make Lucifer and Cain suffer. Here’ He’s very much a touch and go sort of guy. He gave Cain the Mark because Abel went down to Hell for way less and he doesn’t want that for either of them, but Abel is out of his hands, he can only hope for Cain’s redemption. So he sends Amenadiel to inflict a mark that extends his life, he can get rid of it once he’s finally faced the reality of the murder he committed, then he can fuck up more as he wishes and condemn himself again. The great unending punishment is something Cain and Amenadiel just assumed. Like Lucifer’s Fall. I like to think Hell was God’s way of getting Luciffer as far has his influence so he could act on his Free Will (I have more feelings on this but this thing got long enough). But he’s God and kind of a ass so he never states things clearly. You gotta work for them cause free will. Same with Chloe. He sent Amenadiel down to bless Penelope but didn’t really leave instructions (cause that again would be meddling with free will).

And also Season 4 equivalent is something I want to explore too. Also cause in the mess that would be this season 3 the whole OT4 thing doesn’t really come together immediately. More of a “Pierce does some soul searching and shapes up a little” but after it it’s more like, there’s understanding and respect between them and something is budding but it’s not quite “Here’s the keys Marcus come live with us”. He’s sort of like a stray cat they picked up. He keeps working at the precinct because the Mark is gone and his years are clearly numbered now and he has to decide what to make of them. And he sort of comes and goes, he’s been cutting ties with people for a very long time and he does not quite know how to ease himself back into yet (half the reason is gonna be the wonder trio being there, shit definitely got serious before but now he’s stalling). I write more easily lighthearted stuff and I can see Lucifer, Dan and Chloe just huddling together and discussing him. Maybe something happened in the thick of actions but since stuff chilled down they’re like, what now?? And they’re just being so obvious about it. But I don’t know yet how things will develop between Pierce and Chloe, Dan and Lucifer exactly. I have a rough idea on how each of them relates to the other (I’m excited about expanding on Pierce and Dan, but also Chloe and Pierce getting to know each other without Pierce’s canon machinations) but I have yet to see what will come up when I write them interacting in these situations. The nice thing about polyamory is that you can have very different dynamics in a single relationship. But I don’t have a definite feel of them yet. And Chloe/Dan/Lucifer is gonna happen relatively fast, Chloe/Dan/Lucifer/Pierce is def gonna be a slow burn one. Excruciatingly slow burn.

Also EVE! I love Eve and I want to explore her + her son + Lucifer and everyone else. Abel was clearly her darling boy and she recognized canon Cain got what was coming for him. But here’s like, sort of one foot in one foot out of a relationsip with Lucifer, Chloe and Dan and shaped himself up. Where does Eve’s codepedency issues and unstable sense of self bring her? Does she still seek out Lucifer? Does she force herself not fear or resent Cain because Lucifer seems to like him? How much does it distress her? She’d probably latch on Lucifer but it would be an interesting dynamic with all of them. How much “oh fuck” is Pierce feelinga about all of this? Facing his guilt and faults head on (pretty fucky when you went around millennia going “lalala no guilt in here nope sir!”). Also good to explore some background for the Eden family. Abel and Cain’s mutual fighting. Adam being a stick in the mud apparently. Eve’s own issues and how they relate to her being a mother and wife (did she see herself as a person or was absorbed by those roles? how much did she go along Adam’s wishes instead of hers even while raising their sons, she was made out of Adam’s rib literally for him. this is a hella weird dynamic to have as a family. did she see Lucifer in Abel’s playfulness and lightheartedness? Was Cain more like Adam? Could this have bred more anymosity between them?). And just the idea of Adam and Eve just spawning like that and being looked after by God at first. And Cain is just the first baby they’ve even ever seen. The pregnancy must have been pretty scary for Eve. How confused were they about baby care? His growth? Having to look after him? Did he resent that they were more prepared for Abel? Or that Eve seemed to be kind of a yes man with Adam? I have the impression this family never did much honest “here’s our feelings lets discuss” talk. And in all of this there’s a demon uprising. Because they can’t have ONE normal year, can they?

