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marvelslut16 · 4 years

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Inseparable

Pairing: Reggie Mantle x reader

Synopsis: Reader and Reggie have been best friends since they were toddlers, nothing tearing them apart until Veronica their Junior year. This follows the rise and downfall of their friendship. Can they mend their friendship and be back to what they once were, will they be too hurt to fix their broken hearts, or will they finally admit their feelings for one another?

Word count: 2.6K+ (my hand slipped)

Warnings: Mr. Honey; he’s the worst villain to ever enter Riverdale, you can’t change my mind. Mentions of child abuse, nothing graphic past the mention of a black eye. Some angst. Spoilers for s4e4 technically, I still can’t believe what Mr. Honey did.

A/N: I have like 11 requests I still have to get to, yikes. I swear I’ll do them soon, but inspiration hit and I ended up writing this. there isn’t enough Reggie love on Tumblr, plus I have a tiny crush on Charles Melton, so writing this was a win win. let me know what you think, and if I should write more for Riverdale. Veggie is better than Varchie (don’t come for me), but I still think Reggie deserves better than Ronnie.

Growing up in a small town like Riverdale there weren’t too many kids to become friends with, but when you met Reggie Mantle on your first day of preschool you knew he would be your best friend for life. Archie was showing off on the playground by walking up the slide when the teacher wasn’t looking. The problem then being that Archie's foot slipped right as you were walking passed the bottom of the slide, and he slid down and ended up knocking you on the ground. You started to cry because he scraped your arm bad enough that it started to bleed. Reggie, whom you shared a table with in class, watched from the sidelines as your teacher helped you up and took you to the nurse, he got his revenge during arts and crafts later that day- ‘accidentally’ spilling red paint all over the front of Archie’s khaki pants. When Reggie made it to the table you quietly thanked him and shared your paint with him since the teacher said he couldn’t have new paint as a lesson to be more careful next time.

As the years went on, yours and Reggie’s friendship only grew until you were inseparable; you two went on family vacations together, you went to every single one of his junior bulldog football games from the ages of eight to twelve, he went to your ballet recitals when you took classes in grade school even bringing you roses. Reggie was your rock at your grandmother’s funeral, you helped him pass his geometry class Sophomore year so he could stay on the football team, and you were the only person that he opened up to about his father’s abuse- having witnessed it with your own eyes a handful of times.

Your mom was convinced you and Reggie would fall in love and get married one day, and your father was convinced your friendship would crumble and ultimately go down in a blazing fire. Going into your senior year you hate to admit that your father was right, his words bouncing around in your skull every time your brain shut off for longer than two seconds. Veronica Lodge moved to town Sophomore year, enticing every boy within a fifty mile radius with her upper East side charm. Reggie didn’t fall for Veronica right away, he fell for her junior year when he was helping her with La Bonne Nuit. And as cliche as it is, that’s when you realized you were in love with him, you had been for a while. The small nagging voice in the back of your head told you that it had been since that day in preschool.

But you would grin and bear the pain, the soul crushing pain, if it meant that Reggie would still be in your life. And you did, for a while at least; until Reggie stopped calling and texting you back, until he stopped begging you to come to his games, until he stopped sneaking into your room every friday night after a game to go over the play footage where you would help him come up with new plays and tweaks to the old ones, until he started ignoring you in the halls in favor of making out with Veronica. You never hated the girl, she had been nothing but nice to you anytime you would interact, but God, you just wished she would disappear and give you your Reggie back.

You resented Veronica, leading your interactions with the girl to be more tense and your answers clipped, and that was what led to the blazing fire your father talked about. Reggie offered you a ride home one day after school, and of course you jumped at the opportunity to spend time with him again. Instead of going to pops and talking like you thought you would, the two of you got into your biggest, and last, fight ever.

It started with Reggie asking why you hated Veronica, where you defended yourself and swore that you didn’t. But he wouldn’t believe a word that came out of your mouth, continuing to press you as you two kept driving. The closer you got to the edge of town the worse the fighting got, your voice raising along with his. You accuse him of abandoning his friends, abandoning you, to be with Veronica all the time. He gets mad that you don’t understand why he’s with her all the time, claiming that you couldn’t understand not when you’ve never had a boyfriend. Something that he’s the reason for, since he scared all of the guys even remotely interested in you away with just one piercing glare or one lowly growled threat.

The comment picking on your relationship status, or lack thereof, is the straw that broke the camel's back. You let loose just as you pass the sign thanking you for visiting Riverdale, the town with pep. Pep your ass, the small town is full of death and endless heartache wherever you look. You rip into Reggie, letting the hurt take over as you scream and scream at him-calling him a terrible friend. He finally screams back, claiming that you’re worse because you hate his girlfriend. He has to pull his precious car over, the car you helped him pick out when he turned sixteen, because he started swerving when you two got into a screaming match.

The interaction ends with you getting out of the car on the side of the road leading into Greendale, slamming the car door behind you, knowing that he’ll get mad with how aggressive you’re being with his baby, his Bella. He does a sharp U-turn driving beside you, trying to coax you into getting back in the car with him. But you can’t do that, you can’t face him right now. So as you watch the taillights of the gun metal grey Chevelle disappear around the curve in the road you finally let the tears fall down your face, they stream harder and faster the closer you get to reentering the town with pep.

Reggie had dropped your backpack off at your house when he got back into town, so it was sitting there waiting for you in your living room alongside your worried mother. You cried into her arms that night for hours, until you were all cried out, not caring that you look like a big baby. You had just lost Reggie, you had just lost your everything. You hadn’t talked to him since that day in the middle of your junior year, even after him and Veronica broke up and she went back to Archie like always. The days of your senior year seemed to fly by, October coming in what felt like mere days as opposed to months, and your last Halloween in Riverdale is today.

You and Reggie would always wear matching costumes to trick or treat, and school just for fun as you got older, this always prompted your classmates to wonder if you two were finally dating. But that wouldn’t be happening this year, for the first time ever. You had even dressed up and sat on his porch in costume when you were six, handing out candy to the other kids so you could talk to Reggie, who was in costume too, through the window because he was sick with a 102.2 degree fever. You were dressed as Kim and Ron that year, his mom had even crocheted him a little Rufus to stick in his pocket. You couldn’t wait to get out of this town, away from Reggie, away from the places where you would see ghosts of your younger selves everywhere you went.

Kevin calls you freaking out after he and Reggie got caught tp’ing Mr. Honey’s office. Kevin caved after Mr. Honey threatened to make sure he wouldn’t get into NYU if he didn’t. Kevin felt guilty for his actions, and even though you hadn’t talked to Reggie in close to a year you were worried about him. Worried what his dad might do to him when he hears he got in trouble at school again, and worried what the unhinged Mr. Honey might do to him himself.

You don’t hear anything from Reggie the next day, not that you really expect to. You more-so hope he’ll call you, but you know what they say about hope- it breeds eternal misery. The day goes by at a snail's pace as you stare at your phone throughout the entirety of said day. You finally curl in on yourself and go to sleep after midnight, however sleep doesn’t stay for long. You’re awoken around two in the morning from your phone’s incessant ringing, in your dazed stupor you don’t realize it’s Reggie’s special ringtone- the bulldog cheer from Kim Possible.

“Hello?” you ask hoarsely, making sure to stay quiet so your parents won’t hear.

“(Y/N/N), can you talk?” your startled to hear Reggie’s voice on the other line. It sounds scratchy, like he was recently in a screaming match with someone. You open your eyes for the first time, finally accepting that you won’t be able to just roll over and slip back into your dreams. You glance at the alarm clock on your bedside table and your eyes widen at the time.

“It’s like two in the morning Reg,” you sigh, hoping he’ll wait till morning.

“Can I come over?” Reggie’s pleading now.

“Later, we can go to Pop’s for lunch or something,” you yawn loudly into the phone in protest.

“I’m already here,” before you can respond the line goes dead.

You can hear quiet, almost not there, footsteps outside your window as Reggie expertly navigates his way through the flowers and bushes outside your window. He taps on the window three times in quick succession, your old signal for when he would sneak over letting you know it was him at your window. You reluctantly get out of your warm cozy bed, stumbling to the window to open it for your former best friend.

Your plans for just slipping back into bed anf hopefully nodding off while he talks go out the window as you come face to face with Reggie’s swollen face. He has a split lip and a black eye, you’re sure he has belt marks on his back too. You don't care that Reggie is climbing through the window a little too loudly, your sole focus now on fixing him up. Once he’s in the room you sneak to the kitchen and quietly grab an ice pack, stopping in the bathroom to grab rubbing alcohol, cotton balls, and ibuprofen.

You hand him the pain reliever and your bottle of water, it’s not the first time you’ve shared, as soon as you shut your bedroom door behind you. He swallows the pills down with ease, and you both settle on your bed, a sad depressing routine. You don’t say anything as you clean his split lip, he winces slightly when the alcohol drenched cotton ball makes contact with his open wound.

“Mr. Honey caught Kevin and I last night,” Reggie admits quietly.

“I heard, Kevin told me,” you murmur unsure of where this conversation is headed, so you continue to dab at his lip.

“Mr Honey, he said that no one takes me seriously, no one since you. He said that he heard around school that I made my ‘persona’ bigger, became more of a prankster, after I lost you. He-he knew about my dad, (Y/N),” Reggie’s voice cracks, you can’t imagine what he must be feeling right now. “Said people at school are laughing at me, worst of all, you’re laughing at me.”

“Oh sweetie, no!” you're quick to jump in and defend. “I would never laugh at you, you know that. Never. No one else is either, he was just saying that to get a rise out of you.” Your arm moves without your permission, you push a strand of black hair out of his eyes before caressing his cheek softly.

“He tp’d my car, that I get. That was actually funny,” Reggie hisses, you aren’t sure if it’s because you’re lightly pressing the ice pack to his shiner or because of what he’s about to say next. “But he broke Bella’s windshield, shattered her passenger side window, and busted her left headlight.”

“I’ll kill him!” you jump up from your spot on your bed, no longer caring if you wake your parents. Reggie holds the ice pack to his eye with his right hand, cautiously reaching for your hands with his left. You calm down when his fingers intertwine with yours, sinking back down next to him.

“I avoided going home all day, but when I did and my dad saw the car,” Reggie takes in a shaky breath, and you rub the back of his hand with your thumb. “He did, well he did this.” He uses your joined hands to gesture towards his face.

You don’t say anything, instead just pulling him in for a hug. Reggie tenses at first before melting into your warm embrace. You pull him down onto the bed with you so you're laying side by side, he rests his head on your chest as you tuck the two of you in.

“I know we haven’t talked in a while,” you let out dissatisfied hum as you card your fingers soothingly through his hair. “But you're the only person I wanted to see, the only person I ever want to see. It’s been torture without you (Y/N).”

“It doesn’t seem like it,” you say under your breath, but he hears you clearly with his ear pressed to your chest.

“I was an idiot, I let my ego keep me from you,” he moves his head to look up at you, his brown eyes shine with sincerity.

“Don’t do this right now Reggie,: your eyes fill with tears, “Don’t do or say anything you don’t mean just to make me feel better.”

Reggie moves his right arm from around your waist to brush away a stray tear that slipped out of your eye. He moves his thumb down your cheek to your lips, tracing them with the pad of his thumb. Reggie lightly tugs down on your lower lip causing you to uncage it from your teeth, when did you even bite it in the first place?

“I love you (Y/N), I always have,” he looks away from your mouth so he can stare into your eyes. “And I think you have too.”

“I have, I love you so much Reggie,” he pulls your face down to meet him. The kiss is searing, and a little wet due to the tears leaking out of both of your eyes, but it’s perfect. You pull back when you get the slightly tangy taste of blood on your tongue. You immediately fuss over Reggie’s lip, said lip splitting again during the makeout. Reggie pulls you back down onto the bed and into his arms after you’ve dabbed at his lip with the cotton ball again.

“How can I make it up to you?” his eyes shine with unshed tears as he stares lovingly at your face, almost like he’s mesmerized by you. “Not just tonight, but leaving you for Ronnie so I could try to get over you, and for every other night you’ve taken care of me.”

“Just never leave me again,” you whimper, which is cut off when he kisses you again.

“Never,” Reggie’s never been more serious about anything in his life.

You cuddle up to Reggie’s chest, his warmth and scent quickly lulling you into a deep comforting sleep. You don’t care that he should sneak out the window and go home, or that your mom will find you two cuddled up in your twisted sheets when she comes to check on you at ten. All you care about is Reggie being safe, in your arms, and finally having him back in your life-but with one vast improvement to your relationship.

Permenent tags: @crimson-knuckled-queen @rexorangecouny @mrs-malfoy-always

#reggie mantle x reader #reggie mantle #riverdale #riverdale imagine #reggie mantle imagine #reggie mantle one shot #reggie mantle x y/n #reggie mantle x you #riverdale fanfiction #reggie mantle fanfiction #reggie mantle deserves better #holden honey was an ass #if i ever see him again it'll be too soon

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suphoshi · 4 years

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TEMPERED GLASS | Park Chanyeol x female reader

Genre: Angst, some fluff

Warnings: possible triggers for anyone with anxiety/panic disorders, a few bad words... can’t really think of anything else

Word count: 6,594

Love is patient, love is kind.

It does not envy, it does not boast.

It is not proud. It does not dishonor others.

It is not self-seeking.

It is not easily angered.

It keeps no record of wrongs.

Love does not delight in evil, but rejoices in the truth.

It always protects. Always trusts. Always hopes. Always perseveres.

Love never fails.

Love never fails. It doesn’t. It can’t. How could it fail? You have Chanyeol. You have him, so you have everything. So why are you empty? His body in the same bed as you, but where was his soul? Your tears filling the shower, answer-less prayers to feel his touch. Did he smile? Did he ever smile, or was it a dream? No, if anything it was a nightmare. He said he loved you. He did. Didn’t he? He said it before, you can remember his voice, down on one knee. Love never fails.

Right?

The voice in your head is too loud, and you just want Chanyeol to kiss you

Chanyeol used to be your favorite Sunday morning. Light streaming through the window, arm draped over your waist, soft snores in your ear. It was the best sound you had ever heard because it came from the person you loved the most on earth. You’d run your hands through his thick, messy hair and wake him up with kisses on his cheek. His dimples would sink in with a smile and eventually he’d pounce on you, kissing you everywhere but your lips. He tickled your soul in so many ways, made a home out of his heart just for you.

“I love you.”

You missed those days, where your biggest worry was making dinner, hoping he would like it despite the fact that you couldn’t cook for anything.

Now you worried about everything.

‘Will he come home tonight?’, ‘Is he working?’, ‘Has he eaten?’, ‘Who is he talking to?’, ‘Why doesn’t he smile anymore?’

The endless stream of questions barraged your thoughts from the second you woke up in the morning to the second you closed your eyes at night. It was maddening.

At first, he just got home late, always pushed it off as being busy, telling you he missed you. Always kissing you goodnight. Then the busy days turned to busy weeks. Then to busy months. You couldn’t remember the last time he even said goodnight, let alone kissed you.

You could feel your soul splitting day by day, a piece of you missing in every moment that went by where he didn’t speak to you. It felt like a punishment, the deafening silence he thrust upon you, but you didn’t know what you did to deserve it. Didn’t know when your Chanyeol became something that was no longer yours.

“I’m working late this week.” He said quietly, interrupting the ever-constant thoughts racing through your mind. You sat cross legged on the bed, picking at the chipped nail polish on your toes, looking up to find him pulling a hoodie over his head.

“Oh?” It’s all you could form over the sinking feeling in your heart, chest deflating at the thought of another night alone. It wasn’t any better than him being there, backs facing each other while you slept, no words, no warmth, but still. At least he was there.

He simply hummed in response before pulling a beanie over his head and grabbing his phone. He didn’t even spare you a glance, let alone a goodbye before walking out of the room. He used to lay in bed with you before work, holding you tight to his chest, milking every second he could before he had to leave. He’d tell you over and over how much he loved you, how he wished he could stay home forever.

The cold you felt around you now when you heard the front door open and close now was almost numbing. Almost.

You walked into the bathroom and somehow found the will to turn the shower on. The hot water was scalding, but that was okay because at least it took your thoughts away from spending another night alone. You stood under he steaming stream until you felt too dizzy to stand, then you sat until the water turned cold, tears mixing with the drops that pooled down your cheeks, fear gripping you like a knife when there was nothing left to distract you from the thoughts in your head.

‘Is my marriage over?’, ‘Does he hate me?’, ‘Will he leave?’

You pressed your hands over your ears and pulled your knees to your chest, sobs wracking through you like a freight train. Your throat grew hoarse while you sat there, crying to an empty house that didn’t used to feel so empty, body shaking until you felt hollow inside, your heart a rattling sack that pushed blood through barren vessels.

Chanyeol was supposed to love you forever.

“I got you a surprise, don’t look.”

You closed your eyes as if you could relive the memory again. Held out your hand in the shower like you did years ago when he asked for it. You could almost feel him placing the ring on your left hand and opened your eyes to see where it laid now, recalled every moment of that night like it was your favorite movie.

“You are the only person who can handle me. At my best and my worst. You love me like I love you. And I want to love you forever.”

You smiled at the diamond that you’d never taken off, the thought of his words alone causing a shiver to run down your spine. It broke your heart. You covered your mouth and bit back the next wave of tears that begged to take over, the ring suddenly feeling too heavy, too meaningless. ‘How can I make him love me again?’

“Marry me?”

His smile. Down on one knee in front of you, eyes glowing, heart racing. You couldn’t recall the last time you saw him smile like that.

Chanyeol was supposed to love you forever. The thought that he didn’t anymore broke something so deep inside that you wished to feel empty. Wished you could float down the drain with all of the water that trickled around you and never come back up, a single drop of water lost in an ocean full of wonders, a place where you could hide from reality, hide from the devastation that was your life.

Instead, you pulled yourself off of the shower floor, turned the water off, and stood in front of the mirror. You went through the motions of brushing your teeth, combing your hair. You touched your cheeks and pushed your lips up into a smile that immediately fell when you moved your hands away. ‘You can be happy this way’, ‘you can love him even if he doesn’t love you’.

You should have put clothes on and gone grocery shopping. Cleaned the house. Done the laundry. Read a book. You stared at your broken reflection in the mirror and wondered how easy it would have been to break the glass, something to match how you felt inside. Something to make you feel a little less alone.

No, you couldn’t find the strength to do anything but crawl into bed naked, will yourself to sleep, and dream of Chanyeol’s smile.

Mornings were pretty dull when Chanyeol stayed at the studio. Sure, you barely spoke anymore, but at least when he was home you would drink coffee together. Even if it was in silence, you preferred it to staring at the empty space in front of you.

You pulled out your phone as you poured yourself a bowl of cereal and texted him.

To; Chanyeol [ 08:45 ];

Are you coming home tonight? I was going to make tacos for dinner!

You smiled as you pressed send, remembering an old forgotten Tuesday tradition. Taco Tuesdays with Chanyeol used to consist of watching a movie and seeing who could eat the most before the end (winner got a back rub). It was the first time in so long that you got giddy about seeing him. The idea of curling up beside him on the couch while he put on some scary movie that he had already seen a billion times, but wanted to watch one more because he thought it was funny to see you afraid – it made your heart swell three sizes. You would sit on the edge of the couch gripping his leg, free hand plastered over your eyes even though they were cracked just enough for you to see every single stupid moment.

“I hate this. I hate this. I hate this. Why is she so stupid?! Why is she going in there?”

Chanyeol would laugh while you whined, hold you when you screamed. Sometimes, when the movie was quiet, he would grip your sides to scare you and you would turn around and hit him. He’d grab your hands and pull your lips to his, kiss your dramatic tears away.

“You’re such a baby.”

His deep voice resonating through your chest pressed against his. You’d pout your lip and he’d kiss you again.

“I love you.”

Your phone buzzed against the table and just like that, the fog of a happy memory was replaced by the all familiar cloud of disappointment.

Chanyeol [ 08:56 ];

Still have a lot to work on with the album. Probably won’t come home until tomorrow. Sorry

You slumped over the table and took three deep breaths, told yourself it would be okay, repeated it over and over like a mantra, as if you could speak it into reality. You told yourself that Chanyeol was just busy and it wasn’t you. Sometimes people can have space and still be okay and just because you didn’t see him every day, or kiss him every night, or touch him anymore, that didn’t mean you weren’t still his favorite person like you used to be.

‘Were you ever his favorite person?’

It was hard to breathe over the sobs that clawed up your throat, hand gripping your phone like you could get through to Chanyeol with that action alone. You wanted to shake him back to reality, show him what he was doing to you, but couldn’t he already see? Couldn’t he tell what he was doing?

You couldn’t control that anguish that gripped you as you sat up and stuffed a spoon full of Rice Krispies into your mouth, closing your eyes while you prayed away the sadness. Each bite you swallowed choked the tears back down, but blood still rushed through your ears with turmoil and betrayal like it never had. When you stared down at the milk that remained, all you could think of was the pieces of your heart that laid scattered around the too big house you were in, so many that you didn’t know how to put it back together again. You felt shattered. Damaged.

You’d never felt so lonely.

The next morning started like this – Chanyeol texted you an apology with no context.

Chanyeol [ 07:33 ];

I’m sorry

It was instant, the ache that settled in your bones and you immediately tried calling him, but it went straight to voicemail. Hands shaking as thoughts raked through your mind, anxiousness taking hold of your nerves and twisting them around like play-dough. You sat up on the edge of the bed and stared at the carpet, wondering what he would apologize for.

‘For not coming home?’, ‘For everything else?’

You shook your head and stood up, almost walking away to go to the bathroom when the text messages started flooding in. Your phone buzzed wildly on your pillow and even though the coward in you wanted to turn away, you couldn’t help but reach back for it instead. It was your sister, your friends. Your mom.

-Chanyeol broke up with you?

-Why is Chanyeol with another girl?

-What is going on with you and Chanyeol?

-Have you seen this article?

You were clicking on it with blind anger and fear, fingers shaking as you scrolled through picture after picture of Chanyeol with a girl you had never met. In his car, outside of his studio, her kissing his cheek, her hand on his arm while he smiled at her, something genuine that you hadn’t seen in so long. For a second, you forgot to be angry, simply happy to see that he could actually smile and it wasn’t just something you made up in your head.

But then the rage hit. Jealousy thrashed in your chest; how could he smile at her but not you? You stared at the girl’s hand on his arm and wished more than anything you could snatch it away, wanted to burn away her touch with your own, as if anyone could touch him like you did. Instead you dialed Chanyeol’s number again.

No answer.

You threw your phone at the wall and ran into the bathroom, bent over with your head between your knees to try and calm the panic you felt yourself surging inside. The world felt like it was turning upside down. Like you were being burned out of the life you built with Chanyeol, as if he had the right to leave when he was the one who said you meant everything.

“I want to love you forever”

You dropped into a squat and covered your face with your hands, so tired of crying, though the tears just wouldn’t stop coming.

‘How could he do that?’, ‘How could he lie?’, ‘How could he tell you he loved you and then lie?’

You screamed into the empty room and slammed your hands down on the floor, falling to your knees with more sobs then you could handle.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair… You pounded your fists into the linoleum as if you could smash the anger through the floor, bury it in the earth and leave it there forever. Your forehead pressed onto the cold surface beneath your hands and you begged for it all to go away. You just wanted everything to stop, you just wanted to breathe like you did when Chanyeol used to hug you.

