#same for my knee when i lightly scratched it with the broken metal ring of my converse?

[hearth-of-olympus]

.

[imaslutforremusandsirius]

Mutual longing

It’s 03:43 and I missed writing James, uf i love this one

Warning: 18+

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Oh, James is a breathtaking sight. With his dark hair and twinkling eyes, his tall toned body and charming smile. His smooth voice and irresistible accent. He is the whole package.

Lost in thought you imagined him fucking you against the wall, his big hand over your mouth to contain your moans as he pounded you aggressively-

„Hey“ Lily chirped, leaning over the table to give you a friendly hug, „Sorry I‘m late, head girl shit.“

You hugged her back, acting as if you didn‘t just imagine getting absolutely railed by the fellow head boy.

„Don‘t worry ‘bout it. Haven‘t been long anyway.“

Lily rolled her eyes and gave you a teasing smile.

„Knowing you, you probably showed up fifteen minutes early to be polite. You can give me shit you know, I deserve it.“

You laughed lightly before you furrowed your brows dramatically and held up a finger much like Professor McGonagall when she lectured the marauders again.

„Lily Evans you little shit. Hopefully you will have a long dreadful nightmare for the shit you put me through!“

Lily smirked at you and nodded, impressed with your choice of words.

„That would be James trying to hug me again, so no thank you.“ She clapped her hands. „Right, lets start.“

You couldn‘t help but think of just how fucking hot it would be to be in James‘ strong arm. Breathless moans and impatient hands tugging down your skirt. His hands all over your body, slowly moving down towards your-

Fuck.

---

Sometime during your meetup Remus appeared and sat down with you. Then came Peter. With him Sirius and of course James.

„I swear Black if you don‘t shut the fuck up“ Lily said forcefully, very close to yelling, „I‘m gonna beat your stupid face with this book!“

Sirius’ wand fell from between his clenched jaw, he was trying to impersonate a growling dog, and he rolled his eyes.

„Calm down, Evans. Besides, Remus would totally not appreciate that, considering my face is number one in his list of“, he cleared his throat theatrically, „Reasons why Sirius Black is the most enchanting being I‘ve ever fucked.“

Remus, already used to Sirius‘ crude remarks, just continued to read his book, his index finger tracing shapes on Sirius‘ palm absentmindedly.

„I agree“ Remus mumbled, missing the way Sirius blushed and melted with his next words, „Sirius is enchanting.“

Sirius, content with the attention he got, leaned his head against his boyfriends shoulder and finally shut his mouth. Lily smiled gratefully at Remus, who send her a wink, the corner of his lips pulling up slightly to show that he had said it on purpose. Not that they needed to know just how accurate Sirius had been with the list.

You threw a glance at James and saw him engrossed with his potions textbook, lips moving silently as he read through the pages. Taking the time to admire him from up close, you watched how his brows would furrow and ease up whenever he worked out a problem, how he would bite his lip in concentration or scratch his nose and push up his glasses when they slipped down his nose.

Truly handsome. Sex on legs.

Fuck why can‘t he just touch you already.

For someone who flirts on the daily he sure was oblivious to girls who were actually interested in him. And not gay, unlike Lily, who literally had a pin on her bag with the lesbian flag on it.

Might get a pin with “Fuck me James“ printed on it. Maybe then he‘ll know, you thought bitterly.

You had already planned a whole color scheme for the pins when a foot nudged your shin under the table and forced you out of your head.

„Need help“ James whispered and slid his worksheet over to you, „Please?“

Oh hell yes. No need to beg, Potter.

„Sure“ You said, congratulating yourself for sounding confident, „Give me a min.“

Reading through the question your took a moment to think about the answer, scribbling it down yourself instead of telling him. You weren‘t sure how long you could gaze into his eyes and act like you didn‘t have wet dreams about him.

Satisfied you looked back up and noticed him already looking at you, or more specifically your mouth.

A devilish idea crossed your mind. Oh, yes.

Acting as if you were still thinking, you bit your lip softly, tracing your bottom lip with your tongue to leave it glistening pink. James swallowed, hand loosening his tie and he lowered his head with blushing cheeks.

„Here“ You smiled, gently sliding the paper back to him and shivered a little when your fingertips touched.

His fingers had to business being so close to the top of the sheet, considering he was sitting across from you and could have just grabbed the bottom part. Hope flared in your chest when you saw him just as taken aback by the touch and you basked in the radiant grin he shot you from under his mop of hair.

Your stomach swarmed with butterflies and you let out a small breath, thighs clenching.

Oh James.

„I should get going“ You said after a while, not in the mood to study anymore.

James‘ head whipped up and he got up as well, packing his bag in time with you. Your eyes widened in surprise, but you refrained from making your excitement too obvious.

„Yeah me too, I‘m tired. Goodnight.“ James rushed and gently pulled you along by the strap of your bag.

The others just grumbled in response, Sirius fast asleep and drooling while Remus waved his hand dismissively. Lily muttered a quick, „I‘ll join in a few minutes“, which actually translates to hours.

Since the others aren‘t here I could have some alone time with James.

Oh shit, there goes your brain. It was really creative when it came to imagening James‘ moans, considering you never heard them before. Or his dick. Fuck.

You silently made your way upstairs and sadly it was an awkward one. Frankly you blamed James for being so hot that you literally had no clue what to say, not knowing that he thought the exact same thing. Sure he is all for, „Everyone can wear what they bloody want“ and he had proven that point by wearing skirts multiple times, but fuck-

You in that skirt has to be criminal by some kind of law right? Has to be a sin in some kind of religion? And don‘t get him started on your lips-

James shook his head to get rid of the mental images and focused on his breathing. Praying that you wouldn’t see his boner.

Somehow you had made it to the empty common room and turned to each other at the same time to say goodnight. Both of you had not considered the distance between your faces, which proved to be extremely short with your noses bumping painfully.

„I‘m so-“

Your words died down when James kissed you hard, his big hands - oh those big, callous hands you‘ve been dreaming about for weeks finally touching your cheeks to pull you impossibly close.

Stunned by his sudden desire to kiss you, you pulled your head away to look into his face and what you saw made you smash your lips on his and his back against the wall.

His quiet, absolutely submissive noises shot straight into your blood and you press your hips against his to hear more of it. His arms were wrapped around your neck, hands buried in your hair as he opened your legs with his knee to press his thigh between your legs.

The rough fabric of his pants made you shudder and your hands slid down his upper body until you got to his cock. James head sank against the wall with a dirty moan as you put your hand in his pants to touch him. Shit, his skin was so soft and hot and he already has precum on the tip.

James lips met yours sloppily as he pushed you backwards onto the couch and sank down between you legs on the ground, moving your feet to rest on the cushion. He clearly didn‘t have any more patience in him and made quick work of pushing your panties aside to rub his fingers against your soaking entrance.

„Come on, James“ You moaned, bucking against him when he finally pushed two fingers inside.

„Mmm look at you“ James groaned out, leaving kisses along your inner thighs and let out wanton sound when your cunt clenched around him.

You didn‘t care about anything but his fingers fucking you at this point, whining when the cool metal of his ring pressed against your clit. You jerked at the hot sensation of his tongue curling around your clit, greedily sucking your pussy lips into his mouth.

„Oh James!“ You whimpered breathlessly, pulling his face so close that his nose was smushed against your lower belly, feeling the vibrations of every moan he let out shoot directly to your cunt.

Pulling him up by his hair you kissed him again, panting into his open mouth when he kept pistoning his fingers into your cunt.

„Please let me fuck you“ James begged needily, brows pinched in longing to feel you around his throbbing cock, „Please I can‘t wait anymore!“

Instead of answering, you pushed his pants down with your heels and trapped him between your legs. James hissed in relief when he felt some kind of friction on his cock and eased himself inside.