#1billsookie #LONG POST #SERIOUSLY. word vomited again.#Luciblogging #ALSO THANK YOU FOR THE ASK!#sorry for putting it in the backburner for so long

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houseravenclaw09 · 5 years

Text

Blizzard - Chapter 3

Summary: This is my first attempt at fan fiction, well first attempt at writing anything since finishing school. I had this idea for a modern AU for Steve and Peggy, but this prequel of sorts kept getting in the way. This prequel is also much longer than I ever intended. I’m a day late for Steggy week day 4, as a what-if. This is my idea of what could have happened back in 1943.

Rating: Adult

(This chapter got a little long.)

Chapter 3

Steve Rogers was in hell. If not hell, he was experiencing an exquisite torture that was quickly pushing his limits. He had a very nearly naked Peggy Carter pressed fully against his body, and she was impossible to ignore. He would never take a liberty not freely given, and he was using his will power to stop his body from responding to hers. In the last hour, she had shifted her thigh up to where it rested over his leg and it was so close to his hips. He kept his body as still as possible, only he kept his hands on her back. He couldn’t stop his hands from absently rubbing her skin, trying to heal her body through his touch. While trying to ignore how smooth and soft her skin felt.

It killed him to see her wounded and weakened like this. He didn’t remark on her condition earlier, knowing that she had kept the gun in easy reach. She wouldn’t hesitate to shoot at him again, and this time Steve didn’t have his shield. Peggy worked hard to keep up her strength in front of everyone at the SSR, and to the other soldiers at camp. Peggy already earned respect from the Howlies, they all considered her a part of the team from the start of their first mission once the team was created. The respect has only grown since then, the team would lay down their lives for her because Peggy would do the same for them. Unfortunately making the rest of the US Army see Peggy for the outstanding Agent that she was… well, even some things were outside the realm of Captain America’s abilities. But it never stopped Steve from trying. The Howlies, Steve, Howard, and Colonel Phillips were always her loudest supporters.

She shifted in her sleep and he could feel the curve of her breasts against his chest. He kept his eyes on the ceiling and was mentally going over Army regulations and protocols to keep his mind from focusing too much on the feel of her. He started to feel sweat along his brow again and it wasn’t from the fire. He was mentally reciting the regulations on the storing of ammunition for the fifth time when Peggy woke up. She nuzzled his chest sleepily before realizing what she had done. Lifting her head, she looked up at him embarrassment on her face. “Afternoon.”

“How’d you sleep?”

Peggy lifted a hand to her forehead “I think my fever is going down and I slept very well. You put out a lot of body heat. I haven’t felt more comfortable since before this bloody mission began.”

Her body stayed pressed against his and he tried to ignore how her breasts felt as she moved and spoke. Steve tried to distract himself and he reached for his pack from beneath the blankets. He showed her the med kit. “There are 2 more doses of penicillin in the kit. We can use them if we need to. I don’t think it is wise to move while you are feverish, not while the storm is still raging on.”

Peggy nodded, her fingers drawing circles over his chest without her realizing what she was doing. She blushed a little and tried to avoid his eyes. She started to pull her body away from his, but Steve’s arms came back around her and pulled her close. She did meet his gaze at this and tilted her head to look at him quizzically. “I wasn’t going to leave. It’s just that maybe we don’t need to be too close. I don’t want to give the wrong idea...”

Steve cut her off “Peggy, this was my idea and this is about survival. We already live in close quarters at camp and during missions. I mean, I've had to bandage you a few times. And it wasn’t like I had any privacy during the selection process for Project Rebirth. You have seen every inch of me more than once... Not that this is pay back or an excuse... I mean, I’m happy to hold you close to keep you warm... Er, that’s not what I meant... Um...”

Peggy gave him a small smile. “You never did learn how to talk to women.”

Steve was blushing furiously now and wasn’t sure what to do with his hands which were still pressed against her bare back. “Peggy... I don’t want to learn how to talk to women. I only want to talk to you. You’re the one for me.” He snaps his mouth shut, and closes his eyes. He blames the feel of Peggy in his arms for hours as making him drunk, and loosening his tongue to say things he had been keeping secret. Drunk on the feel of her, drunk on her scent, drunk on holding her in his arms while he kept her safe while she slept. He begins to wish that the storm would somehow enter the cave and to throw him off the side of the mountain.