An hour passed and you walked back to the bedroom, grabbing your phone off the floor (screen surprisingly unbroken). There were no missed calls. Only more text messages from people who were more concerned about your relationship than they were about your mental health.

You waited the entire day for some kind of follow-up to his apology. An explanation. Absolutely fucking anything. You waited for hours, sat at the kitchen table, hands balled into fists so tight that your nails dug small crescents into your palms. Eventually you moved to the living room, vacuumed to keep busy, mopped the floor, washed the dishes.

You were scrubbing the kitchen counter when he walked through the door. You threw the washcloth down and walked to him, ready to bring your fury down on him like a storm, but the second you saw his face, all of your anger disappeared.

The dark circles housed under his eyes had grown more prominent in the two days since you’d seen him. His hair was a mess, coffee stains on his shirt, looking smaller than he ever had. Defeated.

“Yeol?” You mumbled, standing up straight. His eyes met yours for barely a second, his hand reaching up to scratch the back of his neck, before walking to the fridge. He pulled out left-overs from a few nights before and threw them in the microwave before walking into the bedroom. You followed after him despite the voice in your head telling you to leave him alone, like he left you.

He peeled his shirt off and sat on the edge of the bed, eyes drooping like he was going to fall asleep right there.

You walked towards him and pressed your hand to his cheek. When he nuzzled into it and closed his eyes, your heart broke. You grabbed his hand and pulled him to stand up in front of you. It wasn’t sexual in the slightest, the way you pulled off his belt and unzipped his pants, pulling them down so he was left in his boxers. You guided him to the bathroom and turned on the shower, standing with his hand in yours beside you while you tested the temperature, only adjusting it slightly before turning back around.

He looked so tired and innocent, you couldn’t help but press a kiss to his cheek before you pulled down his boxers and ushered him under the water. You helped him wash from head to toe, ignoring the way you got completely soaked in the process and solely focused on making sure he was clean. Once you were finished, you pulled him out and dried him off, lead him back to the bedroom. You pulled a fresh t-shirt over his head and helped him step into a new pair of boxers before walking him back to the kitchen, sitting him down and making him eat the leftovers he heated.

You completely forgot about the pictures. The apology.

‘Tomorrow, it can wait until tomorrow’

He ate his food in silence and you had to nudge him three times to wake him up, but eventually, he finished everything. You walked him to bed, laid him down, pulled the covers up over him and ran your fingers through his hair, pressing a kiss to his forehead, then walked out to the kitchen to clean up.

It was only then that the ache settled in your chest. He was right there, one room away, and you missed him so much that it took your breath away. You wanted to cry again, scream, but instead you got in the shower, washed away the sadness and climbed into bed beside him.

You wanted to watch him sleep forever. Wanted to reach out and touch him, wrap your arms around him, kiss him, but you didn’t. You didn’t know how to do those things anymore without worrying. Wondering what the next day would bring.

You were just about to roll over when he reached out and wrapped his arms around your waist. You froze, scared he was asleep and that you would wake him up if you moved. It was the first time he had held you in months, you didn’t want to ruin that, even if it was unintentional.

“I love you.”

You thought it was your imagination, his words often echoing through your mind from past memories, but no. That was real. You looked at him with glassy eyes, wondering if he said it in his sleep, but then his eyes opened to meet yours.

“I love you.” He repeated. You bit your lip to keep from crying, but he kissed you despite that, then crushed you into his chest. Your hands gripped his shirt, holding onto him for dear life, as if he would disappear any second. You had to keep him there, had to fight for him, had to keep the Chanyeol who loved you because it was the only thing that made sense.

Sleep found you only minutes later, and you didn’t have to dream of his arms. Instead you dreamt of his voice.

You woke up the next morning to Chanyeol pulling his arms away from you.

Well- ripping them away, flustered and cursing, moving around the room too quick for your tired eyes to keep up with.

“Babe, what’s wrong?” You asked, sitting up and rubbing at your face.

“I’m late.” He snapped, yanking on a sweatshirt and pulling a pair of sweats on.

You sighed and sat up on your knees. “It’s okay, you can afford to be late one day, I’m sure.”

It was like the air was sucked out of the room with that one sentence, and he stood up straight, looking at you with such ferocity that you wanted to melt into the bed beneath you.

“You don’t have a fucking clue what I can and can’t afford right now!” He shot out, and your breath hitched at the harshness of his words.

Sure, you barely had real conversations anymore and you didn’t really kiss or smile with eachother, but Chanyeol was never mean to you. And he never yelled, not at you.

You wrung your fingers and swallowed the lump in your throat.

“Well, just… Calm down. Freaking out isn’t going to help.” You said softly and he rolled his eyes.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?”

He was grabbing his phone off of the nightstand and pulling a hat onto his head when your fears from the day before flooded into your soul again.

‘Who was she?’, ‘Why is he so mad?’

“Are you cheating on me?” You asked quietly and his head snapped towards you, eyes narrowing.

“What?”

Your blood was boiling. Skin itching with irritation. After how you took care of him the night before, despite all of the stories you heard, he was going to treat you like that?

“I said, are you cheating on me?” Your words were stronger that time, firm.

You didn’t expect the empty laugh that left his lips, the eye roll. The obvious annoyance.

“You’re so fucking stupid.” He mumbled, walking out the door and slamming it behind him.

The rage rolled through you in waves. Fire burned through your chest. Your arms moved on autopilot, picking up the wedding picture on the night stand beside you and throwing it at the door he had just left through, a frustrated cry coming out like a strangled scream as the glass shattered on the floor. You half expected him to come back to make sure you were okay but heard the unmistakable opening and closing of the front door and felt exactly like the glass that lay splintered on the bedroom floor.

It took you hours to piece yourself together enough to climb out of bed. Hours to stop crying. The life you were trapped in was so exhausting, and you were tired of pretending you could fix it. Tired of letting Chanyeol ruin you. The constant resentment he tossed around when you had done nothing wrong, the never-ending insecurities he let run through you like a stampede.

You were sick of trying to make him love you again.

“Marry me?”

You were sick of trying to force the memories of your love back into him, trying to make him remember that you were his everything once when he was still yours.

‘Were you ever his everything?’

The thought made you nauseous. It felt like your heart no longer belonged to you, tethered in Chanyeol’s palm by a leash that only he had control of. You just wanted to feel free again.

You stepped over the pile of glass and walked out to the front door, pulling your shoes on. You called your sister and told her you needed her, and she’s your sister, so she picked you up fifteen minutes later, let you sob for thirsty minutes total before driving to a nearby restaurant and parking the car, turning towards you with too much sincerity and pity in her eyes. You hated it.

“You need a drink.”

Chanyeol was never one to outright complain about you being drunk, but if he was honest with himself, he hated it. You were obnoxiously loud and touchy, whining about anything and everything, talking faster than he could keep up with about things that made no sense. It was annoying. And he really didn’t have time for it. At all.

It was a really big week, the album was so close to finished, but it wasn’t perfect. He needed it to be perfect, the group couldn’t afford to disappoint anyone. They were all working so hard, practicing every day, writing until their fingers bled, fighting with the company for direction. It was too important.

Still. You were his wife. When your sister called – “she needs you” – he couldn’t say no. Even after you had both fought that morning, and he wasn’t particularly happy to see you, he got into his car and said he would be there in thirty.

He watched from across the street, you sitting on the curb outside of the bar with your sister’s arm draped around your shoulders. She brushed your hair out of your face and you smiled at her like she was actual sunshine. He rolled his eyes and pulled his seat belt off despite the butterflies he got in his stomach and waited for a break in traffic before jogging across the street.

“Hey,” He said, signaling his presence and both you and your sister looked up.

“Sorry.” Your sister mumbled, and you looked at her with your eyebrows furrowed.

“Don’t ever be sorry, not ever to anyone. We don’t have to be sorry, never.” You said wrapping your arms around her head and hugging her to your chest. She laughed and patted your back, peeling your arms away. Chanyeol’s hands wrapped around yours and pulled you to your feet, your hands resting on his chest to steady yourself. He sighed as he grabbed your waist, holding you upright.

“Do you need a ride home?” He asked your sister and she shook her head.

“I’ll get a taxi. You guys go.”

He couldn’t help the annoyance that overtook him when he realized she stuck you with him on purpose. She gave Chanyeol an annoyed smirk, peering up at him through narrowed eyes.

“Don’t make my sister cry again.” She whispered for only him to hear and he nodded in reply. Your sister tended to be a pretty scary person, so he didn’t want to cross her. She turned on her heel and walked away, leaving him alone with you.

When he looked down, you were staring up at him with the dopiest smile on your face. You pinched his cheeks and he sighed. He was so cute. He wrapped his hands around your wrists and dragged you across the street to his car, helping you into the front seat. He reached across you to buckle your seat belt, ignoring the way you touched him, pressed kisses to his neck. He abruptly pulled away and you stared at him dejectedly. When he shut your door, you turned on the radio and adjusted your seat back, staring out the window.

‘He rejected me?’, ‘How do you reject your wife?’

You felt so stupid. Getting drunk on a Wednesday, so drunk in fact, that your own sister couldn’t stand to be with you. No one could stand you, not ever, and that thought broke your heart.

Chanyeol noticed nothing of it. In fact, he relished in the silence, completely not expecting it to the usual tirade you went on after drinking. He wanted to make it all the way home, just like that, hoping to avoid an argument at all costs. He preferred when you both didn’t speak because at least it was quiet. He like the quiet.

When he pulled into the driveway, a satisfied smile found his cheeks. He thought you must have been asleep, but when he moved to turn the car off and unbuckle his seat belt, he noticed your hand covering your eyes, unmistakable tears trailing down your chin while you sniffled silently, chest stuttering with sobs he had been deaf to.

He reached over to grab your hand, but you pulled it away, yanked off your seat belt and climbed out of the car before he could even touch you. You stumbled inside and threw your shoes off in the entry way, Chanyeol one step behind.

“Y/n-” he started, but you whipped around and pressed your finger to his lips while you shushed him, tears still falling freely.

“Don’t talk to me.” You said, eyes bleeding the anger you felt, stumbling back towards your bedroom without another word.

Chanyeol was speechless. For the first time in your entire relationship. He stared after you in the entry way, unsure of what to think.

You loved talking when you were drunk, yet the only words you said to him were ‘don’t talk to me’. Is that why he missed your voice all of a sudden? Why he craved to hear you speak again?

You were one step into the room when you remembered your fatal mistake, but it was too late. You never cleaned up the glass from that morning and multiple shards jabbed their way into your heel, eliciting a scream from you.

“Ow!” You stumbled back, tears immediately falling as you pulled your foot up. Chanyeol was there in seconds, immediately assessing the situation and lifting you into his arms. He carried you to the kitchen and sat you up on the counter, crouching down to look at your foot.

“Let me see it.” He said, fingers moving up to touch one of the smaller pieces that jutted out.

“Don’t touch it, please!” You yelled through a sob, pushing his hands away.

“Babe, I have to touch it, there’s glass in there, it could get infected.” He said softly, still looking at your foot and prodding at it, only causing more pain. You gripped his shoulder and shook your head vehemently.

“No, no, no, please. It’s okay, it’s okay, it won’t get infected, it’ll be okay!” You wiped the tears from your eyes in an attempt to prove to him it was no major wound, but you knew it wouldn’t work, the dramatics already displayed.

He looked up at you, serious. “So, if it gets infected and you die, what should I do then? You want me to just be alone?”

He stood up and walked towards the cabinet that housed the expired first aid kit you bought 2 years before when you moved in.

“It’s not like you’d care.” You mumbled, wiping at your eyes again with the back for your wrist. He looked up at you, confused, and chuckled half-heartedly, dismissing your comment with a roll of his eyes.

“I wouldn’t care?” He repeated, turning back towards you and going through the small kit.

You shook your head ‘no’ and he saw it out of the corner of his eye, still determined to find the tools he needed. “You don’t love me anymore, so you would be okay.”

That time he chuckled for real, caught off guard by your statement. “I don’t love you? What are you talking about?”

He turned back, tweezers in hand, and grabbed your ankle, but you barely noticed. He looked up when he realized you weren’t making a scene like he expected, watched your eyebrows furrow together while you wrung your fingers together, anxiousness and worry on full display. The sight of you broke something inside of him. The genuine tears that rolled down your cheeks.

“You don’t tell me you love me anymore. You don’t kiss me.” A small sob broke from your throat and his heart skipped a beat. “You called me stupid this morning, after I took care of you last night. And you don’t even feel sorry. And I had a right to be angry, I have a right to be pissed at you!”

He sighed and closed his eyes, unable to look at you like that anymore. He started picking out the pieces of glass one by one, listening to the soft sobs that escaped you, each one a blow to his chest he had never felt before.

“I don’t even know what I did, Yeol. I feel like I’m nothing to you anymore. That’s how I feel.”

He wanted you to shut up. To stop saying such useless, unimaginable things.

“And you’re seeing another girl! I can’t believe you were smiling with her; you never smile at me anymore!” You couldn’t stop now, ready to get everything you wanted out on the table.

He was wrapping your foot with gauze, annoyance reaching a boiling point as you flailed your arms around dramatically, pointing at him and yelling.

“If you want to leave me, then you should just do it. Okay? But don’t embarrass me by sneaking around with another girl. I’ll be fine, I am a strong woman, I don’t nee-“

Chanyeol cut you off, hands wrapped under your knees and pulling you to the edge of the counter, his lips against yours shutting you up effectively. It was so unexpected, the words he stole from you as if they were his own, claiming every bit of oxygen in your lungs with is tongue against yours, his hands on your thighs, skin against skin. You missed his touch more than anything. Your arms wrapped around his neck, letting him take every piece of you he wanted, teeth skimming against your lower lip, his cinnamon breath taking over all of your senses. You wanted to drown in him, all those tears swirling down the drain now nonexistent, the will to fight for him renewing inside of you.

You whimpered into the kiss and he smiled, wrapping your legs around his waist, and pulling you up off the counter. His lips never left yours as he moved back towards the bedroom, a constant you weren’t sure you could lose again, but you pulled away, looking back.

“Watch out for the-”

“Glass.” He breathed out, catching your lips again as he stepped over the pile in front of the door.

Every bit of you wanted him, mind finally silent from worry, heart content as he laid you back on the bed and climbed on top of you. He pulled his shirt off and kissed your neck, that space below your ear that he knew was so sensitive for you. The peppered kisses he trailed from your neck to your lips brought you home, for the first time in so long. Chanyeol was Sunday mornings again, his hands sliding up your shirt, your body melting with his like you were made for him. You bled for him, cried for him, the oxygen that carried through your veins was only his.

He pulled away for the first time in what felt like hours, eyes meeting yours with so much passion that you wanted to fall into him. You wanted to fall into his arms and let him hold you forever, this boy who had every piece of your soul.

“I love you.” You whispered.

Tears filled your eyes and he swallowed hard, eyes frenzied and confused.

“I need you.”

His words were whispered and rushed and not what you were expecting, but you gave him everything. You gave him every piece of the already fractured glass heart that you had left and let him build a castle for himself, a kingdom you weren’t sure he was ready to let you in. Let him ruin you from head to toe, mold you like you imagined Alexandros of Antioch molded the Venus de Milo, in the image he wanted, everything he needed. You wanted to be his everything again. You had to be.

The next morning, you woke up with your naked legs tangled with Chanyeol’s, his arm draped over your waist, head nuzzled into your hair. You felt so complete again, unlike the hollow shell you usually felt like, one who held the place of his wife. You felt wanted. You felt remade.

Time ticked by too quickly, the fear of him leaving for work nearly suffocating. So, you listened to him breathe. Distracted yourself with the soft snores that flowed from him like your favorite melody. Drowned out your never ceasing thoughts with the smell of his shampoo so close. You memorized the way his fingers felt against your skin, both soft and rough at the same time, so hard working and full of love.

The sound of his phone buzzing broke everything. You pretended to sleep when Chanyeol got up, turning back to grab his phone from the nightstand. The sun hadn’t risen yet, but birds chirped outside of the window. You wondered what it would be like to be one of them. He sat up on the side of the bed and answered the call.

You listened to him talk, listened to him whisper words of apology to someone that you didn’t know. Listened to him lie about where he was and wondered why he should have to lie. You were his wife. He should be lying to you, not the other woman.

“Mina, it’s nothing, really. I’m in the car, I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Wait for me.”

Every piece of life was sucked out of you at the sound of her name.

Mina.

A name to the face who was stealing your husband. A name to the face of the woman who made him smile.

‘Wait for me.’

‘Did he ever smile at you like that?’

He sighed and stayed still for a few moments. You felt him look back towards you once. Twice.

‘Please don’t go’, ‘Please don’t go’, ‘Please don’t go’

Your eyes filled with tears, begging him to hear your heart, begging him to pull you back into his chest and not get out of the bed.

When he moved to push himself up, you rolled over and grabbed his hand.

His eyes down on you, so empty. How had things gotten here?

“Please don’t go.” You whispered.

His eyebrows scrunched together and he sighed, rubbing his face with his free hand.

“I’ll be back tonight.” He mumbled, and it felt like a shot to the heart. “I promise.”

You didn’t let go of his wrist. “Please.” Couldn’t let go. It felt like the end, and it was too real. It was all too real.

He looked at you and sighed, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. “I promise.”

He muttered the words one more time before pulling his hand from yours and getting dressed.

It felt like you were watching a movie. A life flashing before you that you didn’t know. A man you had never seen. He walked out without a goodbye and you didn’t break. Tempered glass doesn’t do that. It shatters in spiderwebs, no ragged edges to fall apart, just broken pieces locked together that can’t be put back together again. A damaged piece of hardware no one could fix, not even Chanyeol.

The birds outside were chirping and again, you wondered what it must be like to fly away.

Chanyeol came home that night to the house dark. Every piece of you was missing; your clothes, your notebooks, the stupid clock you bought the year before that was in the shape of a cat that he hated more than anything.

He tried calling you over and over, but you never answered. Your sister refused to tell him anything - “I told you to stop making her cry.”

Your ring sat on his pillow; a note written beneath it that he couldn’t find the courage to read.

“I love you.” You whispered to him at some grocery store years before. He laughed and looked around.

“Why now?” He questioned and you rolled your eyes, shoulders shrugging.

“Not just now. Forever.”

The smile on your face, something he loved more than anything. He knew right then that he would die for you.

“Forever.” He repeated.

The house was empty, no longer a home since you were gone. Cold. Dark. Hell.

You were gone.

A/N: Guys!!!! My third fic!!! Let a girl know what ya think, I’m honestly really proud of this one and really really hope I can hear from you all about it ~~ SO SO SO much love, any feedback is appreciated!!!

P.S. i’ve got a part 2 kickin for this one :):):):):):)

#exo angst #exo fanfic #exo imagine #chanyeol angst #chanyeol fic #chanyeol imagine #chanyeol fanfic #chanyeol fluff #chanyeol fanfiction #exo fanfiction #park chanyeol fic #park chanyeol angst #kpop #kpop angst #park chanyeol rec #chanyeol fic rec #park chanyeol imagine #kpop imagine #exo imagines

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amazingdriverfics · 4 years

Text

Crowned by the devil - ch. 12

Summary: you knew that you had to talk to Kylo, but you also knew that it wouldn’t be pretty.

Warnings: Kylo is a dick, child abuse mention, slavery, trauma

A/N: it’s been a hot minute since the last time I update this and it makes me feel bad, I really like this story and to hera your feedback, but College has been really intense and working things out has been hard.

Despite that, I really do hope that you all like this, just beware of the warnings as usual and be safe. Love you all.

My masterlist

Previous Chapter

You woke up in the warm bed, but this time it almost seemed cold when compared to the boiling guilt pumping in your veins and making your stomach hurt. You opened your eyes to discover that Kylo wasn’t laying by your side anymore and the fact made you feel relieved, the last thing you were looking for was the knight prying on your confused mind once more before trying to convince you that everything was fine.

Everything was most certainly not fine, he wanted to own you and you had given into his wishes the previous night, you who promised that the only owner of yourself would be you for the rest of your life. No matter how much Ren could please you, it shouldn’t be enough for you to betray everything you had become in your life and everything you had fought for.

The problem with the realization was how you would make him understand, you knew that Kylo always had his way, after all, he ruled most of the Galaxy, and you were also aware that it wouldn’t be a pleasant conversation since both you and him had a temper. And so you decided that for the time being you would enjoy your time without Kylo.

After you sort of figured things out, getting ready for your day was surprisingly easy, you were actually excited to work with Mitaka in the project, excited to show your side of the story to the powerful old man sitting in chairs while deciding who deserved to live and who deserved to die. Even if you and Kylo didn’t work out, you would leave your mark in the Order, you would represent the millions ignored by their politics.

Determined, you walked through the halls, passing troopers and other workers as you headed to the meeting room where Mitaka would wait for you before heading to the library, it was research day.

When you finally got to the room, you saw the lieutenant, seeming as excited as usual, sat at the table, his face holding a gentle smile as his eyes turned to you.

“Miss y/n” his voice echoed through the empty meeting space and it caused you to smirk, his usual formality towards you seemed funny.

“Good morning, Mitaka. Quit the miss as I said please, we are friends now” as he assimilated the words you could see redness spreading and staining his light coloured face.

“Thank you, y/n” he said your name with a certain caution as if he was testing it in his tongue, almost like it was a foreign word, something entirely new. “Are you ready to head to the library? We have a full day ahead of us”.

You nodded still amused with his reaction, it wasn’t very often that anyone would treat you with such respect and kindness and you admired his capacity to do so.

Once again, you followed him through the endless amount of halls in the Steadfast, walking past empty bucket faces and hoping that you wouldn’t be found by or find Kylo, knowing that the encounter would ruin your day.

With a bit of anxiety, you kept on following the man watching as he paid his respect to some of the other officers and as they ignored you just as much as you ignored them.

Your anxiety, however, dissipated as Mitaka stopped, the library coming to view and the thousands of books, archives and documents taking your breath away. It was the first time you had ever seen something like that and in your wildest dreams you would have never imagined that so many books even existed.

In your astonished state, you failed to realize that Mitaka was already inside the library and waiting for you with a look that seemed sad and you knew it meant that you were staring too hard at the books. Ignoring his pity, you followed his lead trying to act as if nothing had happened.

——————————————————————————

He watched his Empress drowned in the paper with the lieutenant he didn’t bother to get the name.

Seeing her in such a different context and yet with the same amount of hunger to achieve and conquer what she wanted made his buried heart beat faster.

It scared Kylo how much he liked her, how each day the number of hours he spent thinking of her increased, how the sheer thought of seeing her made him nervous and yet excited. The worst part was that the knight knew that she still wasn’t ready to be his, she had shown sometimes that she could give into her feelings like in the tub the previous night and in his room when he cooked breakfast, but it didn’t take her too long to doubt his intentions and her feelings.

It wasn’t like Ren imagined that it would be easy, when he decided to get her, he already knew that she was a fighter and she would fight him at all costs, but then things took a turn in the hospital after he decided to show her a little bit of how much he cared about y/n and when she finally surrendered to what she wanted, to what her body begged and to what she consciousness hated to even imagine. These turning points gave him a sense of hope.