„Oh“ James let out a broken whimper, head thrown back in sheer bliss, „Feel so good.“

You couldn’t answer, way to enamored with the way he stretched you open so deliciously, watching his cock push into your body. Oh fuck, the sight was so dirty and crass and yet you couldn‘t take your eyes off him.

„James“ You gasped with difficulty, „James please ‘m‘gonna cum!“

James bend your legs so they were over his shoulders and pounded you harshly, face screwed up in ecstasy with the way you cried out his name. Your moans cut off only to be replaced by sobs when the tip of his cock hit your g-spot over and over again.

„Yes yes yes“ James chanted, pressing his forehead on yours to stare at your dazed expression, „tell me how you feel!“

Your shook your head quickly, signaling him that you couldn‘t possibly form a coherent sentence, but his persisted.

„Tell me how you feel!“ James hissed, thumb suddenly on your clit and you broke.

„Good good so fucking good“ You cried, latching on his body to encourage him to fuck you harder.

„Prove it“ James moaned brokenly, „Cum for me!“

His other hand wrapped around your delicate throat and squeezed firmly, making you tip over the edge and cry out your release. James‘ orgasm made him tremble so violently that he couldn‘t hold himself up anymore, collapsing on your chest with a deep throaty whimper as he filled your cunt with his hot cum.

„Fuck yes“ James ground out, hips still pushing in and out of you, like he couldn’t bear the thought of stopping. He raised his head to watch you, his pupils still dilated, pink lips quivering with aftershocks.

James looked absolutely wrecked and satisfied. He stared at you as if staring at a goddess, nuzzling close to hear your heartbeat.

„You okay?“ James asked quietly and tucked himself back in to help you clean up.

„Yeah, perfect.“ You grinned, letting him help you up and pull you towards his dorm.

He gave you a playful smile, but you saw the slight nervousness in his eyes.

„Stay?“

God, yes. Finally. Fuck those pins, who needs them.

„Yes.“

[daisybeewrites]

July — d.j.

for @dreamcxtcherr ‘s 3k writing challenge. congrats lena!!

word count: 1.8k

warnings: mention of car crash/death, mention of alcohol consumption, daisy cries, i think thats it lmk if not!!

ship: R x daisy johnson

okay y’all… first ever anggstttttt!!! i’m way too excited about it. if you want a fully immersive experience, i recommend listening to july by noah cyrus slowed + reverb

(gif uncredited on pinterest (ugh, i hate that. credit a gif if you use it!! im trying to find the owner)) update — found owner

It was another mission. Another nightmarish fire-fight where you almost lost a limb, almost lost a friend, almost lost your life. Twenty-four hours later and you’re back home, safe.

Well, as safe as you can be when your engagement is on the verge of breaking off.

You stare at the simple ring on your left hand. White gold band, a tiny amethyst set to the left of a diamond. There was a nearly identical one lying next to the sink, the only difference being the switched places of the glittering gems.

You know she didn’t do it purposefully. You had both been exhausted after what was supposed to be an in-and-out mission turned into a hostage situation. Daisy did what she always did as soon as you were home — take off her gauntlets, wash her hands in the sink, grab a snack, and hop into a steaming shower.

But you still can’t stop yourself from staring at it, eyes fixed, hands shaking, breath held and mind racing.

You used to join her. You would wash each other’s hair, ease each other’s sore muscles with delicate touches on tender purple-black bruises. She would lean into you, letting you braid her hair and falling asleep in your arms, drifting into a deep slumber. It was intimate, lovely; it was normal and perfect.

Taking a sip of your room-temperature beer, you slide off the cool granite of the kitchen island. You had a new routine after missions now, you just had to get used to it.

You hear the shower shut off, bare feet pad into your cosy bedroom, and the door shut with a loud creak. The minute squeak of the mattress tells you that Daisy flopped into bed.

A ghost of a smile lights your face. It looks more like a grimace, you think, as you check your distorted reflection in the green glass of your beer bottle. Chucking the empty bottle in the recycling, you run a hand through your dirty, salty hair. The comfy sweats you changed into an hour ago would need to be washed, the dirt still adorning your skin rubbing off on the black material. You exhale before heading down the hall towards the bathroom.

The tiled room is filled with steam, the mirror fogged up so that only a blurry outline of your silhouette could be seen. You are unrecognizable.

How fitting.

The quick, cold shower you take does nothing to ease your mind or body. You wipe the mirror in a circle, taking out a first aid kit.

With all your cuts bandaged and the proper creams Jemma had snuck to you and Daisy applied to your fresh bruises, you headed into the hallway in your towel.

Daisy is standing in the kitchen, lilac lounge shorts you bought her last Christmas showing off her tanned and scarred legs. She looks warm and soft, a very different Daisy than the superhero who had broken a mob boss’ legs just hours before. Her hair is wet and in braids. You frown. You always braid her hair.

If she hears you, she doesn’t turn around, so you take a moment to admire her. Ten seconds, that’s all you give yourself. It was a stressful mission, if you stare too long she might snap. From the back, you can’t see the dark circles you know are there, but you can see the tension in her shoulders and the slight tilt of her head as she ponders what to eat.

You say nothing as you go to the bedroom to change. You find a black pair of SHIELD sweats and an old, holey t-shirt you vaguely remember stealing from Fitz. A presence at the doorway catches your attention.

“Hi,” Daisy says tentatively. Your breath caught in your throat, your lungs holding the air captive until Daisy spoke again.

“I missed you.”

Your eyes widened. Maybe tonight wouldn’t end with one of you on the couch, clutching a six pack while the other cried as quietly as possible, tucked into cold, lonely sheets.

“Braiding my hair, I mean,” She clarified. Her fingers twisted together, rigid posture giving away her nerves.

The air felt humid, as if the open window had suddenly sucked all the AC out and let the mid-summer heat in. Your memory flashes to the last time you and Daisy had a normal, happy conversation.

The edges are fuzzy, but the pure joy in Daisy’s chocolate eyes is clear. Fairy lights strung haphazardly around the living room, a movie playing in the background, your lips on hers. Blankets make a ceiling over your head that shut out the rest of the world, this moment was only for you two. You played with the thin metal band on her ring finger, she ran her hands through her hair. Her matching ring scratched your scalp lightly. You both smile as you pull away. You whisper childhood stories, laugh at the funny parts and offer melancholic smiles at the not-so-lighthearted parts. You were happy.

That night you got the call — Lincoln Campbell, yours and Daisy’s best friend, had wrapped his car around a telephone pole coming off of a long shift at the hospital. His blood alcohol was almost .40.

Eggshells littered the house from the time you got back from the funeral. One wrong word, Daisy would snap and spend hours punching a bag until her fingers bled. You would fill those hours with whatever was closer — wine or your car keys. You pulled yourself out of your head, realizing you should answer her.

“I missed it, too,” You breathed.

Daisy made a small, unintelligible noise before collapsing against the door frame. You froze for only a second, your mind racing through possibilities. Was she bleeding internally? Was it her back again? Did she get shot and not notice until now?

You leap over to her, catching her as she crumbles to the hardwood floor.

A quiet sob wracks her chest. Your hands hover over her slouched back, unsure how to comfort her. At this moment, Daisy feels foreign. Her sudden vulnerability alerts you to how she’s been holding her emotions in for god knows how long.

“Daisy…” You start, hesitantly.

Daisy hiccups loudly, another wave of tears washing over her.

“Tell me to leave, I’ll pack my bags,” Daisy cried, “But I don’t, I-I don’t want to lose you!”

Burning tears gather on your lash line, threatening to fall at her words. You never could stand to see Daisy cry.

Your brows furrow slightly in confusion before you realize what Daisy is talking about. After Lincoln’s death, you two had fought increasingly more often until Daisy locked herself away or spent the night at May’s, and you went for drives until your car ran on empty. On those nights, bottles of wine disappeared from the cabinet without a trace.