Peggy stared at him in silence for several moments. “Steve, we are at war. Both of us are on the front lines, or behind them as it were. We both know how dangerous our lives are, and how short life can be. At the same time, how precious every moment can be.” She paused, knowing that they stood at the edge of the line that they had maintained since they met. She tried to take a step back from the line. “I realized I never… I mean…” she lifted her eyes to meet his “Thank you for coming after me. I know this was your idea. It did not come from Colonel Phillips.”

Steve blushed, he kept his eyes locked on hers. “I was so scared when the Colonel told me you were missing in action. I knew I could find you, and I was lucky I didn’t have to go AWOL when I got the mission approved.” Steve brushed a lock of hair back from her forehead tenderly with his hand, before grasping her hand in his and holding it over his heart. “I will always find you, I will always be here for you.” Steve stopped speaking, realizing he was bringing them closer to crossing that same line.

Peggy was staring intently at his face, her skin glowing in the firelight. Steve’s eyes drawn to her, trying to burn the sight into his memory. His fingers almost itched for his sketchbook, wanting to draw her like this so he would remember this forever. He lifts a hand and brushes her hair gently away from her face again and tried to change the subject. “You should eat something. Are you hungry?”

Taking it as the distraction that it was Peggy refused food but did ask for water. Without needing to leave their makeshift bed, Steve reaches for the canteen and held it to her lips. Peggy takes a few small drinks and settles back against Steve’s warmth. Steve swallows some water before putting the canteen down. He manages to toss more wood on the fire, his long reach allowing him to stay under the blankets. His hands resume rubbing her back, unable to stop touching her. Peggy relaxes under his hands and is soon back asleep. Resuming where he left off, he mentally recites the regulations about the storage of ammunition all while trying not to focus on his memory of Peggy reflected by the firelight.

Eventually Steve fell asleep, only to awaken when he felt Peggy’s fever break. He mopped her brow with his shirt and pulled the blankets in tighter around her before he got up carefully. He had pulled his trousers back on before standing. She would wake up thirsty, and he wanted to have water ready for her. Not bothering to tie the laces once his boots were on, and took the alarm down just long enough for him to walk close to the entrance to collect more snow. He let the wind pile the snow over the cave entrance, trying to give them more cover.

He looked out into the darkness and only saw swirling snow. The howling wind swallowed all sound, even with his enhanced hearing. He was unsure if the soldiers were still hunting them in the storm, and hoped that Peggy and him were safe in the cave. He filled both of their canteens and brought them back in to melt. He tried to keep quiet as he started taking inventory of their remaining supplies, from both of their packs. He knew he could go longer without food than she could. He would make sure she got the majority of their C-rations.

Her radio was damaged, it seemed to have been shot through her pack. He then picked up the rest of the pack and counted 2 more holes, and looked over at her sleeping form. He was fighting an overwhelming need to check the rest of her body for injuries. Knowing only Peggy’s skill had kept her being hurt more than the wound in her shoulder. He heard the remains of the radio groaning in his grip, but he didn’t stop in time before he crushed it. The sound woke her up. “Sorry”

Peggy woke up disorientated, and alone. Her head turning, until she found a shirtless Steve standing nearby, the remains of her radio in pieces in his hands. His dog tags shining in the firelight. Her throat dry, she had a hard time speaking. Steve dropped the radio and rushed to hold a canteen to her lips. He cradled her head in one hand as she drank. She cleared her throat when she finished and indicated the broken radio with her chin. “I do hope you brought a spare.”

Unable to hold back, his eyes a little wild as he tried to see her body through the blankets. His heart beating too fast for Steve to be in any mood for humor. “Are you shot anywhere else? Are you hurt more than your shoulder?” His need to know she was alright an overwhelming one. He dropped to kneel at her side, on top of the blankets. His hands hovering above her, not quite trusting himself to not rip the blanket to check on her.

She raised her eye brow at him “Other than some frostbite, hypothermia, a bullet to the shoulder, and a previously infected wound – I am quite well. My fever seems to have broken.” She gave a little shiver, the fire unable to keep all of the cold from penetrating the cave.

Seeing her shiver, Steve quickly got back under the blankets and removed his boots and trousers again. His arms automatically going back around her and pulling her back against him. She signed almost happily at the return of his warmth. She stroked a hand down his chest in a comforting manner. “I’m alright.”