Another turning point happened in the tub, when Kylo won the unannounced battle over control, when he proved to her that her body responded to him and wished to belong to his, when he made it clear that no one would ever please her like he would and when he showed her that her mind could not avoid her body showing her true wishes.

But he knew that things wouldn’t be as smooth as he longed to be.

For the time being, he could be satisfied with watching as his Empress discovered new sides of herself.

——————————————————————————

Through the thousands of pages that you and Mitaka could find about slavery, you saw yourself and your life, you read about your own abuse through the pain and writting of others and it was trully overwelming.

Mitaka kept looking at you, trying to figure out if you were okay through his own pile of paper as he also tried to get some useful information in whatever he was reading.

What truly hurted you wasn’t even the amount of abuse and pain you had been reading through, it was the fact that this information, that watching millions being abused and having their lives torn apart wasn’t enough reason for the men in power to abolish slavery. You knew that they had to have economic and politic reasons to spare their lives, to imagine them as beings deserving to be their own owners and to be free.

——————————————————————————

“Where did I come from, master?” you asked Kreat, fear already in your veins.

The question filled your mind constantly, but the courage to ask him never accompanied the need to know. You weren’t that clueless, after master taught you how to read you found some books here and there and you heard people talking, so you knew that Kreat couldn’t be your father.

The first evidence was that he never treated you like one of his blood, the second was that you didn’t look like him at all and lastly there wasn’t a woman that he had a relationship with.

Kreat never told you how he found or bought you, you weren’t sure which one was the case, all he ever said to you was that you owned him loyalty and love because he took care of you when no one in this Galaxy wanted to do so, that he gave you a warm home and food when you were supposed to perish in the hot Tatooine’s sand and he didn't even ask too much of you.

“Oh Angel, I was starting to wonder when you would ask me that, you are twelve after all” the man said with the sweet voice he used with you whenever he wanted something or when you had pleased him enough. “But I regret to inform you, that you are here because your parents could never love you and so they gave you to someone that could do that” he took his hand to your face, gently caressing your skin.

——————————————————————————

You entered your quarters tired, more emotionally than physically, but it all added up in a gigantic ball of stress spreading through your body at a speed never seen before. You knew that the research had to be done in order to achieve - or try to - a greater good, this motive and Mitaka were the only things keeping you motivated.

All the excitement you had felt in the morning as you walked towards the meeting room vanished as your traumas, one by one, were brought to the surface, feeding your internalized fears as a hush of adrenaline kept on pumping in your veins. This self feeding system with no apparent end happened all day and as you lied in your bed, not bothering to take your clothes off, you still felt the results on your mind and body.

And when you believed that the cycle couldn’t get worse, the door opened, revealing the same tall figure that had paid you a visit the previous night, his dominant energy filling up the room.

You immediately sight, the frustration you had been dealing with quickly increasing followed by anxiety. All the guilt you had been able to pull away also mixing with the rest of your overwhelming emotions.

“Kylo, I really want to be alone” you informed politely, doing your best to disguise your feelings, but your request didn’t seem to be enough reason for the knight to leave, since you could still hear his footsteps getting closer.

“And why is that?” his deep voice resonated and unlike the last time you heard it, all it did was increase your discomfort.

“Not in the mood to talk, leave” you stated your request one last time, taking your head off the bed and staring at his emotionless brown eyes.

“I can feel your unease about me” he said, still ignoring your request and doing whatever he wanted, as usual.

The action caused you to close your hands in fists, feeling your nails touch your skin, the small gesture helping you to keep it together, the last thing you needed was to fight with Kylo.

“Not now” you tried once again, but he ignored your needs once again and in that moment you knew it was a lost battle.

“You are still holding on, let go” you heard him as he towered your figure on the bed, his eyes still not leaving yours as he studied you.

His request did nothing but anger you further, it wasn’t like you expected him to be any different, but his level of selfishness and his complete difficulty to understand that you just couldn’t give away everything that made you who you were kept on surprising you. He was truly an infuriating man.

“Why should I do it? Give me one good reason to betray everything that I am Kylo when you can’t even respect one simple request” you spitted the words and you could already see his body tensing up as he assimilated what you had said.

Despite his tense posture, his voice didn’t come up harshly, it almost seemed broken as he tried to make you understand, trying to convince you once again to give into his needs, to give into his needs.

“There are plenty -” he started.

The way he spoke wasn’t enough to stop your outburst, however, as you walked towards the other end of the room, getting away from the bed you had been seeking comfort on and away from Kylo, you allowed your doubts to finally be said out loud.

“Are they? I don’t even know you Kylo while you know everything about me. You know things that I wouldn’t want anyone to know, you are in my fucking head all the time, but you never show me a piece of yours”.

Closing the space between you and him, his face allowed you to see his feelings perfectly, his twitching chin, his frown and lips in a furious pout were enough proof of his anger.

“You know everything you need to know about me” he said, abandoning the soft tone in which he had spoken to you just moments ago.

His statement made you laugh dryly, in fact his audacity to even suggest that you already knew enough as a whole did.

“You must be insane. You want me to marry you, but you can’t even bring yourself to tell me about your family, about your story. Where did you grow up, Kylo? Are your parents alive? Are they nice people? What did you want to be as a child? Because there’s no fucking way for you to have been the Supreme Dick of this place since you were born” you didn’t exactly think before speaking, you never did when you were angry. However, as soon as his face changed to a much darker expression, you knew you had crossed a line and, for the first time since you got kidnapped by him, you were genuinely afraid of what he could do to you.

“I will not stand this kind of insolent behavior, I will tell you what I wish to tell you. You have no right to do any requests, you are just a no one I saved. All you really need to know is that no one gave a fuck about you a few months ago, if you died, no one would even grief over you. All you need to know is that at least now you have someone who cares about you, and that someone is me and I’m not letting you go anywhere.”

His words echoed through your head mixing with the fresh memory of what Kreat had said to you many years ago. All the anger you had been feeling vanished as disgust took over, disgust of his behavior and, most of all, disgust of yourself for getting in this situation with a monster.

Closing your fists as tears streamed down your face, you punched his chest still so close to you with as much strength as you had, hoping and begging any greater power that it would be enough for him to leave you alone as you screamed the word ‘leave’ as loud as you possibly could. You never wanted to see him again.

#crowned by the devil #kylo ren #kylo x reader #kylo ren x you #kylo ren x reader #kylo x you #supreme leader kylo ren #first order #mitaka #star wars #adam driver

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sweater-daddiesdumbdork · 5 years

Text

Past Horrors

Summary: Curtis x Y/N Curtis recalls memories of life on the train. Trauma. Dark. Deeds done to survive. 1.4 k approx.

Your fingers trailed over his chest underneath the layers slowly, swirling small patterns over Curtis collarbone in the dark as the train barreled towards nowhere, always nowhere. It was endless, and a rabbit hole of a thought you've personally crawled out of many times. Curtis arm was folded above your head, his own fingers brushing into your hair gently near your temple.. For once it was a peaceful time, and the whole tail end energy seemed to sigh in relief.

The quiet around them broke with Edgar, saying Curtis name. Where your cheek rested against his shoulder, you could feel the vibrations of Curtis voice as well as hear his deep baritone. "What's that Edgar?"

"I was just thinking about my mother, but it's all starting to disappear."

You could feel the immediate change in Curtis underneath you, and you close your eyes as the sinking feeling in your chest physically hurt you, knowing that Curtis was falling into that dreaded rabbit hole. Tension riddled his body and became still. You held your breath waiting to see how he would respond, and released when he answered. "How far back can you remember?"

"Just a little of what she looks like, I think. Maybe I made it up…."

As Edgar continued, you could feel Curtis falling away from you into his own mind. His hand pulled away from your head and moved to rub on his arm. Lifting your head off his shoulder, you shifted to a sit, turning his face to look at you, talking soft enough for just Curtis to hear. "Baby it was so long ago…. " you continued, but already he was pulling away.

Fuck it was a lifetime ago, and yet plagued him whenever he dropped his guard, unexpected moments like Edgar wanting to remember his mom. Years of his decisions were based on that memory.

It had been weeks, people were dying off, starvation, dehydration, injuries, and the vulnerable, killed. People scrounged the corpses of there clothing, valuables, anything worthwhile till the corpse discarded into any space not obtained by a living person, and then as starvation came, the bodies no longer became an issue. Curtis quickly obtained a blade once the mayhem started, fighting off several attacks that would come at any suspected moment, resulting in several injuries. The worst being a long slice along his ribs. Patching as best as he could with rags he had taken, the bleeding finally stopped, but all to soon infections took over his various wounds. Fevered, starving and loosing the humanity he had left, he joined the masses who started doing the unthinkable…

"Curtis, that isn't our life anymore." You whispered against his ear, as you had settled back in against his side. His hand massaged his arm, cradling it closer and his face screwed up in the horror of his memories.

"She was a beautiful woman Edgar and would have done anything for you" Curtis told his friend, speaking louder for the man in the lower bunk to hear him.

And she had, cradling her baby to her chest as she backed away from the mob of people, the screaming swaddle against her chest was a little over a year old boy, a piece of busted metal held out to swing at anyone close, trying to reason with them. "Hes so little, it isn't even worthwhile! Get the Fuck away from me! Ple-please god, help us" Her back pressed against the wall, trying to meld herself away from sight. “Spare us, I promise I will make it worth your while!” She pleaded with them, her eyes darting back and forth between the young men, falling to Curtis, breaking in a sob and her metal bar shook. Curtis looked away as guilt and horror momentarily paused him, his resolve taking over and a shake of his head sealed her fate.

Another swing, in which Curtis ducked and lunged forward, tackling her against the trains wall with a heavy dazing thump. She tried to shield herself, twist out of his hold, but she could never be a match against him. Curtis didn't even pause, right now his instincts were life or death, and the need to survive outweighed his actions. The hilt of the knife was heavy as he spun it around, sweeping it in a upward motion into her abdomen, her scream turning into a moan as he jerked his knife back from her body, grasping a hold of the baby as she collapsed in a pool of blood and train filth. Her body was swarmed like jackals to a carcass, they hadn't done the deed, but they were willing to do the next hardest part.

Curtis emerged from the people, staggering among the people trailing behind the mob. In his arms the baby quieted, maybe he felt a different kind of fear that swallowed over his need to cry. Watery baby blues stared up at the man carrying him, seconds left of his life. The world around Curtis narrowed to what he was about to do, he would think its gotten easier by now, but it hasn't. He just internalized it more, making excuses in his head. This was far more humane then what he would grow up in, he would make it quick, painless. No one deserved to have to survive, not this innocent soul.

The blade in Curtis’s hand still dripped the mothers hot blood, flooding his senses with the taste of iron on his tongue, and it actually made his starvation pains clench, begging for it. Lifting it, he had it aimed, the baby in his arms, all blue eyed infant with the beginnings of a toothy wail screwing up his face, all it would take was to drop the knife, seconds stretching out the pause, all of it was so wrong, his mind chanting how much of a monster hes become.

Before his knife could find its mark, an angered voice approached from the back, side stepping among the mob who was scattering off with there ill gained hoard. “Give it here, Give me the knife” Curtis grip tightened, white knuckled around the blade, but then handed it over, assuming that he was going to continue what he was struggling to do. But he turned to his bone thin arm, and hacked it off, quickly as possible. Without hesitation and tossed it. “If your so hungry, eat this. Leave me the Baby.”

That was the day it all changed. Sacrifices of body parts made, they all pooled together to care take the wounded who lost limbs. Curtis tried, the shame of what had happened, his part in it all eating at the bit of humanity he had gained back. The knife he had used these past few weeks, he turned on himself, the blades tip dipped into the flesh of his forearm, all her nerves screaming as it dug deeper. Tendons, muscles jarring at the act, blood welling from beneath the metal and seeping in a racing track down to the crook of his arm. The blade was dull, it took immense pressure on his part to get it as far as it did. An exhale of a painful cry overtook him, and the blade fell from his trembling hand. The shame, he couldn't even finish going through with this. Weak, he was a weak man. This is the first time he saw you. Stepping from the shadows, you knelt next to him, nothing more then a girl. Unwrapping a scarf from around your neck, you bound his arm. “Stop, you don;t have to do this.... see” Through the gate came Wilfords men, and instead of coming to do a head count, they wheeled in the Protein Bars, and its been that way ever since.

“Curtis, you had to. We wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you” You continued to assure him, which was true. Over the years he became that first sacrifices, Gilliams right hand man, both of you finishing growing together. You didn't hold any of his past actions against him, you knew it was a time of desperation. You did the same thing, it was survival. Finally you heard Curtis sigh, coming back from the memories. His face turned and his arm that he would always favor came around your hip, pulling you in to spoon against him. your hand rested on his forearm where it was pressed against your stomach. Having escaped the rabbit hole once more, you finally relaxed.

His thoughts didn't stop even as you fell asleep. A better man wouldn't keep you as he did, a better man would let you go. He still had two arms to hold you tight, never making that sacrifice the others did, less then a man. Monster.

@curtisbbq

#curtis everett #snowpiercer #chrisevans #dark #angst #trauma #curtis everett x reader

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notapaladin · 4 years

Text

you just gotta let it go

Teocatl sickfic, because Acatl deserves to have someone watch over him when he’s ill and it’s highly cathartic for me. Acatl is, unfortunately, a grumpy patient. Also on AO3!

The second day of an illness was the worst.

Granted, the first day had been no garden of roses either. Acatl had gone home at the end of his long working day (two vigils, several hours’ worth of investigations into a nasty murder near the markets, endless accounts to square away) to a hastily-put-together dinner and the comfort of his own mat, but he’d barely lain down for an hour before his guts had begun to cramp and the first swelling of nausea had begun to travel up his throat. He’d thought—hoped—that it would pass. He’d always had a reasonably strong constitution, after all. Perhaps it was merely the heat.

And then he’d started vomiting. Poison had been his first thought, and he’d wiped his mouth and tried to stagger to the door only to faint after a single step. Praise the gods for Ichtaca; the man had heard him groaning as he passed and had leapt into action, sending runners for a healing priest before he could even think about protesting. Not that he’d been doing much thinking by then, honestly—whatever he’d eaten had come back for revenge, and he’d been far too busy trying not to completely disgrace himself. He’d still been retching when the priest of Patecatl had arrived.

At least it wasn’t poison, he’d thought bitterly when he’d gotten the diagnosis. But the sort of illness you got from food that had gone off was downright humiliating, and to make matters worse the only cure was rest and plain meals. Plain. No chili. No other spices. Barely even any salt. If he’d been able to contemplate food without feeling nauseous again, he would have been miserable; as it was, he was waking only to drink water and drag himself to the chamber pot.

Because apparently, even when whatever had been in his guts was now quite comprehensively out of them, it had left its mark behind. He was exhausted. Even his experience with the plague hadn’t left him feeling quite this flattened; each limb felt like the Great Temple had come down on top of it, and he could barely rouse himself from his mat. When he spoke, he slurred his words like a base drunkard.

And of course he was forced to speak, because he had visitors.

He was awoken shortly after dawn by the arrival of not one but two priests of Patecatl. Their cloaks marked them as part of the upper echelons of their temple’s hierarchy, and so he managed not to actually snap at them when they entered. It felt like an achievement just to speak coherently. “Thank you, but I’m feeling much better—“

The older one gave him a stare so full of judgement that he shut his mouth with a pang; it reminded him too much of Ceyaxochitl. “We have to monitor your condition, Acatl-tzin. You are our High Priest for the Dead.”

Right. I don’t stop being High Priest for the Dead, no matter how sick I am. He made a face, but grudgingly sat up a little straighter. Or how much I’d rather be left alone.

At least submitting himself to a full examination didn’t require him to do much except be manhandled, and the healing priests were coolly professional and not inclined to make small talk. It still tired him out, and when the younger priest—Cuetzpalli, apparently—began casting a spell to strengthen his stomach, he actually found himself dozing off. The cut-grass smell of Patecatl’s magic was remarkably soothing when you were more than semi-conscious for it.

“Acatl-tzin?”

He blinked awake. Cuetzpalli had stopped chanting and was eyeing him with mild concern as he offered a hand to help him sit up again. He ignored it; he was not so far gone that he couldn’t manage that, even if the motion made his muscles ache. “My apologies. What’s the verdict?”

Cuetzpalli didn’t seem fazed by his curtness. No doubt he’d seen much worse, though he was barely a few years older than Teomitl; healing priests saw people at their very lowest, after all, and an irritated High Priest probably wasn’t even worth noting. “No poison nor magic that we can detect. Your dinner seems to have simply...disagreed with you. You’ll feel...ah, reasonably terrible for a week or so, but you are in no danger.” His face twisted in singularly unhelpful sympathy.

Acatl’s fists clenched in his lap. A week? Duality, I cannot afford to be laid low for that long! Horrible visions of his temple in disarray and the boundaries crumbling like old paper flickered through his mind, and he fought a grimace. No. It would be fine. He would return to his duties tomorrow, suffer through bland food until his guts settled, and everything would be fine. “Hrm.”

“You’ll be alright, young man.” The older priest—Necalli—didn’t smile, but his eyes softened slightly as he looked him over. “Don’t push yourself too hard.”

He couldn’t make any promises, but he was spared from having to lie; their visit apparently being over, Cuetzpalli was packing up their supplies. Soon they had both left, bowing very politely, and he’d collapsed on his mat again. Some vague twinge in his belly suggested he should attempt food, but even fetching one of the bland flatbreads Ichtaca had left for him seemed like a monumental effort. No, he would just lay here for now until he felt...well, not better, but at least more alert.

He slept. He woke, found the ache in his stomach had progressed to actual pangs of hunger, and choked down a few mouthfuls of dry flatbread and a cup of water before his gorge rose in protest. Right. No more food for me. He slept again. Time ceased to have meaning. There was only the sunlight moving across his floor, the humid air laying on his skin like a blanket. He lay like a lizard on his back, gently baking in the heat.

And then the entry curtain jingled. “Acatl?”

Oh, gods. Mihmatini’s voice. Groaning, he heaved himself upright, muscles protesting. “Ngghhh…” At some point he’d closed his eyes, and it seemed to take real effort to keep them open. Duality, he hoped it was only an ill-chosen meal, and not something more serious.

She sounded concerned. He was sick of concern. “We brought soup.”

...We…? The thoughts floating through his head were slow to arrange themselves into a semblance of order, but finally he realized that she wasn’t alone and managed to wedge his eyes open. There was Mihmatini, brow furrowed, holding a clay jug in both hands. And beside her, face twisted in worry, was Teomitl. “...Oh.” He felt vaguely nauseous again.

She didn’t wait for him to invite her in, or even to rise; he watched, still feeling three steps behind reality, as she set the jug down on his table and went looking for spoons. “I really can’t believe I had to hear from Ichtaca that you were ill, Acatl, really—do you know how worried I’ve been? Food poisoning is nothing to dismiss!”

“It’s passed.” It had. Mostly. He had decided against making any sudden movements.

“Nobody gets over food poisoning that fast.” That was Teomitl, leaning in the doorway and frowning down at him. “You need to take better care of yourself.”

He frowned back, even as some part of his heart felt unaccountably warmed; Teomitl’s concern might be touching, but by the Duality it wasn’t as though he’d tried to get sick. “...I take care of myself just fine.”

Teomitl turned his face away, glowering at the wall as though it had insulted his honor. Acatl knew by the face he made that he was probably chewing on the inside of his lip plug again; he wondered, not for the first time, if Teomitl had ever realized he only did that when he was agitated. He hoped he didn’t; it was oddly endearing, and he’d miss the sight. “What did the healing priests say?”

He grimaced at the reminder. “Very plain fare. And sleep.”

Mihmatini uncovered the jug, and the odor of plain, hot, and—suddenly most important for his stomach, which growled loudly enough that he blushed—salty turkey broth met his nostrils. “Do you think you could keep this down?”

For his sister, he’d try. Slowly, he nodded. “...Thank you.”

He hadn’t expected them to linger, but—evidently realizing that he absolutely wouldn’t be able to finish all of the soup by himself—they took their own seats at his table. It was pleasant not to eat alone in his own house for once. Teomitl was uncharacteristically quiet and kept glancing at Acatl out of the corner of his eye; before he thought of commenting on it, Mihmatini spoke up. “How is it?”

He looked down at his bowl and realized with a start that he’d nearly finished it. Each lift of the spoon to his mouth had been like trying to move a boulder, but he’d clearly been hungrier than he thought. “...It’s good. Did you make it?”

Mihmatini snorted, shaking her head. “From the palace kitchens. I’m not this good a cook.”

Teomitl huffed, “You’re a wonderful cook.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “And you are a shameless flatterer.”

“I am being perfectly truthful—tell her, Acatl!”

Acatl blinked. He’d briefly felt himself in danger of falling asleep in his soup bowl, and it took him a moment to reapply himself to the conversation. True, Mihmatini was a skilled cook—but it was equally true that no priest of Patecatl would prescribe her food for him. It had entirely too much flavor, and the way she made soup would put meat back on the bones of a corpse. “...He’s right. Unfortunately, I’m afraid I’m in no state to appreciate it at the moment.”

She looked supremely unimpressed. He could actually see the moment she swallowed a sharp retort and picked up her spoon again. “I can see that. You look awful.”

He felt awful. Eating had helped briefly, but as soon as it settled in his stomach he had to battle another spike of nausea. If he stopped leaning on the table, he had a feeling he’d fall over. “Thanks.”

Mihmatini sighed, pushing her now-empty bowl away. “I wish I could stay, but I have to get back to the Duality House.”

“Guardian lessons?”

She made a face. Acatl couldn’t blame her; she hadn’t told him much of what her unexpected ascension to Guardianship had entailed, but what little she’d let slip suggested it was unpleasant. If nothing else, she was having to learn in weeks what took most women years. He did not envy her. “Guardian lessons.”

Teomitl reached over and squeezed her hand. “I’ll see you later.”

Her eyes narrowed as she looked at him, and for a moment Acatl was concerned. Had they had a fight at some point? But then she smiled, warm as always. “You’d better. Remember what we were talking about earlier.”

Teomitl swallowed hard and nodded. “Mm.”

And then she rose gracefully, favoring Acatl with that same narrow-eyed assessing look. “And as for you, you’d better take it easy. Ichtaca told us you collapsed a few times last night.”

It wasn’t like he’d made a habit out of it. Besides, the floor had been comfortable even with last night’s nagging, irrational concern that he might fail to wake up. He glared back at her. “I’m much stronger now. I’ve no intention of fainting on anyone.”

“Don’t worry.” Teomitl smiled, and the brief flash of radiant warmth made Acatl’s face heat. “I won’t let you.”

She sniffed, unswayed. “Hm. I’ll be back later to check on you.”

And then Mihmatini left, and they were alone. Acatl found, suddenly, that he couldn’t quite manage to look Teomitl in the face. The gods knew Teomitl had seen him injured before—had taken care of him, even, and Acatl knew he’d never forget confident hands bandaging his wounds or strong arms helping him to safety—but injuries were one thing. It was entirely different to be ill and run-down in front of Teomitl, who valued strength so highly, when he could barely muster the energy to stand. In a moment. In a moment I’ll get up and clear the table. I don’t need a—a nursemaid, Tlaloc’s lightning strike me. He just needed to brace himself and move slowly.