Daisy sits up, stamping down her sobs, seemingly resigning herself to the fact that you aren’t going to say anything. Her trembling lip and red eyes pierce your heart. The astronomical distance between you two seems atomic now. You reach out quicker than lightning, shushing her cries and rubbing her back.

“Do you want to go?” You asked after a while. Your knees dig uncomfortably into the floor, your shoulder hurts from the ridges in the doorframe.

Daisy sniffles, her hair falling into her face as she looks away. You crane your neck down, carefully tucking her hair behind her ear.

“You know I’m afraid of change, I guess that’s why we’ve stayed the same,” You sigh, your chest constricting and squeezing the broken glass pieces of your heart.

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself to continue, “But if you want to find a new life, someone who loves you better than I do, darling, I understand.”

Daisy is still frozen, stare burning holes in the floor. You’re glad that the two of you are at home, the poly-tectic adaptive materials hidden between the walls keeping the house from collapsing. By the slight groan of the foundation, you can imagine Daisy could bring down a mountain with the amount of pain she’s in.

Which can only mean one thing.

“I’m not enough,” You stated. It wasn’t a question. You glance down, a glint in the low light cast from the lamp on the bedside table catching your eye. She has her ring on…

Daisy finally, finally shakes her head ‘no’. You let go of a breath, guilt building every second that passes. She isn’t happy. You shouldn’t be happy that she’s staying.

“Feels like a lifetime, we’ve been trying to get by while we’re dying inside,” You say, gently.

Daisy snaps her eyes to yours, a desperation in them you recognize as grief.

“So much of the past year has been consumed by grief. We never took time off, we never talked about it. I’ve done a lot of things wrong, loving you being one,” She whispers.

You nod, there is no denying that you each had a part in getting to where you are now. Delicately, you grab her hand. She squeezes it, a rush of small vibrations traveling up your arm. Your chest flutters at the familiar affection.

“So have I,” You assure her. She gradually falls towards you, exhausted. You let her rest her head on your shoulder, her breath evening out as her arms wrap around you. You feel hot tears flow down your face, fall onto her hair. Slowly, you pull Daisy closer to you.

Hours later, the sun peeks over the top of the mountain range in the distance. You had adjusted the two of you sometime around two a.m., no longer able to feel your legs from how the floor cut off your circulation.

Sometime around three, you had gathered the courage to move Daisy to the bed, trying hard not to wake her. She had only turned over and not let go of your hand.

You haven’t slept at all tonight, thoughts spinning until you force yourself to pause and count to ten, only to repeat the pattern.

You know what you have to do. You know what’s best for the both of you. You’ll leave, pack your bags and find a place to stay until you can scrape up enough money to rent an apartment. You’ll go to therapy, learn to live without Lincoln, without Daisy. Eventually, Daisy will heal, too. You both have the team at your backs, no matter what happens. She would be okay.

But you know you won’t. The fear of losing Daisy, of losing your life, your home, yourself stops you. You can’t move on. You can’t move forward.

You know that the big changes it takes to heal could cost you Daisy. So, you stay the same. You give into fear. You’ll never be enough, never love Daisy right, never quite heal fully — and neither will Daisy. But you still stay.

You’ll always stay the same.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ahhhh how was it? did you love it? any feedback? want more? put any thoughts/feelings/questions/concerns in the comments or my ask box!! i really enjoyed writing this and i hope you enjoyed reading it even more!!

<<3

[fancifulwhump]

i’m a simple bitch who likes seeing jaskier get kidnapped and geralt having to rescue him lmao

AN:   as you ask, so shall you recieve.   protective geralt going from beast-mode to soft??  that’s my jam, dude

In Geralt’s complete defense, the risks of leaving Jaskier unattended — of which past experience had proven were many — really paled in comparison to a Devourer attack.

Rather, an attack by multiple Devourers, at the same bloody time, with the tenacity of a pack of wild wolves. The flesh-craving beasts showed little interest in a Witcher’s mutated blood. They wanted human flesh, and human alone. A reign of terror stretching on for weeks before Geralt happened upon the poor mining village in the mountains made that clear enough. People could no longer venture from their homes without risk of being torn to bits by a sulking monster. Geralt’s arrival was a blessing to them. Jaskier’s presence — for, having hit a creative dry spell, he'd been following Geralt for the last few weeks, to “fan the flames of inspiration” — was just convenient. 

Geralt never liked using the bard as bait. This had nothing to do with any moral qualms; any time Jaskier involved himself in a kill, things got complicated. He simple had a talent for getting in the way. Trouble was drawn to him like a magnet; rather than avoid it, the idiot almost seemed to invite it. Geralt tried to keep Jaskier out of the way during jobs because bailing him out of danger was more trouble than any amount of coin was worth.

That, and he’d rather not see his companion be mauled or swallowed whole by a monster. 

Sometimes, however, Jaskier’s presence during a job could actually be useful. Like it or not, Geralt had to put him to work.

“This isn’t my first time playing irresistibly seductive meat-sack, you know,” huffed the meat-sack in question, carefully fastening his lute to a pack strung along Roach’s side. When Jaskier looked up at Geralt, his eyes glittered. Whatever thrill he got from being in mortal peril, it was probably worrying. “Practically used to it by now. Could make it a profession. Thank the gods I’m here, too, or what else would you have done? Picked up a nice, juicy steak from the market, and dressed it up like a toddler?”

Geralt snorted, unsheathing a dagger from his belt. It was a small, silver-bladed thing — better for throwing than stabbing, though it could be useful at close range. The hilt was almost too small for his hands. In Jaskier’s, it fit perfectly.

“Only if you need it,” he said. Jaskier gripped the blade, eyes wide with fascination, before nodding and tucking it into his own belt. “Quick slashes. If you have to stab, stab deep.”

Of course, Jaskier couldn’t fight, and he certainly didn’t stand a chance against a monster… but at least he wouldn’t be completely helpless.

So, Jaskier was sent on ahead, and did what he did best — played the oblivious fool. Only when he’d blustered along the mountainside for about ten minutes, leading Roach along as the Witcher silently trailed them both, did their plan show signs of success. In the distance, a few rocks shifted. Pebbles rolled down the mountainside. The faint trill of birdsong went quiet.

Jaskier had been humming to himself, but his voice cut off abruptly. His head raised; he glanced around. That was all he had time to do before a blur suddenly shot out of the cave, launching itself at him.

And another, and another — more than Geralt expected.

In a few swift bounds, he was in the middle of the fray, cutting Devourers down in midair. This was just enough time for the bait to make his escape. With the battle begun, Jaskier leapt on top of Roach and sped off — “somewhere safe”, Geralt had told him.

So maybe Geralt was the fool, for assuming the hapless bard could look after himself. At any rate, he trusted Roach to keep Jaskier out of trouble; the horse always had more sense than he did, anyhow. 

An hour, maybe, or less — that’s how long it took for Geralt, covered in Devourer blood and a few new scratches, to follow the trail his horse and companion left, only to come up empty handed. Not being able to hear Jaskier’s annoying caterwaul was the first sign of trouble. Coming across a lute in the bushes, smashed and abandoned, was the second.

Picking up the remnants of the familiar instrument, Geralt’s hands tightened around the wood; he sighed through his nose, barely able to restrain his own frustration.

Served him right for letting Jaskier near his bloody horse... and letting them both out of his sight.

Witcher senses were better honed for tracking than even the most astute hunter. It also helped that the bandits didn’t bother to cover their tracks well. The left a trail of broken twigs, snapped branches, and footprints behind them. However much of a head start the group — Geralt counted five sets of footprints, maybe six — had on him, it didn’t take long to track them down.

Even so, it took long enough. Too long.