He squeezed her tighter and struggled to relax his grip. “I saw the bullet holes in your pack, and I realized how close it was. You could have been captured or killed, and I was miles away in Italy. I wouldn’t have been able to handle losing you. You would have been missing in action and no one would have known what had happened to you. I wouldn’t have known. You mean everything to me…” He realized too late that he had said too much again, his emotions still running high worrying she was more gravely injured.

She lifted him her head and put a finger under his chin to direct his gaze back to her “I’m here. You found me, I don’t think I would survived the day if you hadn’t arrived when you did. I was too weak to get out of bed. Thank you.” She pulled his head down so she could kiss his cheek, but he turned his head and her lips landed on his. He pulled back after a moment.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean.. I mean… that was nice, great even… but I didn’t mean for that… Um, it was my pleasure. Well, not pleasure to find you hurt. I mean, I meant what I said earlier. I’ll always find you.” His face beet red and he couldn’t look at her.

Peggy turned his face again back towards her, and she slid up his body and kissed him again. His earnest response making her melt on the inside, and she wanted to show him how much. This time the kiss continued until they are both breathless. Her hands caressed his face, admiring him like he had done to her. She traces his lips with her fingertips, and he kissed them one by one.

Peggy struggles to speak. Her British stoicism making it hard for her to find the words, but she manages to say the truth that they both had been avoiding. “I love you, Steve Rogers.”

Steve responds immediately “I love you, Peggy. I will always love you.”

She wraps both hands in his hair and pulls his head closer to kiss him deeply. Steve slides his hands around her waist and turns her over onto her back as they keep kissing. He is mindful of her shoulder, and he moves to kiss her neck, her hands gripping his back. He can hear her moans when he finds a certain spot beneath her ear. She back bows, and he continues kissing his way down, licking her collarbone. He stops and moves back to kissing her lips. “Peggy, do you want me to stop? You are hurt and we don’t have to…”

She opens her eyes and stares into his earnest blue eyes. He is breathing hard and has his hands on either side of her body, making sure he doesn’t crush her with his body weight. She runs her hands down the side of his muscular chest. “I want to be with you, here, now... Is this your first time? Would you prefer if we stop? You can save your first time for someone special.”

Steve nearly purrs as Peggy touches him. He keeps his eyes locked on hers. “I don’t want to stop, and I want my first time to be with you. You are my special someone.... If that is ok?”

Peggy smiles and gives him a brief kiss. “It is definitely more than ok. Do you have a prophylactic?”

Steve blushes again but he reaches for his pack. He pulls out the few he hadn’t given to Dernier to protect their explosives in Italy. He stacks them on the ground next to her. Peggy picks one and holds it up. “Do you know...?”

Steve stops her before she finishes her sentence. “I know...It might be my first time; I think I know the basics. If I do something wrong, tell me?”

His sincere face makes her smile, she kisses him when he sits up to roll the condom on. She openly admires his body, now that he pulled the blankets back and she got her first full look without being in a lab environment. She experiences a few moments of concern when she sees the size of Steve now that she can admire him openly. But then he has the condom on and he resumes kissing her. He covers her body with his own and his hands gets more daring. He cups her full breasts, his thumbs teasing her hard nipples. Peggy responds by kissing the tendons in Steve’s neck, making him moan. She lets her own hands wander and she reaches down to stroke his covered shaft. Steve’s whole body stiffens, and he shudders. He breathes hard, trying to find some control.

“Are you alright?”

“Um, that was more than alright. That was very very alright...” He smiles down at her and guides her hand back to touching him again. “It’s just...that was the first time someone other than me touched... me. And I enjoyed it, a lot. Keep doing it?”

Peggy tries to learn from Steve’s moans on how he liked to be touched. His mouth moves to her breasts, he wraps his lips around one pert nipple and sucks making her moan even louder than him. He pulls his mouth from her breasts and kisses her again. He blushes a little when he asks her to show him how to touch her core the way she likes. Peggy quickly spreads her legs around him and guides his hands. She teaches him the way she prefers to be touched and Steve shows he is a quick learner. Soon Peggy is panting, she breaks the kiss with Steve and guides his cock to her wet core.