Teomitl beat him to it. He was already on his feet and clearing away the remnants of their meal when Acatl set a hand on the table to heave himself up; when he caught sight of the movement, he glared down at him. “Stay still. I’ll handle it.”

He could force himself to his feet; he’d worked in worse conditions and through much greater pain. But somehow, it didn’t really seem worth it to argue. So he stayed where he was and prayed for patience. “...So you’re to keep me company, then?”

Teomitl turned to look over his shoulder at him, eyes dark and serious. “Someone should.”

He took a slow breath. Even through his exhaustion, the reminder of his state stung bitterly. Gods, isn’t it bad enough that I’m ill? Must I have witnesses? “I’m not an invalid, you know.”

“I know you aren’t.” And then Teomitl smiled, teasingly innocent, and Acatl’s heart skipped a beat even as he continued, “But isn’t it the job of the student to tend to his master’s needs?”

His eyes narrowed. Irritation was starting to revitalize him; in some small part of his mind, he suspected this was Teomitl’s plan. “...And you aren’t my student anymore.” He hasn’t been since...the courtyard? No, before that. It just took me too long to see it. He is my friend, my brother-in-law, and one day he’ll be my Revered Speaker. But he’s not my student, and he shouldn’t have to take care of me even if he was.

Teomitl sat down by him, within arm’s reach but not touching. Acatl found himself glad for that; he wasn’t sure if he was alert enough not to give in to any...urges he might have. His former student’s shoulders looked appealingly solid. “I know that, too. But...let me anyway?” He paused, looking him over with soft eyes. “Please?”

Oh, no. Not the please. It struck him harder than a physical blow, and he had to look away. Duality preserve him, he’d thought those feelings would fade; it was a terrible time to be proven wrong. I should be stronger than this. “...I won’t…” He blinked, suddenly almost too tired to make his tongue work. The soup had only been a temporary boost after all. “’M sorry. I won’t be a very good host.”

“...That’s alright.” Teomitl was smiling at him again, and he couldn’t bear it. “Rest, Acatl. I’ll be here when you wake.”

He couldn’t let that pass without comment, no matter how much that same small, treacherous part of him was warmed by the thought of companionship. “...Your own duties…”

Now Teomitl did reach over, putting a hand gently on his shoulder. It warmed him to his bones. “Over for the day. Lay down.”

He couldn’t do anything but obey. Even the simple act of sitting up and eating had wrung him out like a damp rag; he could have passed out on a bed of obsidian shards. His thin mat was a miracle in comparison, and he managed to keep his eyes open just long enough to watch as Teomitl settled down on his haunches and swept him with a slow, considering look. The thought that slid through his mind like a snake—gods, you could kiss me if you wanted—still wasn’t a match for the tides of sleep pulling him under.

When he opened his eyes again, the first thing he saw was Teomitl’s back. It was, he thought idly, a very nice back; he’d shed his cloak for the sake of the heat, and so Acatl had an excellent view of the line of his waist and the curve of his spine. There were no scars upon it, for he would never be one to willingly turn his back on a foe. The knowledge lifted his heart with a kind of soft pride. My fearless man. You who will lead Tenochtitlan to glory. I cannot wait to see what kind of Emperor you’ll make.

Then Teomitl stretched, back arching, and the affection curling gently through him sparked into something hotter and darker. Gods, he’d almost forgotten. He could go days now without thinking about the warmth of Teomitl’s voice or the strength of his hands, but here he was being reminded—viscerally—that they couldn’t be ignored forever.

He must have made a noise, because Teomitl turned to look at him. “Acatl? Ah, you’re awake. What do you need?”

His mouth had gone dry at some point. Swallowing didn’t help. “...Water.” If nothing else, it would be cold. He could use the cold.

Teomitl rose to fetch water, and he busied himself with trying to sit up. It took a few attempts as his heavy limbs fought his control, but by the time Teomitl returned he’d managed the disgustingly difficult task of rolling over. Teomitl’s hand between his shoulderblades steadied him as he heaved himself up the rest of the way, and for a long moment he drank in silence.

It wasn’t until Teomitl took his hand away and sat down next to him that he found words. “I’m surprised you’re still here.”

Teomitl jerked away, glaring at him; for all that he’d only spoken the truth, Acatl still felt himself flush. “Did you think I would leave you alone?!”

“It must be late.” It was. The afternoon sun had turned dim and gold, sinking into Teomitl’s skin and hair. Sunset couldn’t be far behind, and he would be well enough to properly offer blood to the gods again. There was no need for Teomitl to watch over him like a mother jaguar with cubs. But he wants to, whispered his mind, and he took another sip of water to cool the heat of his skin.

“I don’t care.” Duality, and he growled like a jaguar, too. Though he huffily turned his face away, Acatl saw his hand twitch; it was all the warning he got before it came down to rest atop his own free one. “You stayed with me when I was ill, and that was contagious. Do you think I wouldn’t do the same for you?”

He couldn’t think. Teomitl’s hand was on his, calloused and warm, and he was fairly sure all sensation in his body had been rerouted to that single point of contact. He was surprised he hadn’t dropped the cup, and managed to set it down before he could. “I—uh.” He was unconscious, deep in his delirium. I didn’t think he’d remember. Gods, I was so afraid he’d never even wake. But he did...and…

It seemed to take an eternity for him to dredge up a full sentence from the mire of his thoughts. “You don’t...have to…”

Teomitl might as well have been making a royal proclamation; his voice held nothing but certainty. “Yes. I do.”

“...Oh.” It seemed to be all he could say. There was more locked behind his teeth—you are the best of men, I don’t deserve you, you’re a reckless fool sometimes but that’s alright because you still hold my whole heart safe in your hands—but he didn’t dare open his mouth and let it fly out. If he started down that road, he’d never stop.

For a long while, Teomitl was silent. Though he sat as still as a statue, the fingers covering Acatl’s own twitched as though he wanted to curl them around his hand. Finally, still without looking at him, he spoke. “When I heard you had been taken ill...gods, Acatl, I was terrified.”

Storm Lord’s lightning blast him. He couldn’t even attempt a reassuring smile, for Teomitl’s words struck him to the core. Still, he mustered up the energy somewhere to make an effort. “I’ve felt worse than this and lived. You needn’t have worried.”

Teomitl swiveled around to glare at him, eyes hot and suspiciously bright. “Don’t say that! Don’t you know how important you are to me?”

“Ngkh.” He knew he was blushing again, but he couldn’t have torn his eyes from Teomitl’s face if his life had depended on it. “I…” I am High Priest for the Dead. His teacher. His friend. That’s all he means. “But—“

“No buts.” Teomitl shook his head, squeezing his hand tightly. “You have to take care of yourself, Acatl. Understand? I don’t...I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you. I can’t lose you.”

His heart stuttered in his chest, and for a dizzying moment he thought he was going to faint again. “You won’t.” He knew as he said it that it was an empty promise, but it was true. Even if I die tomorrow. Even if I die right now, he’ll never lose me.

He inhaled. I have to tell him. “Last night...I thought I was going to die.” It had been a fleeting thought somewhere between the second time he’d collapsed and the dozenth time he’d vomited, but it had stuck with him until he’d simply been too tired to fear it anymore. There was only one thing he would have regretted, after all. Now Teomitl was staring at him in horror, but he made himself press on. “And I thought of you. I thought—if I died here, I would never get to tell you I—“ But courage failed him, and he swallowed with a dry click.

Teomitl was still staring at him. “...Acatl?”

He squeezed his eyes shut. It was a coward’s move, but then he had always been one, hadn’t he? “I love you. I wanted to be sure you knew.”

He heard a slow, deep breath. A shaky whisper of “Acatl,” more shock than outrage.

And then Teomitl kissed him.

His mind went entirely blank. There was only the soft pressure of warm lips on his, slow and careful and gods, so gentle. He had no idea what he was doing, but Teomitl clearly did; he tilted his head just so, parted his lips just a fraction, and Acatl was lost. Gods, he thought dizzily, I love you so much. Teomitl slid strong arms around his waist, and for a moment he thought that hold was the only thing keeping him upright. He wondered if it was possible to swoon just from a single kiss.

When Teomitl pulled away, his eyes were shining. “I can hardly believe...Duality, Acatl.” He gave a little shake of his head, as though to express the utter impossibility of their situation. “I was half convincing myself to give up.”

Acatl blinked at him as the words rearranged themselves into something that made sense. “You...what?!”

Now it was Teomitl’s turn to blush. “I have wanted you for—gods, for years. I knew it was hopeless, but when I thought I would lose you…”

Things clicked slowly into place in Acatl’s mind. Years, he said. Years. “...Does Mihmatini know?” He remembered her hard-eyed stare, the way Teomitl had looked almost nervous. He wouldn’t be the cause of strife between them, no matter how much Teomitl made his heart race.

Teomitl sighed, dropping his gaze. He was still flushed, but Acatl judged it more embarrassment than guilt. “She does.”

“Then...what she mentioned, about you two having spoken earlier…”

“She...suggested I consider the possibility of mentioning my feelings.” Knowing Mihmatini, suggested was probably far too polite a word. But Teomitl quirked up a smile, then, and added, “But I wasn’t expecting you to beat me to it.”

He swallowed. “I had to let you know. You have to know—you’ll never lose me. Ever. I love you too much for that.”

For a moment, Teomitl simply stared at him—face flushed, lips slightly parted, eyes heated—and Acatl knew he was going to be kissed again. Knew it and welcomed it, lingering illness be damned. He would figure out a way to be kissed by Teomitl if he were dead.

And then he grinned teasingly and murmured, “Then you’d best focus your energies on getting well again, hadn’t you?” and Acatl had to stifle an urge to groan.

#obsidian and blood #acatl #teomitl #teocatl #mihmatini #paladin writes stuff

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elisaphoenix13 · 5 years

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Living With Guilt

Peter had stopped fighting. In all honesty, he had forgotten why he was fighting in the first place a long time ago. That was when the torture stopped. The conditioning. He felt numb when they tested his fighting abilities. He easily incapacitated anyone who attacked him and the people who were training him were pleased. Saying something like he was ready for what they needed him to do after just a week. Whatever. As long as they fed him after he did whatever they asked.

He was dressed in an all black outfit and he was equipped with knives and a gun (things that felt somehow wrong in the back of his mind but he quickly squashed that thought), and he was sent on his way. His mission?

Kill Tony Stark.

Another persistent thought wiggled in the back of his mind that this was wrong but he ignored it and made his way to the Avengers tower once he entered the city. He stuck to the shadows so he didn't attract any unnecessary attention and when he arrived at the building, he stood in direct view of the nearest camera as he was told to do. Apparently Stark himself would come if he saw him.

He did. Tony and some other man had run out of the building but a red-haired female had stopped them halfway. He was supposed to kill Tony, and if anyone got in his way, they would just be collateral damage.

"Peter...?"

Peter? Was that his name? He wasn't sure and didn't really care. He didn't know these people. He just wanted to complete his mission so he could go home, eat, and get some sleep. So he lunged. Tony had spun out of the way as his suit formed over his body, and Peter's kick was intercepted by the woman. His attention was directed to her for a while, and while she was good, he could tell she was holding back. That was her mistake, and he had no problem using it against her. She gave him the slightest opening and that was all be needed to knock her out and send her flying across the road.

Tony had tried to swoop in behind him and take him by surprise but Peter had sensed that coming and simply grabbed the man out of the air before slamming him into the concrete underneath him. A pained gasp reaches the teen's ears and he pulls out one of his knives to plunge through the armor but he looks to the side when his armed hand is stopped. A whip from the looks of it. Crackling with magical energy.

He looks up to the new assailant and finds the second man in a suit similar to Tony's regarding him warily.

"Peter. Stop this."

The teen responds by grabbing the whip with his free hand and yanking it forward, causing the man to stumble, and it dispels once he gets close enough. Peter lashes out at him with his knife but he blocks it with a magical shield and the teen soon finds himself being lead away from his primary target. Fine. He would deal with him later. This man fought like the woman though, but not only did he hold back, he defended himself. Like he was trying to tire the teen out.

"I don't want to hurt you!"

"That's your problem."

Despair fills blue eyes as he continues to dodge and block every one of Peter's attacks, but when he finally slips up, the teen slams him into a nearby building. The brickwork crumbling around the sorcerer from the force, and to add insult to injury, Peter plunges his knife through the suit and into the man's abdomen. A cry of pain follows as he pulls the knife back out and Peter turns to find his initial target as the man falls, when the sorcerer's next word had the boy freezing.

"Cub."

It was as if someone threw ice water on him and it found its way into his veins. That one word. He knew that word. It always came with comfort...but why did it make him so sad? Peter shakes his head and mentally starts squashing down the unexpected feelings.

Finish the mission. Finish the--

Somehow, the sorcerer had gotten to his feet and managed to catch him by surprise because he was suddenly pulled into a hug. His face was forcibly buried into the man's collarbone, but before he could even think of struggling...he smelt it. Tea leaves and incense. The smell of safety, of love, of home. It brought memories to the surface, and he slowly began to realize what had happened. His abduction, the torture, the conditioning, and worst of all...

...what he had just done.

Peter stills in the embrace and watches in horror as Stephen finally loses his fight against blood loss and slumps against him. Bile rises in his throat as blue eyes close and the owner falls to the ground, but he didn't get the chance to do much else because someone knocked him out from behind.

_______________________

When Peter woke, he was in his bed. Just when he thought that maybe it was all a terrible dream, he looked down at himself and found that he was still dressed in his Hydra outfit. It was enough to send him running into the bathroom and puking. Not only had he attacked his family, he had slammed his father hard enough into the ground to form a dent, and he stabbed his pseudo-mother. The reminder had him sobbing as he stripped himself of the black clothing as fast as possible, and then unconsciously scratching at his body. That was how Bucky found him, and the soldier was quick to kneel down and grab his wrists to keep him from hurting himself anymore.

"Nonono. I hurt them!" The teen sobs out. "I killed my mom! I deserve--"

"Come here Bambi." Bucky sits down and pulls the teen into a tight embrace. "Mama Bear is okay. He just finished healing himself about twenty minutes ago." The next sob that came from Peter was pure relief. "He's worried about you."

The teen makes a strangled noise that Bucky knew all too well. Peter didn't feel worthy of being worried about. Especially by someone he had hurt...almost killed.

"I shouldn't be here. What if I go back to...that?" Peter whispers.

"We already took care of that. After Nat knocked you out, another Hydra agent tried to finish what you started but she was able to stop him and find out what your triggers were. You've got nothing to worry about."

They sit there as Peter's tears slow and then eventually stop while Bucky gently rubs his back. When the teen seemed calm enough, the soldier had asked if he wanted to see his parents and Peter instantly refused. Not because he didn't want to see him, no...it was self punishment. Tony and Stephen would forgive him without hesitation but Peter would not forgive himself.

Because of that, the vigilante had locked himself in his room, and even though it pained his parents, they gave him space. Only because Rhodey and Bucky were allowed in to give him food. Natasha was shunned as well because she was also one he had hurt, and although she didn't show it, it hurt her a little as well.

Stephen lost patience on the fourth day. His cub was stewing in guilt about something he had no control over and it was breaking his heart. So he threw caution to the wind and portaled directly into the teen's room, causing Peter to jump out of his desk chair and back himself into a corner, and that action only hurt Stephen more. More than the stab wound he had received (that he now had a permanent reminder of but he wouldn't let Peter see that as long as possible), because Peter didn't trust himself. And according to Bucky, he didn't feel like he deserved forgiveness.

"Come here." Stephen says calmly.

"...no."

"Then I'll come to you."

The sorcerer had expected Peter to use the walls to escape, so he had been prepared and successfully pulled him down before he could actually get anywhere. The whimper he gets for that, cracks his already bleeding heart, but he ignores it to embrace the teen and hold him the same way he had when he managed to get to the Peter hidden behind the conditioning. One simple word was all it took to break the haze he had seen in his son's eyes. The moment he was able to stretch when he hugged him and Peter caught a whiff of the tea he drank and the incense he burned. Two scents that were forever soaked into his skin and recognized as home.

"If you really meant to hurt me, I would have never gotten you back like this. Hydra attacked us. Not Peter." It was all the teen needed to hear to finally return the embrace and fist his hands in the back of Stephen's shirt.

Peter trembled. "I-I'm sorry Mom. I'm so sorry!"

"I know cub...it's okay."

What Stephen didn't expect was Peter clinging to him afterwards. The rest of the day consisted of endless snuggling since Peter wouldn't let him do much of anything else, and having to endure hearing countless whispered apologies. Each one he never failed to accept and soothe that everything was fine now. The scar unfortunately was found an hour into the snuggling, and Peter had blamed himself all over again. It only stopped when the boy fell asleep and he was carried into the master bedroom by Tony when he and Stephen both agreed that it was necessary. A simple show that he was forgiven, and that he was home safe. It had helped the following morning, but it took at least a month for the guilty look in Peter's eyes to fade away and a few more for the nightmares to make themselves scarce.

Normalcy was a luxury.

A price Tony would pay tenfold to see their kid smile again.

#mama bear stephen strange #ironstrange #supremefamily #peter parker #tony stark #stephen strange #bucky barnes

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alishasboe · 5 years

Text

Its Time We Talked About Tape 9: a rant

this is long, idk how it got this long but yeah, it did and i’m #MAD

ok let’s fucking do this, i’m so angry at this stupid storyline. first of all, to clarify the narrative in the book aka source material - the party is not at jess’ house, it’s some random person from their year, it is confirmed by hannah that jess and justin barely know each other, this is just another party hook up... so, pretty much happens similar to in the show up until justin leaves to stand outside the room. bryce shows up, hannah doesn’t name him or jess only justin, he tries to open the door, he's like ‘let me in’ and justin shuts the door and is like ‘no let her sleep’, then he says, as a joke, ‘it won’t be any fun, she won’t move, she’ll just lie there’ and bryce is like ‘i’ve gotta go to work, i only need a few minutes with her’ and that’s ALL it takes and justin lets bryce go in, so much so that bryce does a double take, he’s like lmao seriously, it was that easy? and when it’s over, hannah sees justin sitting in the bedroom next door, completely in the dark and he looks very sad. (now catch me if i’m wrong but i swear to god, and i haven’t been able to find it since reading for the first time, but there is a bit where hannah says she asked justin about it at school and he refused to do anything about it? i’m not sure but i swear i read it but idk)

NOW let’s clarify how the fucking SHOW fucked justin foley over more than he deserved. ok lets get down to business friends. so justin leaves jess when she says she needs to close her eyes for a few minutes, and he stands outside the door. bryce is like ‘come play beer pong’ and justin refuses on the premise that he’s hanging around for jess because she’s super drunk... meaning, she can’t defend herself, it’s her own bedroom, and he wants to stop anyone from going in there to take advantage of her. bryce says some shit like ‘i bet you had some fun with her’ and if you fucking watch justin his whole expression changes in that one second, and he looks disgusted with bryce for even implying that he would take advantage of jess while she was drunk. and bryce goes ‘can i see?’ he goes to open the door, and justin stops him and he’s like, barely able to even form the sentence, ‘dude, she’s... she’s my girlfriend’ wholeheartedly he knows bryce is trash at this point, he wants to tell him that she’s unconscious, or wasted or sleeping, but that would do fucking nothing to stop bryce, so instead he hopes that jess being his girlfriend will stop bryce, that bryce would respect him that much to just go away and not do this. but bryce doesn’t.

now here is when it gets technical. bryce says ‘what’s yours is mine’ right, and justin won’t even meet his eyes, and end flashback from justin’s point of view. now the scene is very jumpy to imply that justin is drunk, he doesn’t remember everything but there is nothing to imply that what happens in that scene is a lie, that justin is lying. it is legitimately his memory, because he isn’t recounting this to clay, he feels guilty even for this. right? ok so swap to hannah’s point of view, when bryce walks into the room, you can hear (and there is subtitles of it) [body thuds] and the sound of someone being shoved, or falling, right outside that door in perfect timing for bryce entering that room. so, you get my drift? justin didn’t give in to him and bryce shoved him out of the way, and justin, being fucking drunk and terrified because bryce wanted to do something and justin had no idea how to stop him, took a moment before he stood up. NOW we go back to justin’s second flashback and when it begins he isn’t standing at the door?? like you would expect someone who just let bryce walk into the room without argument, without a fight, just gave in? no it takes him a few steps to get back to the door, he was SHOVED!! and the show never mentions it, just implies it! so i ask, does being extremely drunk and scared, being shoved out of the way mean that justin is responsible for “letting” jess get raped by bryce? does he deserve endless hatred and disgust from everyone at liberty??

he recovers moments after being shoved out of the way, he knocks on the door, he is hoping that bryce just wanted to look, he is genuinely trying to convince himself that bryce would never want to do this, no one answers so he goes back in and see’s bryce lying on top of jess (which, not to get fucking mad again but in 2x12 justin’s testimony says that he saw bryce “standing over jess” but when you see the scene in his memory, bryce is clearly on top of jess... so obviously, these writers have never watched their own show #confirmed) he goes up and he’s all calm, he’s like ‘c’mon dude get off her, leave her alone’ and bryce gets REALLY angry, and can we please just remember in this moment that justin grew up his whole life being physically abused by aggressive and awful men and so when bryce shoves him out, justin protests but he doesn’t fight back because he knows he can’t win. he’s terrified. bryce shoves him to the ground and he waits 0.01 of a second to shut the door and lock it, and if that’s what we’re supposed to see as justin “letting” it happen, then that’s FUCKED up because he’s drunk and he’s scared. that really fucks with your head. your reaction time is slower, and your brain activity is slower because alcohol fucking does that shit. and when you’re scared you go into fight/flight/freeze mode and it’s very obvious throughout the show that when in danger justin freezes, he doesn’t fight back and he doesn’t run. he just freezes. he tries to get up. he does you can see him try and move but it’s difficult. and he just starts to cry. same thing he does when he gets choked by seth in 1x12. and so obviously he thinks of what to do, he admits in 2x12 that he did consider calling the police, and calling for help, but he was afraid. and so yeah, what if he had called the police? well its not like the cops were AT the party? by the time they got there jessica would still have been raped, and nothing would have changed. even if justin managed to stand up and get help? bryce would have violated jessica? he had legitimately no way of stopping what happened in that room...

so does that mean he “let” jessica get raped? that it is his fault that she was raped? ... this traumatised kid who was sexually assaulted in his own bed at FIVE and it went on for years, this kid who loved a girl so much, this poor lonely kid who had never had anybody love him except for the two people in that room. and putting aside actual details and specifics, rape is the rapists fault, and the fault of an accessory who wants said thing to happen and stands by and actively lets it happen when they could easily have done something.... eg. monty, kenneth and taylor raping tyler. THAT is an accessory to a crime, not justin being drunk and scared and trying to stop bryce but having his own trauma resurface... and it’d be great if the writers understood this. Here is the thing: with everything that the show has revealed post tape 9, it’s completely fucking unreasonable to keep up this demonisation and disgust toward justin’s actions that night out of trauma... the show wants us to empathise with traumatised characters, we’re supposed to forgive angry outbursts like alex MURDERING bryce, and moments of panic like jess witnessing his murder, or clay going bryce’s house with a gun because he's all fucked up, TYLER LITERALLY TRYING TO SHOOT UP THE FUCKING SCHOOL DANCE because he's been raped... but the writers somehow drew the line as justin’s lifetime of emotional, sexual and physical abuse making him understandably scared as his best friend raped his girlfriend...