He could smell the blood before the noises reached his ears. Perhaps the senses hit at the same time, and he just didn’t register; as soon as that metallic tang hit his nose, all-too-familiar, Geralt saw red. Blood meant nothing on its own, but this blood held a familiar scent — he’d recognize it anywhere. It was as familiar to him as that annoying voice, or that smirk any time Jaskier said something he thought was particularly funny. Blood could belong to anyone, but Jaskier’s blood was his, and Geralt could smell a lot of it.

Blood, and noise, and shouting — not Jaskier’s voice, but a stranger’s rough tone, spitting venom in a language Geralt faintly recognizes. A horse’s frustrated wail. Sharpening blades. And underneath it all… a strangled whimper.

Geralt found the bandits’ campsite.

As for whatever happened at the campsite… well, he couldn’t be held responsible.

By the time the last of the thieves took off running into the forest, stumbling over himself in horror, the bandits’ camp was utterly quiet. Before his body hit the tree, the big one had been making an awful lot of noise. So was the quick one, when he hissed at Geralt and tried to draw his sword; thankfully, Geralt was quicker. Now, in the silence, with nothing but his heavy breathing as he came back to awareness, Geralt could see everything.

Roach was unharmed, tied to a tree. She stomped her feet as Geralt came closer, as if applauding his quick work… but Geralt’s attention turned in a second, from her to the other side of the clearing. Silence reigned there as well, and it was unnerving. 

Jaskier was never silent. Jaskier didn’t know how to be silent. 

The figure slumped against the base of the tree, chest bound with rope and head bowed, did not make a sound.

The stench of blood grew overwhelming the closer Geralt got. He had to force himself not to focus on it. Instead, he honed in on Jaskier’s heart, beating a steady rhythm in his chest. Not faltering, not stuttering — he was alive, then. Unconsciously, a sigh of relief escaped Geralt, loud in the silent woods.

Then he saw the blood staining a head of dark hair, trailing down Jaskier’s jaw.

“Shit.” Immediately, he dropped to one knee, hand finding his companion’s shoulder. The battered captive’s face scrunched you in pain when Geralt gripped it. “Jaskier. Hey! Jaskier.” Unwilling to hurt him any further, Geralt shook his companion lightly. “Wake up.”

It was just enough — or maybe the pain from Geralt’s touch pulled him back into wakefulness. Jaskier stirred, head sluggishly rolling on his shoulders. For a moment, he struggled to lift it, as though his skull were filled with lead rather than gray matter. When he finally managed, he blinked sluggishly up at Geralt, pupils blown wide. Concussion, then, Geralt thought, and had to bite back another curse.

“Ah hah — the mighty Witcher!” Jaskier’s head fell back like a doll’s; still, he offered Geralt a wide grin. His teeth were stained with blood, from the busted corner of his lip. “Knew you’d come for me. It was only a matter of time. Caught about half that fight, I think. Just half. Til you threw that one lad down the hill.”

Was it any surprise that even half-senseless, Jaskier still didn’t know how to shut up? Geralt just took it as a good sign that he was talking. While the bard blathered on, he busied himself checking Jaskier over for further injuries. His shoulder was probably dislocated; he’d have some colorful bruises in the morning; there were a few deep scratches along his face and bare forearms, like he’d been dragged through brush…

“Mmm. Geralt. Hey.” Jaskier’s movement was sudden — like a marionette unable to control his own limbs, his arm raised, landing heavily on Geralt’s shoulder. When Geralt looked up, Jaskier’s head was lolling to the side. He seemed to be putting in a valiant effort to stay awake. Half opened eyes remained trained on Geralt, warm with an emotion Geralt could not name, but left him feeling immensely guilty. He should have gotten here sooner. He shouldn’t have let Jaskier out of his sight in the first place.

“Look,” said Jaskier — and, very deliberately, nodded towards the thug still crumpled at the base of a nearby tree. The tree’s trunk had a dent in it. Geralt wished he’d thrown him harder. “In the pockets,” insisted Jaskier, giving Geralt a weak push of encouragement.

Bemused, Geralt made his way over; hoisting the thug’s body up by the back of his jacket, he shook him out for any spare bits. A shower of gold pieces greeted him, along with a pair of rings… and a silver-bladed dagger, stained with blood. Geralt lifted the familiar blade, frowning at it. When his gaze turned to Jaskier again, a grin, bleary but proud, greeted him.

“Jus’ like you said,” Jaskier slurred, then let out a dry crackle of laughter. “I stabbed ‘im deep. And they did not appreciate that, let me tell you —“

“Damn it, Jaskier,” Geralt muttered, hand tightening around the blade.

Yet another mistake to tally for the day. Giving Jaskier a weapon was supposed to keep him out of trouble, not damn him deeper.

Without bothering to clean it off, Geralt rounded on Jaskier, blade clutched in his hands. Jaskier’s unfocused gaze tracked his approach with obvious effort. However hard he was trying to stay awake, he was fighting a losing battle. Even so, not a flicker of fear crossed Jaskier’s face at the sight of a hulking Witcher, advancing with a blade in hand.

Geralt cut Jaskier’s bonds in a few quick strokes. As soon as he was no longer bound to the tree, Jaskier slumped forward. It took Geralt’s quickest reflexes to lurch sideways, catching him before he could hit the ground. A dead weight in his arms, Jaskier let out a small moan.

“What is it?” Geralt demanded. As he shifted the injured man into an easier position, Jaskier inhaled sharply, face twisting up in pain. Another groan sounded through clenched teeth, but a second later Jaskier forced a strained smile.

“Kicked me in the chest — more than once.”

Geralt didn’t need to test the statement any further. As gently as he was capable of being, he eased Jaskier back against the tree. Broken ribs would be more of a headache than all of Jaskier’s other injuries combined, but hopefully he didn’t shatter so easily. Human bodies were so fragile; Geralt saw it every day, of course, in the remains of men torn apart by monsters. Seeing it firsthand was different. Seeing Jaskier, of all people, wounded and in pain… something in Geralt’s chest was drawn tight, like a clenched fist, and the more his companion swallowed back sounds of pain, the tighter it got.

“Better get you up, then,” he muttered. Jaskier nodded, face still screwed up. A long moment passed before his hand tightened on Geralt’s shoulder, and it took yet another moment before he managed to hoist himself upright.

Finding his feet was another challenge. Geralt did his best to offer support without brutalizing Jaskier’s injuries further. No sooner did he pull himself up, however, than Jaskier began to teeter. When his gaze slipped out of focus, Geralt’s arm twined around him. He caught him just as Jaskier’s knees began to buckle.

A yell shattered the illusion of quiet around them, ripping through Jaskier’s body like a physical attack. As fresh pain rippled through his chest, he shoved away from Geralt, who released him without protest. For a moment, it seemed certain that Jaskier would topple. His breathing heavy, each gasp an effort that nearly knocked him sideways, he finally managed to find his feet. Wide eyed, he gazed at Geralt, twisting a protective arm around his chest.

“I’m — I’m okay.” Jaskier put a hand up. “I’m fine. But next time — next time I fall, Geralt, don’t bother catching me.”

Geralt arched an eyebrow. In response, Jaskier shook his head. “I can manage on my own.”

And to his credit, he did. He managed to get on Roach, at least, and the horse carried him back the rest of the way. Jaskier didn’t lose consciousness once, no matter how his head lolled or his senses drifted. Geralt didn’t mind the slurred ramblings, weaving their way through utter nonsense. Only when Jaskier went silent did he worry. Each time, he looked up to find his friend fading, blue eyes half-shut, head falling against his shoulder. Geralt gave a bruising pinch to the flesh of his arm, and Jaskier awoke again.

The nearest inn was a night’s ride from their campsite, and it was getting dark already. By the time they made it back, there seemed little sense going any further, especially with Jaskier in his state. He fell into his bed as soon as Geralt had it laid out on the ground, and did not have the energy to raise his head, even when Geralt offered him a sip of much-needed water.