Steve pauses, keeping eye contact with Peggy as he starts to push into her. She arches her back again and moans right in his ear when he penetrates her, slowly. Steve locks his hands with hers, interlocking his fingers together with Peggy’s, her hands above her head. He hisses, feeling her heat envelop all around his shaft. He continues to move his hips forward slowly inch by inch, until he is fully inside of her body. He takes his time and his body shudders from the sensation. Steve had heard the guys back in Brooklyn talk about their prowess with ladies, and Bucky told him a little bit. Being with Peggy was more than he ever could have imagined. He could feel her heat through the condom, and he knew how wet she was when he was exploring her body with his fingers. She was so tight, he was worried he would hurt her. But he didn’t want to stop either, being inside of her was the most pleasure he had ever felt before.

He felt some guilt that their first time together was in the middle of a Polish cave, with just an Army issued blanket between Peggy’s back and the cave floor. Peggy deserved a luxurious four poster feather bed, far better than anything Steve could offer her. He rested his forehead on hers, his breathing slowing. He looked down at her face, and kissed her. He frees one of his hands and caresses her face and her body, bringing a moan to her lips. He keeps his hips still, enjoying the feel of her wrapped around him. He moves his lips back and kisses her with all the passion that he feels for her. She works her hands free and caresses them down his back. He braces most of his weight on his free hand, his other stroking her side. He breaks the kiss and rests his forehead against hers. He tries to even out his breathing while looking down at her. The other men Peggy had known would never have waited. She moves a hand to cup his cheek, and Steve turns his face to kiss her palm before kissing her again. They both moan into each other’s mouth, each only stopping to catch their breath.

Peggy breaks the kiss and caresses his face again. She smiles up at him, watching him intently when she uses her inner muscles to squeeze Steve tightly. She gives him a wicked smile when his eyes nearly roll back into his head, and he beads of sweat form along his forehead. She kisses him when she repeats her squeeze and he breaks free to stare down at her. He watches her face as he slowly pulls out, and pushes back in equally slow. He repeats it several times, watches how flushed Peggy gets with each thrust. Every time he pulls out of her, he is very eager to return to her warmth which makes him moan. He maintains a slow rhythm, afraid of hurting her. Her moans equally as loud as his, unable to hold back how good it feels each time he pushes back into her heat.

Peggy is breathing hard, and the eye contact they share just makes the connection feel even deeper. Steve doesn’t seem to be willing to look away from her, he does bite down on his lower lip when Peggy strokes a hand down his back. She is adjusting to the thickness of Steve now, and arches a little each time he pushes in. But she is getting a little frustrated at his continued slow pace. She slides her hand down more to pull on his hips, trying to get him to speed up. He looks down at her quizzically and she answers his unspoken question. “I want you to move faster. I promise I won’t break.”

Steve smiles and laughs briefly before kissing her again. As his lips remain against hers, he starts to move his hips. He keeps increasing his speed, hearing her moans. He watches her face, trying to seer the memory of this into his mind. Peggy is the most beautiful and sexy woman Steve has ever seen, and being with her now is another reason for Steve to know he loves Peggy with all of his heart.

He braces one hand next to her head and cups her face with the other. “I love you Peggy Carter.”

“I love you, Steve.”

Using some of the knowledge he learned earlier, he touches Peggy’s wet slit until he finds the delicate flesh that made her moan the loudest. Her eyes go wide, his fingers working in tandem with his cock. Her inner walls squeezing him tighter and tighter until he is sure is going to lose control. Suddenly, Peggy’s whole body goes tense and she cries out. Her walls fluttering around his shaft, he pumps in and out of her two, three more times and then he releases inside the condom. He slowly still his fingers and braces both hands on either side of her body as he tries to come down off his high, very intense orgasm. He carefully pulls out of her and removes the condom. He tosses it to the side, unsure of what to do with it. He turns back to Peggy and kisses her again giving her a shy smile. “How did I do, Agent Carter?”

Peggy brushes her cool fingers along his forehead and face. She returns his kiss and smiles. “That was perfect, Captain.”

Steve moves to lay down on his back, pulling Peggy close to his side once again. He pulls the blankets back up, covering her. He kisses her hair and rubs his hand down her back relaxing with the feel of her body next to him. . They speak quietly to each other, enjoying the warmth of being with one another until they both fall asleep. Outside the blizzard rages on, and there is nowhere else the lovers would rather be.

#steggy #steggyweek2k19 #steve rogers #peggy carter #fan fiction

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