and you know fucking what? if the show had kept this narrative from the beginning, that it’s forgivable and understandable that justin was scared, that we can see him work through his own trauma, and that he was also a victim that night, he was hurt and he was betrayed and he made a mistake, he didn't commit a crime, that he should not he hated for what he did, he is not a monster, he is not despicable or irredeemable. he didn’t LET anything happen to jessica. he TRIED to stop it but he couldn’t. if the writers but as much effort into getting the audience to understand why justin froze as they did hannah, they would be doing more for mental health advocacy than they’ve ever done. justin would not be a villain. people would fucking get it. they would empathise. but because the show points at justin in tape 9, and fucking says “he is a monster” viewers believe it, because they can’t see past the one dimensional narrative. there would be argument, people who wouldn’t understand, but if they took that narrative from the beginning, it would still make sense.

it’s gross to antagonise a 16 year old boy for panicking in a situation no one ever teaches you about. where are the 10 step plans on what to do when your best friend who you rely on for your entire livelihood comes into your girlfriend of two months who you really love’s bedroom at a party to rape her, while all involved are drunk, and you’re a survivor of childhood sexual abuse and have been physically abused and neglected your whole life? hmm? where are they?? the show preaches moral ambiguity but then pulls this shit and wants you to think justin is the Worst™ ever for what happened in tape 9... hannah and justin were in the exact same position but no one ever says that hannah “let” jessica get raped? where exactly is it different? both of them never told jessica the truth as well?? on the phone call in 2x08 you can see how hard it is for him when he lies after she asks him if they hooked up... like i’m sorry but yeah it wasn’t fucking great but jessica was RAPED and of all people justin knows how humiliating and painful a memory that is to live with, so understandably he didn’t want to be the one to ruin her life? he thought he could keep her safe, he never thought he was letting a fucking rapist get away, and yeah, he feels SO bad about it and it was a mistake that he can rightly be held accountable for. but he didn’t do it maliciously. he didn't keep it from her cause she said something nasty to him, or because he thought she deserved it, or because he didn’t understand the pressure or any bullshit like that. he knew more than anyone. hannah got raped and she killed herself?? wouldn’t you want to take the awful memories away from someone you loved if you could? he stupidly let bryce walk free, and he hates himself for it, but he didn’t do it to protect bryce. he did it to protect jessica, and himself. he’s not a monster. he's not on the same level as bryce, or monty... nowhere near it in fact.

if they wanted us to see justin as responsible for “letting” jessica get raped then SHOW us him doing something irredeemable. we can watch a whole fucking rape scene but... we can’t just have a second long clip of justin letting bryce open the door? of him getting up off the floor, shrugging and being like “this might as well happen” ?? give us a reason to believe he did something wrong even despite his trauma because that isn't OKAY. not demonising valid fear responses from a csa victim and abuse victim. in the book: justin lets bryce in. he doesn’t go in to stop him. he doesn’t fight back. he doesn't cry from behind a locked door... valid reasons to call him out on it. justin in the show? confirmed abuse victim, went back in to stop bryce, is never confirmed to have actually let bryce go in, or let bryce do it. we can’t hold justin responsible if we don’t hold hannah responsible. it glorifies suicide to escape your mistakes. justin is paying for his AND hannah’s mistake through a life worse than death: addiction. and he doesn't fucking deserve that punishment.

and lastly, on how also this storyline is fucked up. the whole show is like ‘victims need to tell their story because it’s theirs to tell’ but hannah LITERALLY tells jess’ story to 11 other people before jess herself even hears it... and is willing to let that shit go fucking public as manipulation? regardless of whether the story is true or not, jess and justin wanting to keep clay from doing shit about tape 9 isn’t evil and didn't deserve to be antagonised as much as it was... a girl was raped, and clay didn't understand the impact of that. every other person on those tapes who helped justin keep clay quiet did it for their own purposes. justin only did it because jess was scared and because bryce could have come after her or done something if he found out about the tapes.

anyway. i cannot physically type anymore and i probably have more points to be made but i just can't remember them. if you made it this far. congratulations.

#anti 13rw #long post #FUCK TAPE 9 #fuck this show #seriously #this needs like a buzzed article or something #we need this shit to go viral #stop antagonising csa survivors and abused kids for mistakes they made out of TRAUMA??

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tarithenurse · 5 years

Text

On my mind, in my soul - 18

Prompt: This will be the last chapter and is based on a prompt by @liesje86: “Uhm. “Simple man” the cover with Jensen Ackles, a white sandy beach on Hawaaï or something, and two identical daggers.” Pairing: Loki x Burglar!reader. Content: Swearing as usual, angst, mention of god and bad parenting, hints of loss, nervousness, fluff, lemons, anger. All sorts of good stuff. A/N: This is the last chapter! o.O Thank you all for the lovely prompts, it won’t be the last time I’ll work like that. I hope this ending is all you guys could wish for...except the spelling etc because I just REALLY wanted to share it, so I’ve not proof read it, meh. Please, reblog etc. if you did enjoy <3

Satisfied

… Loki’s PoV …

There are moments in a child’s life when they look upon their parents and wonder “what if”. What if the parents had never met? What if they never had decided to have children? Then the kid wouldn’t be in the world or maybe they’d be an only child or…

Thinking back, Loki’s thoughts had often been related more to the question of “why”, as in “why did his parents love each other” or at the very least why the love between them was so different and apparently impossible to spill over onto the youngest prince. No, that wouldn’t be fair to say, because Frigga did love her son and she did her best to make sure he knew that. Just like she would comfort him when he was sad or guide him when he felt lost. Frigga, queen and mother, was the one person Loki could come to for support or philosophical discussions. She was the one that saw his future as something bright and blessed, and she would spin tales rivalling the best penmanship to instill a longing within the heart of the young prince for all that was to come.

Mama told me when I was young: Come sit beside me, my only son

… Reader’s PoV …

This. Is. Quality. Stretching towards the cloudless sky above you, it’s all you can do not to spontaneously start giggling at the feel of the ocean lapping over your feet and caressing your ankles. Cool on your hot skin but not too cold that a swim would be anything else than heavenly tomorrow…today’s too late because the jet only touched down an hour before earlier and now the sun is setting across the endless ocean.

For more than a year now, Loki has been escaping with you to the most wonderful places on earth (so far) between working on missions with the Avengers. It’s not a life you expected even with the Asgardian as your partner in crime. Crime. Yeah, not a whole lot of action’s been going on on that front, obviously, and still somehow…you’ve got more than enough challenges to keep your mind occupied. Heists have been replaced by rescue operations; artifacts replaced with weapons. At least the way of working is still relatively the same in terms of intel and planning.

Cool hands snake around your waist, pulling you backwards against the hard planes of muscle of a similar low temperature, making goosebumps spread across your skin.

“I should have known you’d abandon me with the unpacking in favour of this,” Loki mumbles into you hair.

You turn partially in his arms, wanting to be able to kiss him but not wanting to give up the scenery beyond the glittering sea. “Can you blame me? Look at that view!”

Leaning back from the embrace, the god’s attention isn’t on the sunset. “Breathtaking.”

Then he holds you close, preventing you from saying anything until the sun finally disappears beneath the horizon in a display of orange and purples and anything in between. Breathtaking, yes.

… Loki’s PoV …

Unpacking had, in truth, been a simple task for the god who simply had left the butler with that responsibility (with the exception of one specific piece of luggage) and as the chef was already preparing the lavish dinner, Loki had found himself pacing. Restless. Nervous.

That very same insecurity still hunts the pale man all through dinner. He dotes on [Y/N], feeds her bites from the ridiculous amount of tiny dishes that have been prepared and offers her cool wines. But Loki can barely swallow a morsel himself.

His gaze is locked on the softly coloured lips that send him a shy smile. They are small talking, and it’s a challenge to stay focused on the subject when joy sparkles in the [Y/E/C] of the perfect woman’s eyes. Nimble fingers fidget with glass or delve into the silken hair that by now has become messy from the travelling. Messy, but oh so right, bringing attention to the wildness that bubbles just below the surface of her.

That’s who she is. His wild kitten. Intelligent, fierce, approaching any challenge with a calculative silence until she succeeds and lets go of the inhibitions for a while. Morals? [Y/N] never claims to be an angel, yet she has managed to show the god a different way – the way Frigga spoke of hundreds of years ago when Loki was a child in need of comfort and hope. Life had indeed turned out slightly different than what his mother had predicted because there is no Asgard and royal life (even as nothing more than a prince) and no plans of ruling or being distinguished beyond the scope of mortal man. It is…simpler.

“Hon?” [Y/N] manages to get through the fog of thoughts.

Her furrowed brows don’t relax until he has promised that everything is fine. “I was merely thinking…of you, in fact.”

“Oh?” A coy smile dances on her mouth. “Am I in trouble?”

“When are you not?” Loki can’t help but laugh. “You could be the Goddess of Mischief. Do not feign innocence when we both know it was you that swapped out everyone’s underwear.”

[Y/N] disguises a grin behind the wineglass, and when she moves the glass from her lips a seriousness has returned. “But what were you thinking? I know it was something serious…”

Boy, don't you worry, you'll find yourself Follow your heart and nothing else

… Reader’s PoV …

You watch with both wonder and concern as the god they call Silver Tongue struggles with his words, opening and closing his mouth several times as a faint red sheen crawls into his eyes where the pupils are blown. That bad? Reaching for his hand, you’re afraid he’ll pull away, but he doesn’t. Cold and slightly damp against your palm…and trembling.

”Please, Loki…” you begin softly, stroking his knuckles with your thumb.

The cold spikes and he pulls away, breaking a piece off your heart. ”Excuse me.”

He doesn’t even stop to pick up the chair after he topples it over in his eager to get away from you. Why? A cold, his cold, has gripped your chest so hard you have to struggle to breathe. What did I do wrong?

You’ve wanted to deny the signs, but this can’t be unseen. For weeks now, he’s become increasingly withdrawn, preferring solitude or simply losing focus, and it’s been getting worse even with a short respite after he and Thor had been away to some other realm or planet or whatever. For a few days things had seemed normal, then it started all over. This is the worst yet.

Bit by bit, lessons you’ve let from your new co-workers (especially Natasha) start to surface, diluting the self-deprecation with a healthy amount of anger and determination. Trucker turd! Your own chair screeches across the marble floor. I’ll be damn if I let him make me feel crappy on a vacation like this! And with that in mind, you march off the way Loki had gone.

You find him in the bedroom, crouched by his suitcase with the back to the door.

“Okay, listen up, mister!”

Hands on your hips and a solid footing, you plant yourself a few steps behind him. Gorgeous bedroom. The thought zips through your mind unwanted and you push it aside for now, ignoring the probably gorgeous view from the huge windows and balcony beyond…and the grand bed to your left which you’d been hoping to “break in” tonight rather than scold a god. But that’s life sometimes.

“I know, [Y/N],” Loki admits quietly, the tenderness in his voice catching you by surprise, “I’ve been…absentminded and distanced lately.” His back is still toward you, but you know the sort of pain showing in his eyes anyways. “You deserve more than that, I know, because you are…you have changed my life and me for the better.”

“Darling…”

The distance isn’t even reduced by a single step before he motions for you to stop. To wait. His shoulders rise and fall before he finally straightens his back and swirls around to face you. Still on his knees. Oh… Turquoise eyes root you to the spot. Big hands holds a footlong box.

“I wish could tell you all the reasons I love you…but there’s not enough time in the universe for it.” A dextrous tongue swipes his bottom lip. “Lady [Y/N] [Y/L/N], will you allow me to be your husband?”

With those words, he flips the box open to show the contents, but the world is becoming a blur to you, spinning the room slowly. Oh. Oh no. Not…how…

“But Loki…I’ll die from you!” You can hear it yourself, how broken your voice is.

As the first tear falls and your vision clears a bit, you see the man you love put the box aside and stand. His strong arms encircle you, holding you tightly against his chest. A part of you wants to push away, to save him from the real pain later by leaving him now because after all: it had been your plan to leave him eventually, so he didn’t have to see you grow old and die.

“My dear, I know your reasoning,” he whispers in your ear, soft kissing landing on your cheeks and lips, “I would not want to miss out on even a second of your life, I’ll be by your side forever because nothing can change what I feel. Please let me…if you truly love me.”

Pulling back as much as his embrace allows, you frown at him indignantly. “I do love you!”

“Then please…” He guides you to sit on the foot end of the bed before retrieving the box once more and kneeling again. “Please let me be yours.” The dark wood is padded on the inside with golden silk, cradling two nearly identical daggers perfectly. “I know of the Midgardian customs with the rings…however I thought you would appreciate the tradition from Vanaheim where the betrothed couple each carries a twin dagger, bound by magic and echoing the heartbeat of the person that carries the twin…”

“I’d always be able to sense you…”

He nods, proffering the box. And they’re gorgeous too. Of course he’s right in thinking you’d prefer this over a ring. The handles appear to be frosted glass with smoky tendrils of Jotun-blue at the centre and a bead at the very end while the blade itself is silvered and perforated by runes.

Those spell out Loki which means the other dagger has your name on it. Lifting the Loki-blade, you recognise the quality of the craftmanship.

“That would be the one you would carry…if you choose to…” the god trails off.

Carefully, you return the weapon to its place. Then you close the lid and set the box aside before sliding onto the floor.

“I hate the idea of breaking your heart…but I hate the idea of being without you too. If one day you realize you can’t watch me grow old, then promise me we say goodbye as friends.”

“You mean…that –”

“– is a yes.”

Mouths clash cold yet passionate, the fervour growing with each stroke of tongue tips or nibble at the other’s lips and soon Loki’s pushing the straps of your dress aside gently. Every inch of skin is lavished with kisses that make goosebumps break out and you nipples harden against the lace (which is all that remains as cover). Once the soft cotton hangs from your hips, the god’s roaming hands come to rest at your waist. You know what he’s about to do, but it amazes you regardless. It always does. Lifting you to your feet as though you weigh nothing at all and standing you on the bed. Loki’s nose presses against the skin of your belly or, if he stretches a bit, the cleavage where he can inhale your scent while his hands bring the dress the rest of the way down. Probably holding it back rather than letting it fall for the simple purpose of enjoying the slow reveal of your body.

“My love.” Kisses are peppered onto your hips. “My queen.” Hands roam the back of your thighs. “My fiancée.” A long arm reaches up along your back to release the hooks on the bra. “Mine.”

You vaguely hear where the lacy clothing lands, but not really because Loki’s mouth and hands are at your breasts, the Silver Tongue of his working the kind of magic that’s reserved for you only. Moans fill the room as the god slides down your panties to allow access to a hand, fingers skimming through the folds and teasing you in just the right way by adding pressure with the hell of the hand whenever possible.

Even with your fingers entwined with Loki’s black hair, it’s hard to keep balance on the soft bed and you’re grateful by the time he lays you down and positions himself to continue the work between your legs. Languidly. Broad licks supplemented by pressure administered by a thumb to your clit to have you pussy aching and clenching helplessly around nothing. You on the verge of cumming when his lips close around the little bundle of nerves.

“Please, Loki.”

“Hmmmm?” The sound sends vibrations into you, but he detaches before it sets off a climax. “Not yet, my love.”

Fuck! It wouldn’t be smart to say that out loud. The man thrives on teasing to the point that it nearly becomes torture, so you adopt a different tactic and suggest with a purr that he be the one to be treated.

Obviously, he can’t resist to see your lips wrapped around his cock and soon, Loki’s the one to groan and beg for release either in your mouth or deep within the needing cunt. Oh, the delicious revenge is sweet. Now you’re the one to move slowly, crawling up his body and trailing kisses (and bites) along the way until your straddling him with his erection sliding between the slick folds in a manner that stimulates your clit just perfectly. Fingers digging into your thighs, he lies and watches as you succumb to an orgasm, juices dripping onto his balls and the throbbing shaft.

“Please…” he nearly whines as you start to come down.

A nod is all he needs before he’s flipped you both around and sheathed himself fully in you, setting off a new wave of ecstasy which he somehow manages to wait out, still as a statue. But you see his struggle. You see it in his eyes that are turning crimson, and you feel it on his body temperature which is dropping.

“Let me see you,” you whisper hoarsely, “the real you.”

Loki knows how attractive you find the Jotun form and happily complies with your request. Each body part enlarges – some parts more than others, thank goodness, but you still feel the swell of his cock within you, stretching your walls a bit more.

“God, yes!”

Rolling his hips, the partner in crime pulls out almost completely before thrusting back forcefully, making you scoot up the bed until you can reach and stem against on the headboard, and each stroke Loki gives is met by a tilt of your hips. Teeth find the crook of your throat, latching on hard enough that it will bruise tomorrow and softly enough for the pain not to be too much.

… Loki’s PoV …

He sees [Y/N]’s eyelashes flutter as she arches against his blue body. Heat against cold. The walls of her cunt clench and pulsate, sending tremors through her perfect shape and breaking the cry that falls from her lips. And Loki is right at the precipice with the woman, toppling over the edge and into a sea of bliss. It is all he can do to keep himself from collapsing onto [Y/N], rolling off instead to lie panting next to her.

She is still shivering, when the god regains his strength enough to focus his seiðr to care for her before finally pulling the light of his live into his arms.

“I love you,” she smiles drowsily, “all the time.” She doesn’t bother to stifle a yawn,

Her temple is hot against his lips. “I love you too. Always.”

There is no answer save for the gentle breathing.

Always.

Baby be a simple kind of man Oh, won't you do this for me, son, if you can

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amphtaminedreams · 5 years

Text

To All the Characters I’ve Overly Identified with Before: Borderline Personality Disorder and Attachment to Fictional Characters

It’s been a month, and I’m still not over how Game of Thrones ended. I’m still not over the way that a character who, throughout the previous seventy something episodes of the show, was only ever ruthless towards people who were deserving of her wrath (within the context of westerosi justice because let’s not forget everyone’s favourite man of honour Ned Stark decapitated a young man for running for his life in the first episode), suddenly massacred a whole city in the penultimate episode. I’m not over the way that writers who spent the previous seasons showing that they were capable of translating the moral ambiguity of George R.R Martin’s characters from page to screen, got lazy and left us with a character whose actions became impossible to defend right as the show was ending. I’m not over the way that such a beautifully complex character who endured so much hurt and trauma was reduced to nothing more than a “crazy woman” by a couple of male writers in her final moments. I’m not over the fact that Emilia Clarke put her heart and soul into the character and did everything she could to bring Daenerys Targaryen to life for David Benioff and Dan Weiss to both literally and figuratively assassinate her.

I think those feels have been felt by a lot of Game of Thrones fans since the show ended. God knows I’ve watched enough youtube video essays and read enough articles and liked enough tweets reiterating the sentiment. Daenerys Targaryen was, in my opinion, the best character on Game of Thrones. I wasn’t angry because she didn’t end up sitting on the throne (though my boy Drogon made sure nobody else ever would either and I guess I can get behind that), I was angry because all the balance that made her character so great was thrown out the window in order to progress the story of her male counterpart and bring a show that probably could’ve done with another 2 seasons to an end. Dany has always had a dark side, she is the “fire” that the title of the book series refers to, but throughout the show, we’ve never seen her indulge that side to the point of no return. We’ve seen her wrestle with it and use it to exact punishment on those who deserve it when needs be, and that was part of what I liked about her. Not to go all feminist essay on anyone’s ass but we don’t usually get to see women in TV who are celebrated for their powers of intimidation, and I liked how prior to season 8, the narrative never made female characters like Dany or Arya or Brienne out to be monsters for killing people the same way that basically every single man on the show did at one point or another. I liked that sometimes she was a little excessive because it made sense, she did have “dragon” in her, and she still had lines she wouldn’t cross, clear values and principles; she fought for the innocent, for women and for children, and for freedom. On a personal level, I loved her because we watched her go from a lonely, scared and vulnerable girl to a strong, ambitious and self-assured woman and that was a trajectory I wanted to relate to.

And then all of a sudden, without any justification or build up at all, she’s a mass murderer of the same “downtrodden” people she always claimed to fight for. Fuck, I’m thinking. I literally watched that episode through my hands because I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. When I say I cried on and off for about 3 days after I watched the final episode, I’m not exaggerating; I only need to see a screen cap now a month later or an interview with Emilia Clarke and I’m off again. It literally felt as if I was mourning the loss of a real person. But this isn’t the first time I’ve had this kind of attachment to a character. Daenerys Targaryen was probably just the last in a long list of women I overly identified with.

I’m not much like her at all really, I’ve burnt myself from taking the film off my microwaved lasagne and not moving my thumb away from the hot air in time (lmao), however, I think I saw parts of myself in her journey and traits that I wanted to have, thus, I latched on. Before Daenerys Targaryen there was Spencer Hastings and before her there was Cassie Ainsworth and then if we’re gonna throw it all the way back, there was Hermione Granger (and some other characters I was more mildly obsessed with along the way, Katniss Everdeen, Bree Van de Kamp and Cosima Niehaus, I’m looking at you). I still love all those characters now but when their respective shows or films were actually current, I was completely obsessed. I spent my 16th birthday at the Harry Potter studios on the outskirts of London with my family, forget birthday parties or meals out with my friends. I wished more than anything that I had 2 best friends that loved me unconditionally and I did my best to emulate that drive and intelligence and work ethic everyone associates with Hermione. I told myself I was just like her even though I lacked the confidence to put my hand up in all but one of my classes and last time I checked, was just trying to conquer GCSEs not fight an evil wizard snaked hybrid man or whatever Voldemort is. I identified with the loneliness and the need for control that I saw in Cassie, and was like “oH eM GeE, tHat’s sO mE!” at Spencer’s perfectionism. When I was speeding for my exams (and then, unfortunately, for long after), I felt spiritually connected to that whole Pretty Little Liars arc where Spencer started popping adderall on the daily even though I could really only wish for someone to care about me enough to stalk me like A did and the worst possible outcome of my all nighter was not taking in enough content to bullshit my way through a 30 marker.

They would understand me, they would be my friend. They represent me. That was the baseline sentiment of my obsession. And I think that’s the borderline part of me jumping out. See, such a huge part of BPD is feeling unwanted and misunderstood and forgettable and really, deeply lonely. Like it’s a kind of loneliness I think you feel like an actual person can never really fulfil because the (faulty and not necessarily reflective of reality) thought pattern is that they’ll lose interest and leave you sooner or later. Fictional characters are always there, until the show gets cancelled or the character gets killed off, at least, and then comes the completely disproportionate tidal wave of grief. They exist in a different world too, a one that feels a lot less dangerous (even if it’s actually way more dangerous, I mean I really wouldn’t last five fucking minutes in Westeros) and detached from the often chronically muted reality of BPD.