“‘M fine,” Jaskier muttered. His muted tone suggested he was anything but; Geralt wouldn’t argue, though, if rest was really what Jaskier needed. 

“We need to set your shoulder,” he remarked, keeping his voice low for Jaskier’s benefit. “And clean the blood from your head. That wound ought to be bandaged.”

Jaskier nodded along slowly, as thought everything Geralt was saying made perfect sense. His eyes were closed, expression unchanging, so however much he really understood was anyone’s guess. Frowning, Geralt took the liberty of wetting a cloth himself. Hesitating for just long enough to wonder which decisions in his life brought him to this point — to caring so deeply for someone so easily breakable, so human — he set the cloth against Jaskier’s bloodied face. As the grime was sponged away, Jaskier could not help but sigh in relief.

“That’s the stuff,” he muttered. “All I need. Just… rest, Geralt? Can we? Is that okay?”

Geralt considered him for a moment. “Yes, Jaskier. We can rest awhile.”

This was all he needed to hear. Jaskier smiled, setting his head back down on his pack once more; as his eyes drifted shut, Geralt fought off an instinctive flash of worry. Hand tightening around the damp cloth, he brought it back to Jaskier’s face, and continued cleaning the remnants of that bloody encounter.

Next time they faced down monsters, he might think twice about letting Jaskier out of his sight… but no matter what trouble he fell into, Geralt would always be there to pull him out.

[langdxn]

cute without the e | emo!jim x reader

the ship: emo!jim x reader

the song: taking back sunday - cute without the e

the summary: emo!jim wants to try out a stereotypical kink

the mission: cheer up my beautiful wife @shenevertricks1831​. i hope this helps baby!

warnings: vigorous sex, knifeplay (/razorblade-play), bloodplay, squirting, dom!jim, cockblocking sandy, mention of self harm, slight fluff if you squint

word count: 2.1k

“Mom, please, keep your voice down,” Jim pleaded in a gravelly hushed tone, nervously twisting his lip ring with the tip of his tongue.

“I will not keep my fucking voice down just because you brought a girl home,” Sandy hissed, hands flailing in the air as her means of expressing her blood boiling beneath the surface. “And quit playing with that fucking lip ring, you look desperate.”

Sandy was always aware how much her words hurt her son, but they still poured unfettered from her lips like diluted poison. Her fierce protectiveness of Jim only intensified with every day that passed without Phil, her life force aimed at the defence of her son in exchange for the wasted efforts on saving her marriage.

“I really like her, mom,” Jim’s gaze dropped awkwardly to his feet, hands weaving through his choppy black layers. “She’s a great girl.”

“I don’t care about your bullshit excuses, Jim Mason, you sound like your fucking father talking about his stupid whore.” Her snarls through pursed lips and gritted teeth skewed her face into that of someone Jim didn’t recognise. Someone Jim didn’t want to keep fighting against.

“Believe what you want, mom, you need to go and calm down,” Jim’s defensive palms flew into the air between him and Sandy as he backed tentatively through his bedroom door, clicked it closed and swiftly sliding the lock.

“I... I guess you heard all that, huh?” Jim sighed, collapsing onto the bed beside you and wearily wiping his eyes, oblivious to the smoky black smudges he created as his fingertips swept across his thick eyeliner.

You sat cross-legged atop the duvet, tugging at the loose threads on your jeans, the thin knee holes you chopped into the black denim fraying recklessly like your sanity mere moments before Jim burst into his room. “It’s okay, Jim. These things happen.”

“I’m sure your parents don’t call me a whore when I come over,” he blinked back tears, weaving his fingers through his hair, poker straight and a deep black that shone electric blue in the sunlight.

“Parents don’t understand and they never will, they haven’t grown up the same as us. They haven’t sat through an entire Taking Back Sunday record and fought back tears.”

Jim pouted, twirling his lip ring.

“Sorry, Jim, I should go—“

As you stretched out your legs to leave, Jim grasped your thigh.

“Please, don’t go,” Jim hummed softly, leaning in to plant a light peck on your cheek before bumping his forehead against yours. “Don’t let her spoil this.”

You swallowed thickly, focusing on his I fingertips digging into your jeans, his chipped black nail polish sinking comfortably into the denim. Your gaze wandered up his form, lingering on his AFI shirt you bought him for his birthday. You paused at his lips, his black lip ring sinking into his mouth as he chewed down nervously. Journeying up to his eyes, deep and piercing like the boundless waves beyond his bedroom window, they stared back at you warmly.

“Come here, princess,” he husked, cupping your face with both hands and drawing you in for a haunting kiss, his lips consuming yours with a hungry intent, sitting up to tower over you and deepen his infinitely passionate embrace. He mumbled into your mouth with a low growl, “I want you so badly.”

“What if your mom hears us?”

“Good thinking,” Jim hummed, smiling against your lips as he reached for his phone in his back pocket. With a few blind taps, somehow without breaking your kiss, his bedroom speakers broke into song.

Your lipstick, his collar, don't bother, angel

“You’re such a fucking emo,” you chuckled into his mouth, tugging his shirt before parting from his lips to cast the black cotton across his room.

I know exactly what goes on

“You love it really,” he giggled with a quirked eyebrow, decimating your shirt in the same manner and leaving his fingertips lingering impatiently at the top your studded belt. “Almost as much as I love you but much more than I love these fucking jeans that I can never get off you.”

When everything you'll get is everything that you've wanted, princess

Rolling your eyes and curling the corner of your lips, you battled with your buckles and zips as Jim practically drooled over you stripping for him. Laying back against the pillows to slip the denim past your hips, Jim gulped uncomfortably and cleared his throat.

Well, which would you prefer?

“That’s it,” he growled, gripping your jeans and sliding them past your knees before slithering between your thighs. “Stay just like that, baby girl.”

My finger on the trigger or me face down, down across your floor?

Anticipation hitched in your throat as his one hand lay gently in the valley of your pelvis, the other grappling his length from beneath his jeans. Cursing himself for putting on three studded belts that morning, he finally battled himself free and proceeded to run his tip over your clothed folds, gradually dampening at his mere presence.

Well, just so long as this thing's loaded

“Jim,” you husked through gentle gasps, hips rutting frantically up to him. “I need you inside me.”

And will you tell all your friends, you've got your gun to my head?

“Not just yet, be patient for me little dove.” Jim fixed a soft peck on your forehead before diving over to the bedside cabinet, tucking into a drawer and retrieving a small gleaming razorblade. Your breaths stilled as you clocked its flawless silver sheen, reflecting beautifully in the bayside sunset beaming into his room.

This all was only wishful thinking

Pinching the blade between his fingers and spinning it idly in his grasp, a devious grin crept across his full lips, his gaze darted back to your eyes to discover the glint of fear in them.

And will you tell all your friends you've got your gun to my head?

As much as you trusted Jim, he’d never wanted to hurt you before and, holding a shimmering razorblade above you, it certainly looked like that was his intention.

This all was only wishful thinking, let's go

“Can I…” he trailed off, not sure how to describe his intentions. Hovering the blade over your breast, he traced a small letter J in the space just above your skin, moving to your other breast to mime a letter M over it. “Is that—“

Don't bother trying to explain, angel

“Of course it’s okay, Jim,” you smiled contentedly once he’d explained his idea. Resting your hands around his waist to signal your willingness, Jim breathed a sigh of relief and leaned in to kiss you. “Be gentle with me, yeah?”

I know exactly what goes on when you're on, and

“Always, baby girl,” he cooed softly, one hand swiping aside your panties and pressing his leaking tip at your entrance, the other lightly sinking the blade into your chest just enough to feel the cool metal shock your skin.

How about I'm outside of your window?

Jim had worked out his positioning meticulously in the moments he’d hesitated — marking just beneath the light red rubs of your bra lines, where your cup would conceal his initials once you dressed.

Watching him keep the details covered

“Ready?” His excited intonation poured through his broad grin. As you nodded tentatively, he rocked his hips forward and slipped through your folds while swooping the curve of his J into your breast, leaving you hissing through gritted teeth. Years of self harm taught him how hard to push down on the razor to make light chicken scratches that delicately weep crimson, the small swipe across your skin gathering a soft bead of blood at the edge.

You're such a sucker for a sweet talker, yeah

The searing shock of the cut sent a bolt of pleasure down to your core, a fresh wave of arousal flooding around him as Jim buried his length inside you. His eyes widened, blown with lust and a sadistic streak you hadn’t seen on him before. Where his hips had rolled carefully into you at first, his pace now quickened as he growled under his breath, gazing lovingly at the wound and plowing into you as your blood gathered.

And will you tell all your friends you've got your gun to my head?

“Jesus fuck that was hot,” he moaned, casting the razorblade to your side as he anchored himself with both hands curled over your shoulders, pulling you down as he curled his hips and rammed his cock against your walls. His gaze couldn’t part from the slash, the single droplet now racing across your chest leaving a glistening red trail in its wake. “It looks beautiful, you look beautiful.”

This all was only wishful thinking, this all was only wishful thinking

“Li—like what you see, baby?” You stuttered through broken pants, his furious pace stealing your breath from your lungs. His satisfied smirk widened, pounding into you ruthlessly in response, soft hums leaving his lips with every thrust.

The only thing I regret is that I never let you hold me back

“Oh yeah I do,” he mused, leaning down to lick a clean stripe over the wound, sweeping the gathering crimson beads onto his tongue and groaning gratuitously as the metallic tang shocked his tastebuds.

Hoping for the best just hoping nothing happens

His eyes nearly popped from their sockets as he leaned back to take in the view before him — gazing down at his girlfriend, spread wide open beneath him, your breast bleeding ever so slightly — a wave of insatiable hunger for you washed over him.

A thousand clever lines unread on clever napkins

“I love you, I love you so fucking much,” Jim gushed, fixating on the wound so hard it was almost as if he was addressing the J carved neatly into your chest, bouncing with every snap of his hips. “You know that right?”

I will never ask if you don't ever tell me

“Kinda got that when you started carving your initials in my tits, Jim,” you joked, raking your nails down his back and raising your hips to meet his.

I know you well enough to know you'll never love me

“You... you just get me,” he trailed off as he hammered against your walls, his persistent aim tightening a burning coil deep in your belly. “You know me, you understand me like nobody else.”

Why can't I feel anything from anyone other than you?

“So hurry up and finish it before I cum, Mason,” you pleaded through breathy moans, your spine keening eagerly toward him with every thrust, an inch away from the hollow ache of the coil in your gut snapping. His own climax wouldn’t hold much longer, noticing his base frantically twitching between your folds.

And all of this was all your fault, and all of this

Jim obliged all too happily, reaching for the blade again and leaning down to press a jagged M into your other breast, concealing the shock of the slash with another sharp snap of his hips.

I stay wrecked and jealous for this

The heat from the fresh cut once again sent a jolt of arousal through you, this time an overwhelming tsunami that left you gasping as you came over him.

For this simple reason I just need to keep you in mind

“Fuck Jim, I’m… I’m—“

As something larger than life

As Jim reared his hips back, the room filled with sinful squelching, realising you’d squirted all over him as your fluids came gushing through your folds. A deep growl erupted in Jim’s chest and he quickly pulled out, pouring his release over your abdomen and crying out with every spurt over your pale skin.

I stay wrecked and jealous for this

Your chest heaved relentlessly through your aftershocks, panting as you gazed down at the new scrawl on your chest. Jim’s stare fixed on it just the same, waiting until he rode out his own orgasm before leaning down to latch his lips onto the crimson droplets from your second wound.

For this simple reason I just need to keep you in mind

Moaning greedily as the coppery taste filled his mouth, Jim smiled against your chest and planted a kiss over his last initial.

As something larger than life

As the music faded around you, Jim pulled up to capture your lips in a lingering, grateful, haunting kiss.

“Baby girl, that was…” he hummed into your mouth, cut off by the sounds of his mother’s voice shrieking in the hall.

“Do you two think I’m deaf or something?”

[starlightinhumanform]

Power and Control

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Ships: Familial Dark Sides (Anxceitmus)

Summary: Virgil has gotten used to living with the light sides, in fact he quite likes it. But when one of Logan’s experiments goes very wrong, he remembers where home really is.

Warnings: Moderate Language Throughout, Description of Blood, Loss of Control, Memory Loss, Imprisonment, Mentioned Animal Death (Please, please tell me if there’s anything I need to add). 

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort 

A/N: Started off as a vent fic, turned out as... the dark sides being a tight knit family? Writing this really helped me work out some of my internal angst and I hope this can at least entertain you while we get through this uncertain time. Please be careful though— this fic is a lot darker than my usual writing and I would hate to trigger or upset someone. Stay safe and healthy. I love you all 🖤✨ (P.S. Deceit’s name is Ethan in this)

Ao3    Fic Masterpost    Fic Request Info

Virgil woke up to blood dripping out of his mouth. In fact, it was everywhere; gurgling at the back of his throat, coating his tongue, crusting at the corners of his mouth as it flowed over his lips and merrily ran over the curves of his jaw. The fountain finally ended at his hands, congealing in his palms. As his gaze followed the trail of blood, he noticed with a start that one of his hands gripped a raw and ripped hunk of meat. It must have been the source of the blood but why he would have it and, even worse, why he would put it anywhere near is mouth simply made no sense. It fell from his fingers but he didn’t even notice the sickening squelch it made as it hit the floor.

Virgil’s hands were shaking . He felt numb and cold and sick all at once. It felt like every cell in his body was trying to tear in a different direction. Except maybe his stomach. Those were working on condensing into diamond and then forcing their way up his throat, sharp corners scraping along the sides the whole way up.

He was on his knees and the cold gray concrete he sat on was eating through his jeans and gnawing on his skin. He bent forward, retching and coughing and suddenly very very aware of the thing around his neck. It was cold. Definitely metal. Definitely a collar. Leaning forward, it pressed against his throat and only increased the coughs that were shuddering violently from somewhere deep within Virgil’s body. He couldn’t help but scratch at it, slippery fingers useless against the smooth metal.

“Hello there, little beast. We were wondering when you were going to wake up.”

Virgil jerked his head up and was startled to find two other men in the room. Well, if you could call this a room; it was far more like a dungeon. It was a bleak box of concrete, entirely gray and without any source of light except for the open door at the opposite side from Virgil. On the wall behind him, a chain led from a ring and attached to the thing around his neck.

And in front of him... two men stood only feet away. Only feet away but still out of reach. The one who had spoken looked down with fascination at the huddled mess of Virgil. The other was berating him, growling at the taller one for calling Virgil a beast. If Virgil hadn’t already been coughing he might have choked out a laugh. An animal was exactly what he felt like.

“Hey there, Virgil. You had us worried for a second,” The smaller of the two knelt down in front of him. His voice was soft and his gaze dripped with pity as his eyes ran over Virgil’s body. Half of his face was patterned by scales, like something off a snake. It should have been repulsive but somehow it was so familiar.

He shuffled slightly closer to Virgil and slipped the gloves off of his hands. The man reached out with trembling fingers, shushing him quietly as if that would dissuade Virgil from bolting away. Luckily for the other, Virgil couldn’t have moved if he wanted to; between the chain and the convulsions shuddering through his body, he may as well have been sewn into the ground.

Shaky hands ran through his hair and Virgil’s mind was snapped back into that direction. They felt so familiar- he knew those blunt fingernails, the way they scratched gently against his scalp, he even recognized the smooth spots where skin melted into scale. The fingers fluttered away from his face and unlatched the collar.