Then there’s the trouble with the sense of self, part and package of BPD for most, which facilitates, you know, thinking that a genius witch or, like, any character in skins (because in hindsight as great as that show was, WHY DO NONE OF THEM HAVE JOBS YET SEEMINGLY AN ENDLESS SUPPLY OF DRUGS AND PARENTS THAT NEVER SEEM TO CARE WHERE THE HELL THEY ARE!?) resembles you as a person in any way. Though I suppose I’m learning recently as I begin to reflect more on what I enjoy and value, I’ve never had much more than a vague idea of what my positive qualities are, so when I saw them fully realised in a character it was a treasure trove of mannerisms and traits and ways of carrying oneself to adopt. It becomes a mould into which you can squeeze the ball of meh-ness and uncertainty you feel you resemble. Now I’m realising that although it might take me a little more time and a lot more effort, it’s much more rewarding to become the very best version of myself, but back then, I suppose I didn’t recognise why I was doing what I was doing.

I only got diagnosed with BPD and started learning about it when it was 19, so all the years before that were pretty much spent unaware of the reasons why I had these quirks. As I “recover” (I suppose that’s the right word) and I get back into hobbies and spend more time with friends, I feel like I’m beginning to discover more and more of who I am. I’m starting to accept that there are positive things about me and plenty of things for people to like, right here in this world, not some fictional one.

I still love characters way too much and get overly attached and invested in TV shows but even that doesn’t necessarily have to be something to be ashamed of. When I’ve got into *ahem* discussions with people online about characters before, I’ve occasionally gotten the “why do you care so much, it’s not real life!” in response, and I mean, there’s definitely a point to be made if your passion for something is causing you to lash out at real life people with real life feelings. But when you’re not, when it can give you hours of discussion and entertainment and can drive you to make real positive changes in the world too, what’s wrong with passion? There’s nothing I love more than having a conversation with someone who I can tell really loves what they’re talking about, so why should I be ashamed of having the capacity to become deeply invested in things too? I think as long as it’s not taking over my life as I have allowed it to do so in the past, there’s nothing wrong with having passion for fictional things or for anything, for that matter. As long as it’s not something fucked up, like idk, white supremacy or Rick and Morty (JOKING).

I don’t regret loving all the things I loved because being a huge Harry Potter fan for so many years did give me an escape when I absolutely hated myself and couldn’t find much enjoyment in real life. I hope that if I do have children one day, they’ll love it too, maybe not quite as much as I did but enough for it to give them all the joy it gave me, all the same. So in summary, yeah, fuck David Benioff and Dan Weiss (lmao, I’m joking, they’re just shitty original screenplay writers who could probably do with a class or two on how to write female characters), but also, understand before you make fun of someone for being overly invested in something that there’s probably a good reason for it and that, at the end of the day, they’re usually not hurting anyone. I’ll probably still be stanning Daenerys Targaryen and pretending season 8 episode 5 didn’t happen until the day I die. Let me live, okay?

Lauren x

#bpd #harry potter #Hermione granger #Emma watson #cassie ainsworth #skins #gameofthrones #got #antigot #DaenerysTargaryen #daenerys targaryen #emilia clarke

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reivenesque · 6 years

Text

Running in a Serpentine Fashion CH6

Chapter 6: Son

Then Daniel said something that gave Johnny pause. He said; “Can you imagine how different our lives would have turned out if I’d joined Cobra Kai from the beginning and you’d been trained by Mr. Miyagi instead of Kreese?”

It wasn’t a thought Johnny had even considered but now that it was out in the open like that, he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

He couldn’t imagine it at all.

A day and a half ago he was sitting wallowing in his office downing bottle after bottle of orange juice. Never had he regretted giving up drinking until that point in his life but he was adamant about making a life changing decision and actually sticking to it for the first time in his life. The last time that happened, he got married and had a kid and ended up not sticking around like the worthless loser he’d turned into.

Now he was sitting in the dimly lit hospital room at his son’s bedside, listening to the beeping and hissing sounds of the machines keeping him alive.

Robby was still unconscious after the surgery and according to the doctor, would stay that way for at least a few more days.

The blade had caused damage to his colon and small intestines and caused some pretty significant internal bleeding on top of the other injuries he’d sustained in the fight, but thankfully it missed major blood vessels, otherwise he would have bled out even with Aisha’s first aid and before Johnny could have gotten him to the hospital. It was the swift action by Aisha and Miguel and Hawk and Moon coming to get him that saved Robby’s life and Johnny didn’t he’d ever be able to find the words to express his appreciation. He figured he’d start with the truth about his and Robby’s relationship first and foremost, since the revelation had been rather sudden and he didn’t get a chance to properly explain to Miguel before he left with the doctor to go see Robby.

Robby looked almost serene despite being in a drug induced coma. Small favours, thought Johnny. The last thing he wanted was for Robby to be in pain, he’d seen him in pain enough during the tournament to last a lifetime and it was all because of him. He just hoped he get the chance to apologize to his son for everything. For what happened at the tournament. For abandoning him and his mom. For not being there when he needed him the most. For everything.

He didn’t expect to get Robby’s forgiveness; he just wanted the chance to be able to work towards becoming a person who even deserved to earn it.

He reached over to grasp Robby’s hand, bringing it up to rest under his chin and he continued gazing at him. His other stretched out to brush the wayward bangs away from his forehead and lingered for a moment to stroke the side of his face.

He remembered Robby as a kid and all of a sudden he was a grown man standing right before his very eyes. Johnny regretted the years he wasted staying away, hiding like a coward and not being there for his family the way he should have been. Him and Shannon didn’t marry for love – well, they were in love at that moment, drunk off their ass and just happened to be standing in front of a pop up church. A few months later she told him she was pregnant and he stuck around for a while; through the pregnancy and the birth and for a couple of years after that. But then…

Well, the past was the past and Johnny forced himself to shake free from the thoughts. It wouldn’t do him any good. It never did. Instead he forced himself to focus on the present moment. He forced himself to grasp tight onto Robby’s hand and remember that that was the present. That was real. Robby was real and he was right there and he was going to need Johnny now more than ever. And Johnny was going to need him too.

“I’m sorry, Robby,” he said, leaning down to plant a kiss on the back of Robby’s bruised knuckles; his other hand stroking the side of his cheek gently with the back of his fingers. “I love you and I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you, just… please give me another chance. I promise I’ll never let you down again.”

Robby didn’t answer. His eyes remained closed; the rise and fall of his chest was mechanical with every pump of the ventilator breathing for him. Half his face was black and blue and he had a long scabbed over gash on his forehead just below his hairline.

Johnny just waited. He didn’t let go of Robby’s hand even once. He’d never been the most religious of people but at that moment, he started praying.

Nothing happening outside the walls of Robby’s room meant anything to Johnny, only the seemingly endless visits from the nurses and the doctors and the detectives who stopped by to check if Robby was awake to give a statement. Apparently they’d managed to identify three of the five guys that attacked Robby and were currently in the process of tracking them down.

Johnny couldn’t give two rat’s asses about the process; he just wanted to know when they caught the bastards to did that to his son and enforce some Cobra Kai justice on them himself.

But then he remembered; Cobra Kai was the reason he was stuck in that predicament. Why he was always stuck in that predicament. His life ended when he lost to LaRusso in the tournament, but it wasn’t because of the actual tournament, it was everything that had happened as a direct result of the loss. His relationship with Kreese. His relationship with his stepdad had disintegrated further with his mom no longer able to play the peacemaker. The friendship he had with the rest of the Cobra Kai’s that had slowly burned out and fizzled away. That was one of the biggest regrets he had. That and ending up being to Robby what his own father had been to him: just another scumbag absentee dad.

“Johnny?” He looked up at the call and found LaRusso standing at the door. He didn’t know how long the man had been standing there. “Amanda asked me to see if you needed anything. You haven’t left his side in days.”

At first Johnny had to wrack his brain to remember who Amanda even was but when he did he just shook his head, though he was appreciative of the gesture and the thought. “Nah, I’m good.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” he nodded.

LaRusso spared him a look for a moment before he returned the nod and stepped back to leave.

“Daniel?” Johnny surprised himself by calling out to him before he walked away. “You… you wanna stay a while. I guess I could use the company.”

“Sure,” he said with a smile, walking in and taking a seat on the chair opposite of Johnny, on Robby’s left. “They didn’t manage to find his mom?” he asked when he sat down.

“Nah,” said Johnny simply, though his brain was thinking of a few choice words to actually say about the woman but decided against it. “According to the neighbours she apparently went on a cruise with some new boyfriend he picked up in a bar. I don’t know. I don’t even try to keep up with what she’s doing – or who.”

“Poor Robby,” said LaRusso with a sigh.

“Yeah,” Johnny reiterated because there was nothing else left to say. Robby was unfortunately doomed from the start; a useless mom and an even more useless dad. It was a credit to himself that he grew up to be a halfway decent human being. Johnny hated to admit it, but meeting LaRusso was perhaps the best thing to happened to Robby in a long time.

“It isn’t your fault you know... what happened to him. Despite your relationship, you never could have predicted this happening. As bad as Kreese and the Cobra Kais were, this is beyond even their standard of evil,” said Daniel.

Hearing those words coming from his mouth, considering their less than stellar history and Johnny’s own disillusionment regarding the teachings of his own sensei that he once worshipped absolutely, it meant more to him to hear than he expected.

“It doesn’t change the fact that it did happen, and that Robby almost died… and that the last memory he has of me is standing by as he was being brutalized by my own students.”

“Look, Johnny – I won’t pretend to condone the teachings of Cobra Kai and the philosophy of Kreese that you – to be completely frank – stupidly passed onto those naïve impressionable kids. I thought you’d learned something from your own history. But I’m not here to condemn you or even Cobra Kai, I’ve done enough of that to last me a lifetime. But just… you just need to remember that the teaching is only as flawed as the person who teaches it and between you and Kreese… well, I’m not actually sure which one of you is more flawed.”

Johnny understood that the moment was supposed to be deep but he couldn’t help it, he laughed. Then Daniel laughed.

“Damn, LaRusso, that was honestly the worst pep talk I think I’ve heard in my life.”

Daniel didn’t seem at all offended by his words. “Yeah, Mr. Miyagi didn’t manage to pass on that specific skillset,” he said.

“But, I do appreciate it in a weird way.”

“Then I’ve done my job,” said LaRusso proudly. “You know, Mr. Miyagi would have liked Robby a lot.”

“Yeah, I’m sure he would.”

It wasn’t a thought Johnny had even considered but now that it was out in the open like that, he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

He couldn’t imagine it at all.

It was nearly three days after Johnny rushed his son to the hospital before he showed the first signs of waking up.

It was just a small movement at first, so miniscule Johnny almost missed it when it happened.

At first it was just the slight furrowing of his eyebrows as he struggled to surface from the drug induced coma. Johnny stuck close to him, whispering assurances to him that he wasn’t alone. He didn’t know if Robby even heard him or realized he was there.

Then he started stirring, fingers curling weakly and arms moving around heavily; his eyeballs darting around beneath his closed lids. The more aware he became of his surroundings the more anxious Johnny got. He was about a second away from calling Daniel to be there to reassure them both when Robby’s eyes finally opened.

His eyes were glassy and unfocused, barely able to stay open as he gazed around weakly at his surroundings. He didn’t seem aware of Johnny’s presence or the feel of Johnny’s hand grasping onto his. It wasn’t until Johnny called his name softly did his eyes finally turn to focus on the sight of Johnny standing over him.

Everything seemed to happen at once right then. Robby became fully aware of the breathing tube in his throat and the pain that was assaulting his senses at the same time. He began to choke, gagging on the tube, unable to take oxygen into his lungs. His hand reached up weakly to pull the foreign object out but Johnny managed to grab onto his wrist, tugging his hand away.

“Robby, it’s okay. It’s okay, Robby,” he said, reaching up with his other hand to stroke his son’s hair back comfortingly.

Robby had tears trickling down the side of his face and the sight of his broke Johnny’s heart to pieces. He was quickly ushered out the door by the arrival of the nurses and he doctors as they converged on Robby, and he reluctantly let his hand slip out of his grasp before the curtain was pulled and Robby disappeared from his sight.

At some point Daniel joined him in waiting outside Robby’s room but Johnny didn’t notice when he walked up or whether he stayed. His mind was focused completely on Robby, as much as he could with his heart thundering against his ribcage without mercy.

He only noticed when the doctors finally walked out though what they actually said went completely over his head. His only focus was Robby and getting reassurance that he was okay, once he got that, his mind immediately stopped concentrating on the doctor and he rushed back inside the room to be with his son.

He thought Daniel stayed for a while, there was a strange inkling in the back of his mind that someone was around, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Robby long enough to make sure.

It was at least a few more hours of anxious waiting, not once letting go of Robby’s hand, before Johnny’s heart was given the release it so desired when Robby woke up a second time. But this time in little to no pain though the doctor insisted that he stay on the ventilator for at least about twelve hours for monitoring.

This time Robby’s eyes were quicker to focus on Johnny once they opened and they stayed trained on him almost as if Robby was reluctant to believe that his own father was actually there by his side.

“You really scared the shit out of me kid,” he said, putting forward a stronger façade than he really felt on the inside and forcing a small smile onto his face.

Robby looked between his face and the hand still grasping tight onto his and for a tense heavy moment, Johnny was terrified that Robby would pull his hand away in rejection of the touch. But he didn’t, and Johnny let out an imperceptible sigh of relief. When Robby actually curled his fingers around Johnny’s hand, effectively latching on to him just as desperately, Johnny had to stop himself from tearing up like a little bitch.

“It’s okay, Robby. You’re okay,” he said, “I’m here and I’ll be here for as long as you want me.”

Robby didn’t respond, but his shoulders noticeable relaxed and he leaned slightly onto the hand Johnny had cupping his cheek and that was everything Johnny could have ever wished for. He questioned whether to bring up the subject of Robby’s mom but decided against. His son didn’t need the added stress in his condition. Instead, he patted Robby gently on the shoulder and without letting go of his hand, retook his seat by his side. Robby’s eyes followed his descent and Johnny kept his gaze, squeezing his hand once as reassurance that he was real.

He noticed Robby attempting to speak through the tube in his throat and quickly leaned over to prevent him from hurting himself. “Don’t try to speak. Just… Just try to relax, Robby. I know you’re hurting and I know you’re uncomfortable but just… it’s gonna be okay, son,” he said and he realized that it was the first time he could remember calling Robby son, perhaps even, it was the first time he thought he actually deserved to do so.

He didn’t know whether Robby noticed his uncertainty, part of him hoped that Robby was too hopped up on drugs to even realize he’d said anything, but the other part of him wanted Robby to know, wanted him to believe that it was true. He supposed he wasn’t going to get any answers any time soon but he was totally okay with that too, it’d give him more time to work up a response that was less that of a stuttering fool.

But Robby continued staring at him through half lidded eyes that keep drooping and Johnny tried not to show his insecurity so obviously. Eventually he could tell that Robby was slowly but surely losing his battle against sleep and urged him to stop fighting, reassuring him that he was going to still be there when he woke up. It was as if Robby was waiting for the reassurance because the moment Johnny said it, he finally let go of the weak grasp he had on consciousness and slipped away into the dark.

Johnny let out a deep exhale the moment Robby’s eyes slipped shut and his entire body finally relaxed.

Then he just waited.

Tbc.

#johnny lawrence #the karate kid #cobra kai #robby keene #daniel larusso #billy zabka #tanner buchanan #ralph macchio #whump #reiven fics #reiven cobra kai fics #fics: running in a serpentine fashion #intubated

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justjen523 · 7 years

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Teaching You A Lesson (Part 6)

Zyglavis x MC

(Rating E 18+)

So sorry my dear ladies that it has taken this long to post! I did however try to write a longer chapter to make up for all of it.

A Dangerous and Scintillating Wish

“Wait, did you say “anything” I want?” You ask wide eyed and surprised. For Zyglavis to offer such a gift has you completely flabbergasted.

“Anything that I am able to grant that is. I cannot break any laws of the Heaven’s nor am I a genie that will grant a wish for more wishes. That is the rabid Lion’s department, not mine.” His sexy smile and smoky eyes gaze down at you while his long, elegant (and extremely gifted) fingers glide gently through your hair spilled across his duvet. How you craved this touch of his. So gentle yet confident and comforting. You could spend forever under his touch.

It was hard to think of anything when he was looking down at you in a way that made your body instantly submissive. That’s when the idea came to you. It was definitely ballsy but if granted...oh my god. Your imagination starts to run wild and the darker the fantasy gets the redder your cheeks begin to glow.

“And just what is my darling girl dreaming up hmmm?” It was too late, after letting your fantasies get the best of you there was no way you couldn’t ask now. A devious smile stretches your lips as your pupil dilated eyes meet his.

“My wish, I know what I want.”

“Is that so? Then by all means, let me hear your desire little one.”

“You.”

“Me? But you already have me baby girl.”

“Nm-Nm. Not like this. For twenty four hours I want YOU to belong to ME.” His eyebrow raises as his smile widens.

“Oh? My you are awfully confident wishing to own and control a powerful god. And what pray tell do you intend to do with your new toy?” His posture shifts and he hovers over your body, his aura radiating intensely reminding you well of the vastness between the two of you. Suddenly you are reconsidering your wish when he leans in and whispers in your ear.

“Very well. As I am not required for work tomorrow we can begin immediately if you so desire.”

“Y-Yes...I do!” You almost too eagerly accept overly excited at the endless possibilities before you.

“Alright then. What would you have me do my Mistress?” Oh boy now you’ve done it. Zyglavis, The Minister of Punishments himself is now on his knees before you obeying your every command for the next twenty four hours. Those were some big desires and you know you had better back it up with some bigger actions.

“Oh dear...don’t tell me you hadn’t thought this through. Are you sure you are up for this little girl?” His predatory smile quickly reminds you that you are in the realm of the gods right now. This is the big moment, either take the reigns or step down and obediently return to your master. You take a deep breath and center yourself, then you begin.

“I don’t believe I gave you permission to speak let alone in such a displeasing way to your Mistress. We have only just begun and I already have to discipline you? Tsk Tsk, what a naughty boy you are Zyglavis.” You’re wicked smile and perfectly executed words have him back on his knees bowing before you. The excitement you noted in his eyes at your words let you know you definitely chose well when making your wish.

“Seeing as I only own you for twenty four hours and it was your first offense I shall go easy on you. However, that being said, I want you to strip.” You snap your fingers pointing to where you wish for him to move and remove his clothing.

“As you command my Mistress.” He obeys and does so elegantly making you wonder how to do the same in the future as you watch him begin to undress.

“Mmm. Good boy, nice and slow. You are an exquisite gift and something this beautiful needs to be unwrapped slowly.” His eyes lock with yours and his naughty smile has the fire inside you raging wildly. He does exactly as he is instructed removing one article of clothing at a time very slowly and letting it glide off his skin like silk. Once he is completely nude before you your eyes can’t help but take in every inch of the truly heavenly sight before you.

“Seven Hells Zyglavis. You...”

“Is my Mistress pleased with what she sees?” Pleased? As fucking punch. This is what the perfect man looks like in every single possible way. You approach him and glide your hand over his toned arms and torso practically drooling. You have never seen a god fully naked before and now that you are you find yourself actually grateful. It’s almost too much for the human female brain to comprehend.

As you circle him slowly you make sure to cast to memory every single curve, angle and feel of this divine being before you. Your hands explore his entire body out of sheer curiosity and appreciation and you love how well behaved he is being allowing you to do whatever you wish to his glorious naked form. Once you have made your way back to stand directly before him your eyes meet and you smile at how much he appears to be enjoying this side of you.

“Zyglavis....you are....seriously just utterly gorgeous. Perfect in every possible way.” His smile widens sweetly seemingly pleased by your words of approval.

“I know we have a whole different vibe going here but this might be the only chance I ever have to tell you how I truly feel at the moment.” He subtly nods signaling for you to continue.

“To be perfectly honest, I....” You trail off a moment as if you are looking for the right words. His eyes are still very kind as they search yours curiously.

“I’m...I’m so very sorry. This may sound silly but I never thought in a BILLION years I would....COULD ever see you as anything other than my enemy. But look at us now! I...I can’t believe I said such horrible things to you like that. It was such an ugly and immature way to interact with you and it was all because I was bitter about the past.” You’re eyes had fallen to the floor a while ago and they remain there as you reflect on what happened in the past.

“You never deserved that...no matter what may have happened in the past. I hope someday you can find it in your heart to forgive me.” A few moments of silence pass before you hear a response.

“Is it important for you to have my forgiveness?” He asks gently still curious as to why you would wish for such a thing from him.

“Y-Yes of course! I mean....I care about you. I....” You pause a moment before rolling your eyes and coming clean.

“Oh who am I kidding?! Yes it’s important because Zyglavis, I love you. I...I’m IN love with you! And yes, I know gods and goldfish are never meant to be and you only see me as your plaything but....that’s okay. I-I’m happy just being near you. Even if you never love or care about me the same way I just want to spend the rest of my life near you serving you any way you desire.” Now that you’ve actually outwardly confessed your true feelings tears begin to spill from your eyes in relief and bittersweet sadness at the reality of it all.

A moment later you hear a snap. When your eyes shoot up you see the two of you are once again clothed and he offers you his hand. Reluctantly you take it and he smiles leading you over to the couch where he offers you a seat before sitting beside you. You regard him curiously as he makes himself comfortable facing you wondering what is going through his mind.

“Forgive me, the conversation transformed into something that required more appropriate surroundings. I felt it would be much easier to speak to one another about such things this way.” Though he is being friendly his eyes are as unreadable as ever. You just confessed your love to him and you have no idea what he’s actually thinking. You want to ask but think better of it. What if it’s something you can’t handle hearing? What if he simply laughs at your childishness?

“You are assuming the worst. It is simple to see merely from the expression you are wearing.” When you snap to you still can’t find the appropriate words to say and instead you simply say nothing biting your lip. He regards you a moment before responding.

“You are correct, this is indeed the first time in which we have spoken to each other in such a way. I believe it is my turn now to respond to what you have told me.” You take a deep breath, your stomach in knots as you wait to hear what this powerful ancient god sitting before you has to say.

“When you spoke of the past were you referring to the the unfortunate situations that led to me trying to extinguish you?” His face is serious but the way he asks this is genuinely gentle and cautious. You nod in response saying nothing and allowing him to continue.

“I cannot presume to understand the confusion and terror you must have felt during that time as I am a divine being who is immortal and cannot fathom the idea of living a life that is destined to end. I have spent nearly an eternity ruling over and passing judgement upon humans and yet if I am to be honest, it wasn’t until the way you looked into my eyes when you told me that you had never been my enemy that I felt an affinity for your kind. You, a being with every reason to fear, hate and resent me were somehow able after everything you had experienced at my hand, to see past it all and desire to know and experience more.” You can’t hide the tiny smile tugging at the corner of your lips as you listen to him explain his perspective.

“You are utterly fascinating to me. Even as we continued these private encounters of ours you confess to me that not only do you feel love for me and give me your heart for the rest of your mortal life, but you do not even care whether or not those feelings are ever reciprocated. If I am to be honest, it is difficult for me to know how to respond to something so....honest and pure. Not even the noblest gods of the Heaven’s are capable of such selflessness. Your soul is....beautiful beyond words.” His gorgeous grey eyes seem to sparkle under the dim glow of the light above. When he looks at you like this you feel like he can see deep into your very soul. His hand brushes the dangling strand of hair behind your ear before caressing your cheek lovingly.