Virgil raised himself up just enough to collapse into the man’s waiting arms. He nearly felt bad for spitting blood onto the other’s shoulder, “I know you?”

“Yeah, yeah, you know me. I’m Ethan. Sometimes I go by Deceit? We lived together for years,” His voice wasn’t upset or even worried, just tired. Exhausted as if this was far from the first time this exact conversation had played out.

Oh, right. Ethan. His best friend. They had grown up together. They had watched each other change and evolve as Thomas had done the same. Virgil knew every single angle of Ethan’s multi-facetted personality. So how the hell could he have forgotten him?

Virgil glanced up at the other who had strolled over to Ethan’s side and was now mindlessly fiddling with the cape over Ethan’s shoulders. He was muttering under his breath and staring at the wall as if he could look right through it. Very much like- “Remus?”

He jerked his head down and to the side to make eye contact with Virgil, “Hello!”

“H-hi,” Virgil tore his eyes away; Remus’ expression was just a bit too delighted at the moment for him to handle. Ethan was still in front of him, checking over him like a concerned mother and grimacing at the red marks around his neck. Virgil decided to focus on him instead, “Ethan, what the fuck is going on? Why am I like this? Who put me here?”

Ethan had moved on to studying Virgil’s hands but refused to look up at him, “We put you here.”

Virgil jerked his hand away and shuffled as far back as he could without standing up, “Why the hell would you do that?”

Ethan sighed and managed to look at Virgil this time. His eyes were far older than they should have been. Virgil got the feeling Ethan had explained this many, many times, “It’s for everyone’s safety- including yours.”

“Ethan how the hell is chaining me up in the fucking basement for my safety? This looks like a fucking horror movie,” Virgil tried to scoot away further but his back hit the wall. Against the cold concrete, he could feel the sweat racing down his spine.

Remus butted in, cackling, “Well you saw how you were acting- who knows what havoc you could wreck if we let you lose in Thomas’ mind!”

Ethan turned on his heel to glare at Remus, “Which is something we are not going to do.”

“So, what, you’re just going to leave me locked up in here?”

“No, of course not. Only, only when-“ Ethan pinched the bridge of his nose as he stood up and Virgil couldn’t help but flinch away from the movement, “Only when you’re different.”

“Different,” The word felt bitter and heavy as it rolled off of Virgil’s tongue. Or maybe that was just the coppery coat of blood that still lurked in every nook of his mouth. He feared he would never be able to forget that taste.

“Yeah, silly, different. When it’s night and you get just a bit-” Remus had swaggered across the room and squatted down next to Virgil with a bounce. He reached out, dragging one pointer finger along the lines of Virgil’s face and tapping him lightly on the nose as if to punctuate the word, “-crazy.”

Virgil studied the face in front of him. Remus had poison apple green eyes that flickered like he had managed to trap lightening in them and a grin to rival the Cheshire Cat. Right now his eyes looked like a thunderstorm captured in a snow globe; he was either really excited or scared beyond belief. Virgil wasn’t sure which option was worse, “What do you mean crazy?”

Ethan sat down next to Remus so they were all at the same level, “You lose control, turn kind of wild. It’s been happening every night of this week- don’t you remember?”

“I don’t remember this week at all. Ethan, why the hell is this happening to me?” Virgil’s voice was shaking nearly as hard as his hands, still covered in the red grime. He knew exactly what it was but his mind simply refused to accept it.

“I guess it started with Logan. He wanted to learn about what makes a ‘dark’ side different from a ‘light’ one— no bad intentions, I’m sure. You happily volunteered to participate in his research and I’m not sure what happened next. He gave you something and it fucked you up. It was supposed to bring out the traits that make you ‘dark.’ He was just curious about what made us different from them. Except, it didn’t just made you dark; it made you as bad as a side can be.”

“And then they dumped you with us because they couldn’t handle you!” Remus grinned as if he were quite proud of his conclusion to Ethan’s explanation.

Ethan winced, “Well I wouldn’t exactly put it so bluntly. They... tried to help you but they couldn’t manage it. They knew we would be more prepared for this sort of thing.”

Virgil ran his tongue across the front of his teeth. He half expected to find a row of fangs or at least some pointed canines; something to match the snarl he felt building up in his gut and clawing its way to the back of his throat. He wanted to yell, to scream until his voice was too raw to sound anything like a human. He wanted punch his fist right through the concrete wall and he couldn’t tell if he wanted to damage the wall or just wanted to feel the pain in his hand, just as a reminder of what was real. How dare they? They turned him into this and when he was too much, they tossed him aside like a broken toy they had gotten bored off. Them. Virgil wanted to tear his teeth into the neck of one of those pretty little light sides. Wait, no. No. He didn’t want to do any of that. That wasn’t him. That was- No no no no no no no no.

The word ricocheted through his head, one clear point through the murk of his thoughts. Except it burned, far too bright as it buzzed through his mind. His head pounded and the room was closing in and the faces in front of him were swimming. Virgil bunched his legs to his chest, hanging his head to his knees. He was trapped; trapped in this room, trapped in the situation, trapped in the dark slime that suffocated his mind.

“Hey, hey, hey,” A hand smoothed across his back and lightly gripped one of his shoulders, “Don’t go there. We’re right here.”

Virgil raised his head up, somewhat startled by the effort it took, almost as if there was a weight pressing down on his neck. Ethan rubbed his hand over Virgil’s back and reached out with the other. He wiped a tear off of Virgil’s cheekbone with the side of his thumb and smiled softly, “We’ll figure this out, Virge.”

“Yeah, we always fix things eventually,” Remus ruffled his hair maybe a little rougher than necessary, but Virgil was used to it.

He couldn’t help but grin a little bit and, as weak as it was, it felt good, “Yeah, we fix it after you fuck it up in the first place.”

Remus winked, “And where would we possibly be without me being the only one brave enough to fuck shit up?”

Ethan gave a small snort of a laugh, “Maybe you should hold off on causing chaos until we’ve got this sorted out.”

“Ah, well, no promises but I’ll do my best,” Remus suddenly jumped to his feet, “Now come on, are we just going to sit here all day?!”

“He’s right, you know, we shouldn’t stay here and you look like a mess,” Ethan gave Virgil’s shoulder one last squeeze, “Do you think you’re ready to get up?”

Virgil looked down at his hands; they were still tremoring and the red was quickly drying to burgundy, “I’m not sure if I can stand but there’s no way in hell I want to stay here.”

“Ah, no issue!” Remus leaned down just long enough to scoop Virgil into his arms princess-style and stood back up.

Virgil should have been worried; this was a compromised position after all. But somehow, it felt so so much safer than that floor. The floor was cold and rough and covered in a viscous mix of blood and Virgil’s sins. And Remus— well he was warm and safe and secure and smelled like a weird mixture of metal and saccharine flowers. Besides, Virgil’s head was already swimming, his body might as well joining it in floating away.

He let his head fall against Remus’ shoulder and closed his eyes; every part of his body felt like lead, even his eyelids. It wasn’t until they reached the top of the stairs and the warm glow of light washed over Virgil’s face did he realize they had been moving at all.

Remus swung Virgil’s legs down gently but kept one of his arms wrapped around Virgil’s waist, keeping him from keeling over on the spot.

Ethan seemed to be taking advantage of the brighter light to look over Virgil again. He lifted Virgil’s chin gently, grimacing at the marks around his neck and the blood surrounding his mouth, “You really are a mess this time; do you think you could take a shower?”

Virgil managed to huff out a laugh, “I think if it weren’t for Remus, I would be passed out on the floor right now. So, uh, no. Sorry.”

“No, no, that’s ok. Remus and I will help you get cleaned up and then we can all hang out on the couch together and you can get some sleep. How does that sound?”