“I....am forbidden by the laws of the Heaven’s to reciprocate your love. I must not love one human more than any other, I cannot lie with a human. While these laws may not make much sense to you or your kind the consequences should I break any can and would be catastrophic. That does not even begin to speak of what should befall you if I were to do such a thing.” His eyes seem to be looking at something far away as you feel your heart slowly sink. You knew from the beginning this was what was fated to be. It was beyond presumptuous to desire a romantic relationship with a god. What did you expect? For him to break the divine laws for you? A lowly human seen as nothing more than a pet so easily discarded and replaceable?

“I know. Forgive me, it was out of place for me to say such things to you to begin with.” You try your best to keep your voice from breaking as you stare at the seam of fabric on the cushion you are sitting on.

“Do you resent me for saying all of this to you?” His words sound pained yet you know if you were to look into his eyes you would only burst into tears. You shake your head timidly as you continue gazing absentmindedly downward, the tears beginning to pool in your lashes.

“I could never resent you. Especially knowing that you actually care about me. That is more than enough. A mere human should be so lucky to have what we already have shared. It’s selfish of me to want or ask for more.” You offer though your insides are screaming. You love him. You love him so much it hurts. You would die for him without a second thought. He cares about you, but he doesn’t love you. Not the way you love him and regardless if it’s silly you can’t help but feel dejected and heartbroken over it. There’s no holding back the tears any longer. They are spilling over and honestly you don’t care if he sees it anymore. You are hurting inside and regardless if you are only human you cannot help the way you were designed to feel this deeply.

The instant you finally let go the flood rushes forth and you start to sob into your hands trying to hide your face from him. It nearly startles you when you feel yourself suddenly pulled tightly to him and his strong arms wrap around you holding you tenderly. He says nothing but strokes your hair touching you so softly as though you were something very valuable and precious to him. Though it just hurts more to be held by him this way you rest your cheek on his broad shoulder breathing him in and feeling soothed by his comforting and familiar scent.

After several moments of silence pass and you are able to at least stop sobbing, the tears continue to fall silently now slowly soaking his shirt. You don’t want to ever let go. It feels so good to be held like this by him. Seemingly out of nowhere he lets out a long conflicted sounding sigh.

“Fuck it. It is too late as I have already broken one of the Divine Laws the night you told me you were not my enemy. I...already love you more than any other. Human or god. If I am to be punished than so be it.” His arms gently but firmly pull you away so you are facing each other.

“You belong to me and me alone. No other shall ever have you let alone look upon you the way that I do. You are far too beautiful in every possible way for me to ever allow you to leave my side. It is time. Time to make you mine and show you body and soul who you belong to now and forever.” You stare at him in awe and disbelief. Did he really just say what you think he had?

“Prepare yourself little girl. The love of a god is no small endeavor. I will etch my godliness so deep inside of you that your body will yearn for no other. Let me show you the depth of my love for you. Give yourself to me and I swear this to you, I will protect you no matter the cost. Even if it costs me the stars in my eyes, you will always be with me for all eternity.”

-TBC-

#star crossed myth #scm #scm zyglavis #zyglavis #scm fanfic #scm smut

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furieswake · 7 years

Text

The things we hide in plain sight

AO3

Tags: Domestic Violence, Child Abuse, PTSD Summary: Jonghyun is a creative writing professor, who deals with his childhood of domestic violence and child abuse as an adult.

Dedicated to all the lost kids in a seemingly endless black night. This one is for you. For the one kid that needs to read the words “abuse is about the abuser and not the victim,” whether you read this today or find this five years from now, I hope you read these words and know that you did absolutely nothing to deserve this.

Do not give up hope. Life can get better.

This story deals with an uncomfortable truth that we as a society don’t often know how to discuss, that truth being that not all abuse is reported and not all victims leave their abusers.

This is the single most important piece to me that I’ve written. If it helps or resonates with even one person, it is worth it to have written it.

I want to make it very clear that this is a work of fiction about a fictional character, but the events described, well… unfortunately, I did not make them up.

Jonghyun teaches a creative writing class at a small liberal arts college in the city. “I want to show you a photo.” He begins, holding a photo the size of a sheet of paper. It is of a small house in a city suburb. It is daytime, the sun shines onto the house, the sky is clear and bright blue. “What does this look like to you?” he asks. “It’s a house.” a student says. “It’s a home.” another student says “Ah, but how do you know it’s a home, if you don’t know who lives there?” “There are toys right there.” the second student points out the scattering of toys in the grass in the foreground. “Very good. Houses are just places, homes carry emotion. The evidence of toys indicates that at least one child and one adult live in this house. So, yes, you are correct, this is a home. The family that lived in this house in actuality, consisted of two parents, a mom and a dad, and two children, a little boy and a little girl.

The next picture Jonghyun shows is a photo of a family beach day. The picture is old, the color and graininess dating the photo by at least two decades. Two small children wear wide brim hats. They build a sandcastle in the forefront of the photo, their faces are not visible. Two adults sit behind them on beach chairs, wearing sunglasses. They smile, caught in mid-action by an unknown photographer. The image is intimate, it’s candid. “Can you tell me anything about the people who live in this house from this photo? Do they care about each other? Do they love each other? Are they happy?” “No, it’s just a picture, but… they look happy.” someone says. “They do.” Jonghyun agrees, nodding his head.

“What if i show you this picture?” Jonghyun shows a different picture. It is of the same house, but this time at night. A police car is parked in front, the red and blue lights of the police car casting eerie shadows on the front of the house. Several people murmur various answers, shifting in their chairs. Jonghyun nods at their murmured answers, noting their reactions. “Yes, you would think of secrets. That this house had secrets. What kind of secrets do you think this house has?”

Jonghyun continues to hold the photo up. “What if I told you that inside this house, rules were wound so tightly that deviation by even one centimeter meant the little boy and little girl were beaten. Everything and I mean everything has a proper place. There is a right way to do absolutely anything and everything. There is even a right way to throw away trash.” Jonghyun lips quirk into a wry smile. He knows how ridiculous this must sound to an outsider, but if they only knew. “What if I told you that the Persian rug in the front entryway is where the children kneeled for hours and hours as punishment while they sobbed, their eyes red and puffy, their legs going numb and the chicken coop in the backyard…” the room goes deathly silent. “—no longer housed chickens but is used to punish disobedient children.”

“Now, I want to show you the first two photos again. After seeing the third photo, how do you perceive the photos of the house and family? “They’re… the same.” students answer hesitantly. “Exactly.” Jonghyun nods. “Nothing has changed outwardly in the photos. A photo is a snapshot in time, one second that gets immortalized forever and appearances… can be misleading or downright wrong.”

Jonghyun turns away from the class to put the photos down and he slips into a memory without meaning to. He’s six and he and his sister have been punished for god-knows-what. They’ve been locked in the chicken coops outside, relics from the previous occupants. Small wood framed structures, 2 meter cubes, with chain link fencing for walls and hard plastic roof panels nailed to the tops of the wooden frames. It’s a Sunday afternoon and the air in the neighborhood is unusually quiet. Since he’s smaller than his sister, he is put in the one without a lock, the warped wooden door staying shut because it is wedged hard against the uneven earth below.

The children cry and plead, yelling through the chain link fence, but it does no good, they get left alone outside. The air is silent. Sodam sits down, turning herself away from Jonghyun, she blames him. It is his fault they fought and that’s why they got in trouble. Jonghyun feels a heaviness in his chest. He wants to do something about it… anything.

He pushes against the door, throwing his shoulder against it, again and again. “Stop, Jonghyun! You’re so stupid! It’s not going to work.” she says, looking at him through the chain link fence that separates them. Jonghyun ignores her and doesn’t stop, he keeps working at the door a long time with the weight of his small body and it eventually gives. He’s free!

Sodam is surprised and once outside, Jonghyun tries to reach the latch on her door, but it is just out of his reach. He keeps trying, but he can’t get it, even when he stands on his tippy-toes. He grows increasingly frustrated and then he has to make a choice… so he turns around and the look on Sodam’s face as she realizes, will stay with Jonghyun, etched on his mind as a permanent scar.

But Jonghyun is only six and he doesn’t have many choices on where to go. He and Sodam are still locked in the backyard. Parents are supposed to keep you safe, right?

“Umma, please, I’ll be good! We’ll be good!” Jonghyun corrects himself. “I promise. Please let us back in, Umma!!” Jonghyun begs, pounding on the back door, tears streaming down his face.

His escape is short-lived. He is brought back to the same chicken coop, kicking and screaming a few minutes later. This time a cinder block is placed on the outside of the wedged door.

Sodam snaps at him from her spot on the ground, her face twisted into a snarl, her fingers playing with a leaf, “I knew it wouldn’t work.” Jonghyun sits on the ground, he feels so very alone. He wraps his arms around his knees and cries.

Jonghyun swallows as he is brought back to the present. He looks back up to the class, his voice thicker than a second before. “What if I told you that the last photo never happened, the police never came and the secrets of this house remain hidden forever. My assignment to you is write a story about the things we hide in plain sight.”

Jonghyun thinks back to all the times he screamed for help when he was younger, for anybody to call the Police, but not even once did the Police ever come. Not one singular time.

“If you tell anyone, Jonghyun, Umma will go to jail too. Hasn’t she hit you as well? You and Sodam will be put in foster care and you will never see each other again. Is that what you want, Jonghyun? To be all by yourself in life. Maybe, the Police will put you in jail. You’re a terrible child, Jonghyun. You have a rotten black soul. What did we ever do to deserve a demon like you as a child? If it weren’t for you, we would be happy.” These seeds of doubt will breed confusion and conflict in Jonghyun. So, not once after the violence has ended will he ever admit to anyone the extent of what goes on inside their house.

Most people think domestic violence and child abuse is clear-cut, that there is a definitive abuser and there are definite innocents, but that’s not true. Domestic violence taints all the people involved and the innocence of all parties is lost. Jonghyun has raised his own hands against his father; his mother, who he loves more than life has hit and abused him and Sodam; and he has lashed out at both his mother and sister in a fit of anger. No one’s hands are clean.

Would the police take him away? What about his mother? What will happen to him and Sodam?

The class breaks for a brainstorming session and Jonghyun walks around to see if anyone needs help.

“Professor, are the people in your story real?” a student asks a few minutes in, still preoccupied with Jonghyun’s story. “Do you wish they weren’t? Would it make it easier if they weren’t real?” Jonghyun asks. More students go quiet to listen. Jonghyun notices and looks up to address the entire class. “Life is uncomfortable. People are complicated. For every story like this one, there is another story that is much worse.“ “The people in this story are real. It’s autobiographical. The little boy is me and the little girl is my older sister.” Jonghyun admits. “Don’t look so sad!” Jonghyun laughs, trying to shake off the class’ serious expressions. Even worst than the looks of disbelief can be the looks of pity. “It is in the past and I’m here now. No matter what pain you go through, life can get better, you can grow up and leave a broken home, you can leave a bad relationship. Victims of abuse shouldn’t ever feel shame, it was never about them. Abuse is about the abuser and it is them who should feel shame. There is never anything you can change about yourself to stop someone who abuses you. You can’t be more perfect, more quiet, more docile, more anything. I will repeat it again, abuse is about the abuser and not the victim.”

Jonghyun pauses. “Did I ever tell you why I love writing? When I was younger, I loved to read. I would spend hours every day reading, escaping reality, losing myself in the pages of books. In books, you can be anything, you can have any adventure, live any life you want. And in them, I was safe, I was loved, and no harm ever came to me. So, books became my solace, my haven even. It was entirely predictable what would happen in the books I read: the monster would be slayed, the bad guy defeated, and the good guy would always win. What’s not to love? But real life is not fiction and it’s definitely not a fairytale.”

Jonghyun blinks and he’s no longer in the classroom, it’s the middle of the night and he can feel himself jerk awake in the room he shares with Sodam from a loud noise. Their mother sits on the floor holding the doorknob, the night light casting a shadow on her haggard face. “Umma, what are you—” Jonghyun starts to ask. The doorknob rattles, someone tries hard to get in, but the door is locked. The person begins pounding on the door on the other side. “GET OUT HERE, you fucking whore or I will kill you all!” The pounding grows louder as the person begins kicking at the door. Jonghyun sits up, he is paralyzed, he can barely breathe. After some time, the kicking slows, eventually stopping. A man’s voice can be heard. “If you stay in there, I will burn this entire house down and we all can die. Is that what you want?! I will do it, I promise you!” A final kick is placed on the door, before steps are heard walking away.

After a few minutes, their mother motions for the children to come closer. “Jonghyun, Sodam, no matter what happens, stay inside the room, okay? Promise me.” She knows the threat is a lie, but the quickest way to end this without further escalation and risk to Jonghun and Sodam is to comply. She gets up and moves to unlock the bedroom door. “No, Umma!” “No, please!! Please don’t go outside.” Tiny arms wrap around her torso, their bodies moving in front of her to block the door. Their mother has a determined grim look on her face as she pushes them aside. “Promise me.” They shake their heads. Their mother holds Sodam by the shoulders, making her face her. “Sodam, PROMISE me.” Sodams cries, a look of abject pain on her face, but she nods.

Jonghyun does not remember his mother opening the door, but moments after she’s on the other side, a large hand appears out of nowhere, yanking his mother roughly by her hair. “Wow, you really are as DUMB as a cow! I would be doing the world a service if I killed you, so no one has to deal with your STUPIDITY!” the man roars. Their mother is pulled from sight against her own will and Jonghyun starts to bolt to his mother’s aid, but Sodam blocks him, her arm gripping the edge of the door tightly, preventing him from leaving. Jonghyun ends up hitting her. “He’s hurting her!!! Let me go! Sodam, please, let me go!” Jonghyun yells. Sodam grabs his wrist, gripping so tightly that marks appear from her nails, pushing him back inside, her face firm. “NO, Jonghyun!! We promised Umma.” Sodam manages to close the door and locks it as Jonghyun continues to fight her. Jonghyun becomes unhinged as she tries to restrain him. “I hate you, Sodam! I hate you so much!” Jonghyun cries, struggling in her arms. Even though Jonghyun hits her, Sodam’s facial expression does not change, she just is.

Sodam sits them on the floor near the door, flat against the wall. She doesn’t tell him that she thinks this is the safest place for them. If the door gives later, it might buy them enough seconds to get away. They hear shouting and things breaking a few rooms away.

The shouting eventually stops, Jonghyun is exhausted, he fights to keep his eyes open, but he ends up falling asleep in Sodam’s lap. She stays awake… in case, just in case. She wakes him up a little later when she can feel assured that nothing more will happen this night. The children lie down in their beds for a few hours before school, falling into a restless sleep. The next day, Jonghyun can barely keep his eyes open in school and his head hurts from crying so much the night before, but he doesn’t tell anyone why, even when his teacher scolds him.

Over the next years, this same scene will play itself out over and over again. But on the outside, Jonghyun and Sodam are model students, they have a model family. Both children have absolutely perfect attendance in school, never missing a single day, and they do well in their classes. They have plenty of friends, they laugh and they smile often. More happy family photos will get added to the living room wall of occassions, weddings, birthdays, school plays, etc. Photos of happy faces with happy smiles. It is easy during the good times to be lulled into a false sense of security, maybe people can change, maybe it’s different this time, but these periods do not last. The intervals between episodes vary, but ultimately this cycle will repeat itself.

The only difference is that Jonghyun and Sodam get bigger and they get older. They lose the protection their age and size had granted them and they become unwilling participants in the violence.

It is completely arbitrary what will set their father off, Jonghyun will open a cereal box “incorrectly,” their aunt will mention a past suitor of their mother’s, or Sodam will drag her feet while doing her chores.

Small variances to this nightmarish scene will occur, but the end result is always the same. There will be pain, there will be tears, and there will be screaming.

Sometimes, their mother doesn’t leave of her own accord and the lock or door eventually gives way; sometimes, Jonghyun or Sodam run outside and throw themselves in the middle, only to have their father’s wrath turned on them; sometimes, their mother will fight back and one of the children will referee, one hand at their father’s throat, while they block their mother from coming closer.

Sometimes, the abuse is directed solely on one of the children. Jonghyun is forced to stay up all night kneeling for some small indiscretion on the Persian rug in the living room; sometimes, he’s explained to by his father why his father had to hit him. It is the responsibility of parents to teach their children right from wrong, so can’t Jonghyun understand why he deserved to be hit? He was bad and his father is good.

Sometimes, Sodam is the one in trouble and Jonghyun is secretly relieved that it is not him. And sometimes, his father has coaxed Jonghyun into giving her up for some lie she’s told or some mistake she’s made. “Why did you tell, Jonghyun?!” Sodam cries as she looks at him. “I-I…” Jonghyun has no answer. The shame and confusion that sets in is the result of another power maneuvering of their father’s and the smirk on his father’s face, the true sign of evil on Earth.

Jonghyun and Sodam continue to grow up in this broken house. They are used as both punching bags and pawns, brainwashed and pitted against their only allies, manipulated and programmed into thinking that they deserve to be hit.

In the present, Jonghyun blinks his eyes a few times and shakes his head before he continues his talk. The flashbacks have been occurring more frequently and he has a harder time pulling himself back out every time. “Do you know what’s complicated about family? You don’t get to decide the family you are born into or raised in. You have no control in the matter. Your parents are supposed to be your protectors and your home a safe place, but what happens when your protector and tormentor are one and the same? What if you dread going home?”

“I was taught to never ‘air dirty laundry in public.’ How many of you have been taught the same?” Jonghyun raises his eyebrows in a silent question to the class. "Shame can paralyze you, prevent you from seeking help when you definitely should, but who am I to judge, I didn’t. The abuse I faced existed in some kind of gray area in my mind. Sure, I experienced physical violence, I’ve been strangled and held down by a grown man nearly twice my size, but I never had any marks on my body, my abuser was careful. The emotional abuse was much worse and in my case much harder to deal with.” Jonghyun gives a dry laugh, which is jarring and inappropriate to most of the class, but comedy has been a longtime coping mechanism of his, so Jonghyun ignores their expressions.

He clears his throat and continues, “Growing up is hard enough, being a teenager is so difficult, you feel everything so intensely. I know what it feels like to want to hurt someone and in a fit of rage, want to kill someone. I have felt it myself. Many times, I would stand there as my abuser screamed in my face and think there are only two ways this nightmare will end, he will kill me or I will kill him. At the time, there was nothing anyone could say to convince me of otherwise. And when the opportunity came, I found I didn’t have it in me to hurt someone who was defenseless. My heart is too soft, I could not hurt him like he had hurt me. There is a completely different level of viciousness that must exist in a person that would continue to hit someone on the ground, defenseless, who begs you to stop. And I am grateful that of all the things I’ve inherited, that viciousness is not one of them.”

Jonghyun pauses. “From hearing my story, you would think the natural outcome is my mother would have left my father and I would never speak to him again. But my parents are still married and I still speak to my father. Life is more complicated than anyone will ever tell you.”

Now as adults, Jonghyun and Sodam deal with their past completely differently. Jonghyun feels too much. He is still haunted at night, his insomnia a direct manifestation of when it was not safe to close his eyes at night. He imagines phantom hands that strangle him and a shadowy figure that kneels on his chest, pressing him into the ground. He tosses and turns, haunted by memories, sharp pain of what he imagines his own sins to be. How could he have better protected the people he loves? How had his past honesty or actions hurt them? He will remember the look on Sodam’s face as his six-year-old self made the choice to leave her behind. He will remember other instances that bring him shame and his body will jerk as he slips into those memories.

Is he forgiven because he was a child under extreme duress? Yes. But do those memories still haunt him when he close his eyes at night all the same? Yes.

Sodam on the complete other side of the spectrum, feels too little. She’s repressed so many memories of their childhood that Jonghyun sometimes feels he’s the only one who experienced it. Attempts to discuss anything with his sister result in the sharpest rebuke from her. He looks at her now and can only see the impenetrable fortress around her heart where she keeps those feelings and memories locked away. She has done such a good job of suppressing all the things that hurt her that she no longer remembers where she’s hidden the key.

Her refusal to discuss their shared pain makes it unbearably lonely for Jonghyun, but he doesn’t push it. He doesn’t want to make her cry anymore than she already has. He was incredibly lucky to have a sibling to share his pain with and he knows that there are children who have no one, no allies they can talk to. He was so lucky that he wasn’t alone and for that, he is thankful.

The clock chimes outside, indicating the end of the hour already. Jonghyun looks up in a daze, taking a deep breath. “Class is dismissed.” “Thank you, Professor.” Students murmur.

His lecture has affected each one of them differently. The students who had happy childhoods observe his words as if they are watching a film. They try to relate, but can’t get close enough to the subject. The students who feel empathy, they hurt for his past pain, the lost of innocence for the children he and Sodam were. Then there are the students who think he is lying. There is no way it could have been this bad and never reported, so therefore Jonghyun must be exaggerating. Jonghyun has experienced these type of people before and knows that nothing will change their minds. He doesn’t need to bare the most vulnerable parts of him, outline every occurrence in detail, in order for people to understand, he shouldn’t have to. He knows the truth and people can either believe him or not.

And then there are other students, they shut down, neutral faces plastered on their faces like masks as to not give themselves away, their minds running at 200 kilometers an hour. His words could be theirs. They too have been raised to never “air their dirty laundry in public.” Domestic violence, child abuse, addiction, infidelity, broken homes, they understand secrets very well.

“I want your stories on my desk in two weeks please.” Jonghyun says as the students start to leave the classroom.

Jonghun’s pain is his past and it has been years since he’s left that broken house. He has made a sort of peace with it, but he admits, talking about it, makes the monster hiding in the closet come back out.

He finishes packing up his computer bag and leaves the classroom to meet Kibum for lunch. Kibum. Kibum is the essence of light and he does not judge. He holds him when he cries at night, reliving old pain, and stays up with him when he can’t sleep at night. “Abuse is about the abuser and not the victim,” he continues to repeat, taking deep breaths as he walks outside into the sunshine.

Jonghyun is unaware, but in a few days, he will have a debilitating panic attack. He will end up in his doctor’s office at 26 years old, hyperventilating and sobbing uncontrollably.

In between sobs, the doctor can only make out the words, “She… t-told me… to be q-quiet.” Jonghyun will remember his mother hushing him after a particularly bad beating and this memory will push him over the edge he has tightroped his entire life. More traumatic incidents will come rushing out of his mouth to his doctor as he continues to gasp and sob, like a dam that bursts after being under immense strain for a very long time.

Jonghyun will be diagnosed with PTSD and a generalized anxiety disorder. He cannot recall his childhood trauma without physically reliving it. He will be prescribed a host of medications to help him with his anxiety, depression, and insomnia. He will be referred to a therapist, so he can finally get help dealing with the traumas of his childhood and it does.

It helps a lot.

And now, I will tell you a secret of my own… where does Jonghyun end and where do I begin?

So many times, in the darkest of nights, I would cry myself to sleep, feel such utter despair, and truly thought that I would not live to adulthood… but I did and you can too. In a different, better world, this wouldn’t be happening to you at all, but we cannot control what family we are born into or raised in. But your abuse doesn’t have to define you, you can heal after being broken.

This story turned out to be way more grim and angstier than I had anticipated, but I hope to convey to a message of hope regardless. Life can get better and so can you.

And for every child or adult who feels so alone, I see you and you are not alone. If you want to talk or a shoulder to cry on, I’m listening.

#jonghyun #shinee fanfic

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kyndaris · 7 years

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The Hard-Hitting Questions

So, I found this posted on a blog I was following and thought I might break it all down and answer these questions as honestly as I could.

1: Do you try to stay away from walkthroughs?

It depends on the game. Usually, I do try to play through blind but in games where it is best to max stats/ relationships/ unlock codex entries, I will often use a walkthrough so that I won’t miss out on certain scenes or events. Otherwise, the only time I would use a walkthrough is if I were stuck.

2: Company you're always loyal to?

I would say that rather than a company, I am far more loyal to a franchise. Whether that is Kingdom Hearts or Assassin’s Creed.

3: Best game you've ever played?

This is a difficult question as there are many things that make up an excellent game. For me, the best game that I’ve currently played is the Witcher 3. It has all the hallmarks that I adore: from being a role-playing game with active combat, as well as a thrilling story to tell. The runner-up would be the Uncharted franchise that drew me in even when I had yet to own a Playstation 3. The bombastic set pieces and the effective story seemed like a must play for me.

4: Worst game you've ever played?

I can’t quite say that I’ve played many ‘bad’ games. The one game that I could not invest in was Soul Sacrifice. Despite my best efforts, it simply was not the type of game that caught my eye.

5: A popular series/game you just can't get into no matter how much you try?

Oh, let me list the many popular game series in the world that I have yet to try. First and foremost would be the Monster Hunter franchise, followed by Metal Gear Solid, Dark Souls and Resident Evil.

6: A game that's changed you the most?

I doubt that there was a game that changed me the most. There have been games that have made me pause and reflect on the nature of things such as Bioshock Infinite and Prey. Though the most influential game that hooked me on a type of gaming would have been the Shadowrun revivals. I never thought crpgs (computer role playing games) with their asymmetric gameplay would have drawn me in but the mixture of strategy and role-playing statistics slowly but surely drew me in.

7: A game you'll never forget?

The game that I will never forget is Kingdom Hearts. It was one of the first games that I played and it was the one that had me salivating with anticipation. The union of Disney with these strange JRPG tropes was a match made in heaven that I could not help but crave. Most likely due to the fact that I have always been a lover of Disney films.

8: Best soundtrack?

Is it cheating if I simply say Final Fantasy? As in the entire franchise? However, if I had to choose a singular soundtrack, it would have to go to Child of Light. I adored the soundtrack found therein.

9: A game you turn your volume off every time you play it?

After a while, I tune out the music from arpgs (action role-playing games) with its endless clicking and loot drops to lure you further down the track. Some examples would include Diablo 3 and Victor Vran.

10: A game you've completely given up on?

The best example that comes to mind is Soul Sacrifice. After a while, I simply could not click with how the game played. The endless grind for better loot and items based on an ephemeral scoring of performance was more than I could bear and in the end, I traded the game in.

That and Codename STEAM. Mostly due to the fact that there was no tangible reward in the game and the enemies you faced only became more difficult.

11: Hardest game you've played?

I do not often play hard games but the two games that I have yet to complete are Jak 2 and Jak 3.

12: Shortest time you've beaten a game in?

I would say roughly eight to ten hours. It was either the first Uncharted or The Order 1866.

13: A game you were the most excited for when it wasn't released yet?

Back when I was younger and quite impressionable, the game I was most excited for was Kingdom Hearts: Chain of Memories. I told everyone that I met how hyped I was for the game (only to later learn it was on the Gameboy Advance and I would not be able to play it until I managed to sneakily download an emulator), going into clear and crisp detail when I went to Disneyland near the end of 2004.

14: A game you think would be cool if it had voice acting?

This wouldn’t be a game per se but I thought it would be cool if Link had a proper voice instead of his usual grunts. Most games these days have voice acting so it’s hard to peg one down.

Perhaps Pokemon? We have yet to hear the voices of the characters running around.

15: Which two games do you think would make an awesome crossover?

I never much thought about it but it might be interesting to see a crossover between the Uncharted franchise and the rebooted version of Tomb Raider. Lara Croft and Nathan Drake heading on an adventure together, each trying to one-up each other when it came to their knowledge on ancient civilisations. That or perhaps even bringing in a little Assassin’s Creed.

16: Character you've hated most? From what game?

There hasn’t been a character I’ve truly hated in a game. While the Luxord battle in Kingdom Hearts 2 gave me the most grief, I did like that buttery British accent and his stylistic leanings.

Now if we were talking about novel protagonists, I have one clear answer: Quentin Coldwater from The Magicians trilogy by Lev Grossman. If the book series were ever adapted to game form, be sure to find that on the top of my most hated character list.

17: What game do you never tell people you play?

I don’t think there’s a game that I have played that would warrant it being a secret. Gaming itself is almost a guilty pleasure when it comes to conversation and only comes up in conversation with people I know that are fellow gamers or who I know actually dip their toe into the hobby. Otherwise, I keep quiet about my interests.

In saying that, there was a Barbie adventure game on the original Playstation that one of my friends had. We played it together but it was nothing to write home about.

18: A game you wish your friends knew about?

Most of my friends know all about the games that I play since I now post impressions and reviews on my tumblr. But I do think Child of Light and the Danganronpa games are deserving of a shameless plug every now and then.

19: Which game do you think deserves a revival?

Croc: Legend of the Gobbos.

20: What was the first video game you ever played?

I would have to say Pokemon. The first gaming ‘console’ I received was the Gameboy Colour along with Pokemon Blue. I simply had to ‘catch ‘em all.’

21: How old were you when you first played a video game?

Roughly five or six? I don’t quite remember.

22: If you could immerse yourself in any game for one day, which game would it be? What would you do?

That’s a difficult question. I never much thought about immersing myself in a game but rather living in the world of a game. It’s a debate I’ve often had with myself - whether it should be in a far-flung fantasy world or in one couched in reality.

I would say it would have to be a game either in the Mass Effect universe or perhaps the more recent titles of Final Fantasy. I would like to see myself as a mercenary or a soldier but truth be told, I would be out exploring the new world I found myself in or in a menial position out of danger.

But if I could immerse myself in any game for a day, it would have to be an MMORPG where I could focus on the social aspects of it, as well as dive into enjoying the joys of freedom found therein.

23: Biggest disappointment you've had in gaming?

Most of the time I shy away from games that would prove to be disappointing. As a gamer, I like to be informed and so I try to read as many reviews as I can. The biggest disappointment I found came through in my first time playing through Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion. I had high expectations after ploughing through Skyrim.

Another game that proved to be quite disappointing was Kingdom Hearts re: Coded. The worlds were almost an exact copy from the original title on Playstation 2 and even the plot felt recycled.

24: Casual, Hardcore, or in the middle?

I like to think I sit somewhere in the middle. I’m not extremely hardcore but I do like some of my games to have a little challenge (even though I much prefer story to being pounded into dirt by enemies).

25: Be honest; have you ever used cheats (like ActionReplay or Gameshark)?

Back when I first discovered real-time strategy games such as Starcraft and Warcraft, I also picked up a number of cheats to make my life easier. I was not very good at micromanaging when I was eight and the stories seemed to sparkle with an intoxicating allure.

26: Handheld or console?

Despite my numerous handheld devices, I would have to say I am a console player at heart. Most of the time, my Nintendo 3DS and Playstation Vita are played whilst plugged into the power supply. I like to go on gaming binges if there’s ample time.

27: Has there ever been a moment that has made you cry?

There have been a couple of moments. One in my immediate memory came from Tales of Berseria. I felt a strong connection to Velvet Crowe and the struggles she faced throughout the game touched a part of me I had never known.

The first moment when I had the urge to cry came in the ending moments of Kingdom Hearts 358/2 Days. It was only ruined by the terrible line (but after much hewing and hawing over it, it actually made sense in context). Still, I would have rather it have been far more poignant and heartfelt than what it had been.

28: Which character's clothes do you wish you owned the most?

The first thought that came to mind was Roxas. But really, I like most of the clothes that can be found in the Kingdom Hearts series.

29: Which is more important, gameplay or story?

Story is the most important aspect of a game (at least in my opinion). It’s the one thing that keeps me going as I usually find my interest flagging when story is not the main hook. Tetris is good for a couple of minutes but it is not something I would be able to play for eight hours on end.

30: A game that hasn't been localized in your country that you think should be localized?

Obviously the Dai Gyakuten Saiban series. I was severely disappointed to hear that we won’t be seeing a Western release and I sincerely adore all the games that involve table slamming, finger pointing and strange twists on actual legislation.

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mrshopkirk · 7 years

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Unrequited Love (3.1/3) (end)

Well, here it is. The final chapter. I hope you guys enjoy it.

Characters: Steve x Bucky

Summary: Steve has been in love with his best friend for as long as he can remember and he will never stop, even knowing it will forever be unrequited

Warning: swearing, mention of torture, war, heartbreak, death, thoughts of suicide, violence, painful nightmares

Word count: 2887

Author’s note: Thank you @hellomissmabel for proofreading. I love you, sweetheart. I have taken some liberties and am not following the storyline of Civil War. Feedback is appreciated.

If you need warnings added, let me know.

*MASTERLIST*

Previously:

But I’ll try to protect you from that darkness now. I see what you really are, a light in a dark world. They tried to put out the candle, kill the root of the tree but they failed. You’re a fighter, like me, but smarter. You pick your battles carefully whereas I blindly punch and kick, waiting for you to guide me. I am no good without you. No matter what weapons they ever trusted into your hands, your hands were only made for caring. And I give you my all, my love. I place it in your hand. I don’t care if you hold it with your soft, warm right hand or the cold, tireless, dangerous left one, I trust you. And I’m begging for your forgiveness. Please, forgive me even though I’m too stubborn to actually ask you myself.

Now

The nights at the tower are awful. Everyone tries to act normal around Bucky so he doesn't feel like more of a freak than he already labeled himself. But the truth is they fear the gut-wrenching screams at night. At some point or another they have all found themselves in the hallway facing his door. Sometimes they fall asleep waiting until Steve emerges again after he has calmed Bucky down. They feel helpless listening to the torturous sounds of Bucky who is trapped in his own mind.

The one person that is always there is Nat. First because she wanted to make sure that Steve had back-up should he have to fight off the Winter Soldier. After a while because she wanted to make sure Steve knew he had a friend waiting for him outside that door. And after that because she wanted to help Steve pick up the pieces of his broken heart. She prides herself in being able to read people and while waiting on the cold tile floor of the tower she found a hidden chapter in the book of the life of Steven Rogers. Her stoic face doesn’t reveal anything but she’s figured it out. She found his weakness and his strength, Bucky Barnes, the love of his life.

“You know,” she gently places her hand on his shoulder while walking him back to his room, “times are different now. You don't need to hide this kind of stuff anymore.”

He whips his head at her but immediately knows there is no point in lying to her.

“Yeah, I do, Nat,” he sighs. “I need to hide it from him.”

“But-“

“No, Nat, he doesn't know, he never will and he will never feel the same.” He’s trembling, exhaustion and a lifetime of burying his feelings taking over. “I’m so tired, Nat. I’m trying to hold on but I’m so tired I just want to let go.”

It’s the only night in his life Steve Rogers ever slept in a woman’s arms. The night Natasha Romanoff’s frail frame tries desperately to keep him from falling apart in a million pieces so he can get up in the morning and pretend that nothing is wrong.

Since his search for Bucky, Steve has always wondered if he’d go to heaven or hell. If it was God or the devil that answered his desperate pleas in those dark forests where he had forsaken his soul. He understands now. He’s already here. He’s already in heaven and hell right now. Life with Bucky is heaven and hell.

Be careful what you wish for, his ma once said. It might come true.

God and the devil kept their promise. They let him find Bucky but they denied him his love.

Some mornings Bucky doesn't say a word simply because he lost his voice from screaming for hours on end. Everyone hopes Steve’s presence calms Bucky but the truth is, it doesn't. Most of the time he doesn't wake up, doesn't acknowledge his presence. He is stuck. Stuck in his mind, stuck in his past, stuck in Hydra’s web, twisting and turning to free himself but the bed sheets just tighten around his body like restraints tying him down. The only thing Steve can do is free him from the bed sheets. That's all he does. And listen. Listen to hours of endless cries of his name. Bucky’s screaming for Steve to come and get him, to rescue him like he did before. He screams profanities at his handlers. Fights like a lion telling them to bring it on with everything they got. Begging them for death the next moment. Begging with a quivering voice to not use the machine followed by piercing screams, hours on end, repeating Steve’s name over and over again. Night after night Steve sits numbed next to Bucky on the floor.

The worst night of them all was a quiet night though.

“Why don't you come for me, Steve?” Sobs are heard in the hallway. “Have you forgotten me?”

Steve has been sitting slumped against a wall all night. Just like all other nights, deeming himself unworthy to enjoy the comfort of the couch while his friend relives all his nightmares as if it weren't enough to experience it once. He doesn't find the strength in him to walk over. He crawls to his friend’s side.

“Never. I have never forgotten you. How could I? You and I, we’re together till the end of the line, Bucky.”

“Steve? Steve, are you here?” His voice sounds horse. Steve turns on the little light on his bedside table and feels a calloused hand on his cheek. “Steve… You're really here.” Tears roll down Bucky's face, making the dark circles under his eyes glisten in the soft light and he smiles. “You came for me. I knew you would.”

Steve puts his hand over Bucky’s and leans into his touch.

“Can I get you something, Bucky? Water?” He gently sweeps Bucky's wet locks of hair from his face, obscuring it like a tangled web.

Steve makes his way to the door only to already find a tray with some crackers and water. A smiling Nat gives him wary a thumbs up. The rest of his friends are standing there tired and broken but with a somewhat relieved look on their worn out faces.

Bucky's nightmares diminish a little after that night, the night that changed the outcome of his past, the torture he endured. While he still screams and trashes around he somehow knows deep down Steve is there to help him wake up. He knows they are dreams. Steve is reality. Steve is good. Life can be good again.

Every night he asks Steve the same question.

“Will you stay with me?”

And every night Steve watches Bucky fall asleep.

My darling, if you knew how I felt, if I told you, would you stay? Would you still look at me the way you do now? We have both changed so much. There are so many new things I have to learn about you. I curse the time we have spent apart. I curse myself. You're the one I want to grow old with. See our bodies crumble, tired lines etching their way on our faces. I want to watch your body grow weak just as I saw it grow strong and I'll still worship it. You're beautiful in every shape or form. I was there when you turned from a caterpillar into a butterfly. I saw you after they tore off your wing and forced you to crawl at their feet, your beautiful colors buried under the dust of the catacombs.

At least that's what I thought you were, a beautiful butterfly. But you proved me wrong. You're not frail. You're meant for a longer life, for more than just a life in the sunshine. You're a Phoenix. You rise from the ashes and fly higher than ever before. You leave everyone in awe. They knew. Those fuckers knew. You are not a man to be brought down. They couldn't even handle you at your worst. I don't think I want to know what you can do at your best. You're starting a new life by arising from the ashes of your old one. You will create your own life now, write your own story from now on. I'll gather some of your ashes and keep them with me. I'll mourn over what I have lost but rejoice that you have been set free.

If you need to be reminded of who you once were, come to me. If you want company in your journey to find out who you are now, I will come. Please, let me come. I want to be part of you, all of you. Don't leave me behind even though I deserve it. After all, I left you behind once too.

“The right one? Who are you? Steve?” Bucky chuckles at Nat’s words. Who in his right mind comes up to a recovering Winter Soldier and asks if he's met the right one yet.

“Well, was there one? The one?”

He stares ahead blankly.

“I would have remembered by now, wouldn't I?” He looks at her. “I started remembering the most important people in my life in Bucharest. My ma and pa, my sisters, Steve and his ma. Part from that, a string of pretty faces and half naked bodies.”

Nat cocks an eyebrow and rolls her eyes in mild disgust mostly out of loyalty to Steve, an action missed by Bucky. He misses a lot of his surroundings when he focuses on remembering and memories.

“If there was a special girl I would have remembered her by now.” He turns his head to her and shrugs. “That's what I think anyway.”

A lopsided smile shows on his face and he shakes his head.

“If there ever was a special person in my life, it's Steve. He was always there, never ever let me down, never,” he stares at Nat intensely. “And I let him down so many times. I left his side so many times and for what? Some nameless pretty piece of flesh. He's been nothing but good to me. Best friend anyone could ask for.” The distress in his voice is obvious. He isn’t able to control emotions just yet.

Bucky is in that place where Nat likes her prey. That vulnerable place, their thoughts so focused they let down their guard. That’s when she strikes, quick and deadly. This is the time, the opportunity she needs to seize.

“So… he's the one for you?” She tentatively asks, knowing this is still a touchy subject for men from the forties, social prejudice embedded deep in their minds.

“He’ll always be the one,” a sincere but cocky smile on his face, the hardship of the life he endured softening for only a moment, “but not like you mean. I love him, more than I will ever love someone, more than I ever thought I could love someone, but I'm not in love with him.” He mauls over his words for a moment and Nat is patiently waiting him out, still hoping against hope. “I’ll stay by his side though, you know, till the end of the line.””

Nat looks him in the eye all the time, making sure she doesn’t miss a thing, doesn’t miss the hint of a lie but she comes up with nothing. It is the truth he's telling her. The naked cruel truth. It’s love, Nat thinks. True love. Jut not that kind of love. And Steve deserves more, more than Bucky can give him.

“What if you meet someone, a girl?”

“Girls are the last thing on my mind, Nat. Hydra did a good job at wiping out a lot of things they deemed unnecessary for an assassin. They made sure I didn’t want anything, that nothing could… happen.”

He casts his eyes down in embarrassment, at the admission of something so private, at the memory of the painful procedure Hydra enjoyed performing. He knows he can tell Nat. She understands but it still hurts to say it out loud.

It’s why he doesn’t care about naked women, about sex scenes in movies. It does nothing to his body. There is no desire. No need. No want. It’s why he can’t figure out if there’s maybe something more about Steve. They were always together and he remembers the touch of a man’s lips on his. Was it Steve? He’s afraid to ask because if there ever was something more, he doesn’t feel it anymore.

Bucky remembers some things now. Steve patiently answers any questions Bucky has about anything, everything, trying to piece back together his life. These things include girls. Of course they include girls, Steve thinks. They will always include girls, enough girls to last a fucking lifetime. He definitely fucked enough girls to last a lifetime.

“Steve?”

“Hm?”

“Did I,” he clears his throat. “Did I ever kiss a guy?”

Steve stiffens, an action that doesn’t go unnoticed by Bucky.

“Never mind. I just-“

“Yeah. Yeah, you did. Just a one-time thing though,” he sighs.

A heavy silence settles between them. Bucky keeps throwing sideway glances at Steve, trying to figure out why his friend is upset but only coming to one conclusion, the most obvious one.

“So… uh, you’re opposed to that?” He cautiously asks. “To men being together?”

Steve shakes his head laughing at the wry irony of it all and does what he does best. He looks at Bucky and opens his heart this one last time, savoring the pain that comes with feeling the love he holds for Bucky, his Bucky that will never be his.

“No, Bucky. I think love is a wonderful thing, no matter who loves who. I never once thought it was bad, not even in Brooklyn when everyone thought it was just for perverted minds. Neither did you I may add.”

Bucky stares in the distance, giving Steve free reign to look at his features. They’re just as majestic as they were when they were growing up together. His jawline, the little dents in his ears, the long eyelashes, his skin a bit more tanned than his own fair one. They still have him mesmerized. And those long, soft, dark brown locks he has now. They make Steve’s heart flutter in his chest. What he wouldn’t give to run his hands through them. Just once. Tug at them. Just once. Burry his nose in them. Just once. Once.

“Why do you ask?” He just needs to know now. Afraid the subject will never be brought up again, even now when the times have changed.

“I had a vague image of a man kissing me, but I,” he sighs and his brows are furrowed. It pains Steve every time he sees it happen. He wants to tell him everything will be okay even if it’s the biggest lie he would ever tell.

“I didn’t know whether it really happened. Or when. Or who it was.” He blinks rapidly, trying to remember but failing. He turns to Steve, wanting to complete the memory, own it again. “Was it…uh, you?”

Steve forces a small forced smile on his face. “No.”

Bucky inhales deeply, not sure whether to feel relieved or disappointed.

“Some guy by the docks. That’s all you ever told me. I don’t think you knew who it was either.”

“Great,” Bucky chuckles, “kissed a total stranger by the docks.”

“He kissed you first actually.”

“I wasn’t even in charge, even greater,” his shoulders shaking with silent laughter. After a few moments he turns to Steve. “Do you know why?”

“You said you wanted to try it. It was new, exciting, and adventurous.” He sighs.

Steve replays that evening in his mind. He has done that many times over the years, thinking about the looks Bucky gave him and him biting his lip. Pretending it was for him, that he wanted him. Steve imagines it was him running his hands over Bucky’s arms at the docks. If he tried hard enough, he could even smell the salty water and hear it splashing against to dock. He only kissed Peggy to know what it feels like to have soft, warm lips pressed against his own so he could better pretend it was Bucky kissing him. It is the only thing he has that comes close to loving Bucky and he smiles thinking about it for the first time with Bucky sitting so close to him.

He closes his eyes and lets Bucky’s smell engulf his senses, feels his friend’s body radiate against his own skin. He’s here. He’s really here. He’s close, so close. I could touch his hand if I wanted too, he thinks. Slowly he opens his eyes, realization dawning on him. Bucky was never afraid to hug him, as a friend, but still it was hugging nonetheless. All these years in this new world, he has been deprived, and has deprived himself of physical contact. The only time he has held someone for longer than a hug was the night he spent with Nat. Steve longs for warmth. He craves it. He looks at his fingers, slowly moving on their own, inch by inch making their way cautiously over to where Bucky’s big calloused hand is resting on the ground. Just a touch. Just one touch. But it isn’t meant to be. It never was. Bucky’s voice sets his hopes and longings on fire, burning them in a fire so violent that nothing but ashes is left.

“I’ve had the hands of so many men on me, hurting, cutting, hitting” Bucky stares in the distance, “I don’t want a single man touching me ever again.”

Without missing a beat, Steve answers, the irony and sarcasm completely lost on his friend. “Don’t worry, Bucky. I’ll personally make sure no man will ever get near you.”

Bucky smiles at him, his friendship is unconditional. Requited.

Steve smiles back, his love is unconditional. Unrequited.

Ma was wrong after all, Steve thinks to himself. His heart is indeed big, but there isn’t room for anyone else. Bucky has claimed it all. Even after more than 70 years, it still belongs to him and only him.

Taglist: @callamint @laterthantherabbit @aubzylynn @you-and-bucky @harleyqueen7 @beccaanne814-blog @hardcorehippos @ursulaismymiddlename @buckyywiththegoodhair @hellomissmabel @blacwings-and-bucky-barnes @abovethesmokestacks @eve1978 @winterboobaer @howiseethesethings @thatawkwardtinyperson @emilyevanston @s8sense

Stucky tags: @bone-of-my-bones

Broken tags: @brokennoone @10kindsofderp

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