“Yeah, yeah sure,” Virgil slouched against Remus’ shoulder and tried to keep his feet from sliding out beneath himself.

“Hey, buddy?” Remus jostled him lightly.

“Huh?”

“We’re walking now. One foot in front of the other, ok?” Remus held him a little closer and started half-dragging/half-supporting him down the hall while Ethan walked ahead.

By the time they made it the bathroom that the dark sides shared, Remus was basically carrying him, one arm looped around Virgil’s body so he just kind of hung at Remus’ hip.

Remus set him down on the counter and Virgil let himself slump back against the mirror. The glass was cold on his shoulders through his shirt but he hardly noticed, oddly fascinated by the spots on the ceiling above him. They looked like mold— probably a result of one of Remus’ experiments. Yeah ok... so his mind was definitely drifting away.

Ethan brought him back to the present once again, handing him a cup of water and ordering him to drink it. Virgil felt like he was out of his body and watching the scene from several feet in the air; at least the picture was starting to come in a little clearer.

“Hey, Virge?”

Virgil leaned his head on the mirror at an angle he could face Ethan from, “Yeah?”

“Can I take your hoodie off?” Ethan’s hands hesitated a few inches above his chest like he was afraid Virgil would bite him at any moment.

Oh that was reassuring. Oh yeah, Virgil, everything’s totally fine but I’m definitely worried you’re going to go absolutely fucking feral and eat me but don’t let it bother your pretty little head because it’s all sunshine and rainbows here.

Virgil was suddenly taken aback by the anger he was feeling. His fists were clenched and his lip was curling into a snarl and he could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears. Maybe Ethan had a reason to treat him like a ticking bomb.

“You,” Remus poked him, “Yeah, you. Snap out of it.”

Virgil shook his head as if he could jumble all the pieces back into place, as if he could make everything normal again, “Right. I’m, gosh, Ethan I’m just really sorry.”

“It’s ok,” Ethan’s voice was steady and soothing but his hands shook as he pulled the zipper of the Virgil’s sweatshirt down and helped him shrug it off his shoulders, “You just need to relax a bit; it’s fine.”

“Ethan, no! It’s not fine! How can you say that? You fucking chained me up in a basement I didn’t even know we had.”

Ethan hung his head. Virgil couldn’t see his eyes but he could tell he was exhausted. Virgil had hated the optimism Ethan had been faking but the honesty of this change was sickening, “Look, Virgil, I have to think everything will be fine. I can’t give up— not on you. I’ve always believed in you and I always will. I have seen you go through so much and I’m not going to lose hope just because we have another obstacle to overcome. And if I’m being honest? I have no idea how we’re going to get through this one. I have no idea how much worse everything is going to get. But I can promise that we’ll keep taking care of you. And Logan will keep looking for a solution.”

“And I‘ll help him!”

Remus’ interruption managed to pull a small smile over Ethan’s face, “Yeah, Remus has been working with Logan while he works on a cure of sorts.”

“I’m a lab rat!”

Ethan reached up to muss Remus’ messy hair, “That you certainly are.”

Virgil looked between the two men in front of him. This was his family. He loved the light sides but when things got terrifyingly real like this, these freaks were the only people he really trusted. This was his family and if there was anyone he wanted to lose his mind around, it was them.

“I love—“ Virgil’s voice broke, “I love you guys.”

Remus leaned down and wrapped his arms around Virgil, squeezing hard enough to make Virgil worry about breaking a rib.

“Ok, enough being sappy, we’ll have plenty of time for that later. Right now, Virgil is still covered in blood,” Ethan untied Remus from around Virgil and started scrubbing at his face with a cloth.

“Hey, yeah, what is that about? I’m not bleeding... so whose blood is that? What the hell was I eating?”

“Oh, that. It was venison— kind of,” Ethan explained casually as he continued attacking him with soap and water, “You were hungry but you didn’t eat any normal food and Remus found this dead deer in the Imagination and you seemed to like it so we just let you have it.”

“You let me eat roadkill?!”

Remus hopped up onto the counter next to him, “Well it wasn’t by a road so technically it’s not road-kill. But, yes!”

Ethan paused scrubbing a moment so he could fully take in the horrified expression Virgil was giving him, eventually just rolling his eyes, “What? I’m sure it won’t hurt you.”

Virgil stuck his tongue out at Ethan, “You say that now but just watch— I’m gonna develop some rare disease or something.”

“God you must be feeling better if you have enough energy to be this dramatic,” Ethan shook his head and started working on Virgil’s neck, definitely being a little rougher than necessary.

After a few minutes of the continued bickering, Ethan had managed to get every speck of blood and sweat off of Virgil— and probably a layer of skin along with it too. Ethan and Remus even managed to get him to change into clean clothes before Virgil got bored off arguing over whether or not he was going to die because they let him eat the deer.

“Bottom line, it’s just disgusting.”

“I’ve eaten worse, and I’m just fine!”

“That doesn’t matter! You’re, well, you’re you; you could eat steel shavings like cereal and it wouldn’t matter ‘cause your metabolism is built like a nuclear waste processing plant.”

“Yeah, I have tried that! It was good!”

“Alright you two,” Ethan interrupted Remus And Virgil’s squabbling and gently pushed them out the door, “I think Virgil could do with some rest.”

Remus broke away from their little group and started bouncing down the hall like Tiger from the Winnie the Pooh cartoons. He pumped his fists in the air, screeching, “MOVIE TIME, MOVIE TIME, MOVIE TIME!”

Virgil and Ethan watched him with a mixture of horror and admiration.

Ethan chuckled, “I have no clue where he gets all that energy.”

“Maybe it’s the hearty bowl of steel shavings he starts the day off with.”

“Heh, maybe,” Ethan laughed at Virgil’s joke but when he turned to face him directly, concern was written in every line on his face, “How are you feeling? Are you doing alright?”

Virgil ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back as if clearing his bangs from his eyes could clear up his thoughts. How did he feel? Well that was a damn good question. He felt like his brain was made of cotton candy and someone was pouring a cup of water over his head, drops slowly melting away the strings that held him together. He was tired. Above all else, he just wanted a fucking break. He didn’t want to think about how he was feeling or what the future might hold or the fact that he was going to turn into an animal that night, in a matter of mere hours. The idea made his skin crawl and contents of his stomach curdle.

But Ethan was standing next to him, rubbing his hand across his shoulders and looking at him with the big yellow-green eyes that Virgil had known all his life. Maybe he wasn’t ok now. Maybe that was ok too. Maybe being safe was close enough to bring alright.

Virgil tried for a smile, “It’s gonna be ok.”

Ethan grinned back, “You bet your ass it is.”

If you want to be added to my Sanders Sides fic taglist, please just send an ask or reply to this post :p

~ @phan-fander @abi-beehive @fandomfan315 @reggieleigh07 @cas-is-a-hunter @endless-rain-of-words @vicdehart @im-actually-ok @softnic ~

[honeylikewords]

Santi proposing? And how involved would he be with the wedding planning?

Aw, that’s so sweet! I already wrote one iteration of a possible Santi proposal before (viewable here), but I think it’s good to have options, so let’s consider what a different proposal from that darling man might look like!

Santi is the kind of guy who believes in lifelong commitments. He is fully willing to invest his entire life in something he believes in, whether that’s the service of his country, the protection of his mother’s homeland, his friends or, in more recent years, his beloved.

Now a man in a deeply committed relationship, Santi knows he wants to get married, and knows he wants to spend the rest of his life working with, for, and alongside his sweetheart in all that he does. But what he struggles with is how to ask her to marry him, since he wants to ask her in a special, loving, one-of-a-kind way that will show her just how much he loves her.

He agonizes over how to ask, running through hundreds of different scenarios in his head like the tactician he is. He worries himself over rings, over locations, over phrasing of the actual proposal itself; sometimes, instead of coming home after work, he’ll drive to the park and sit on a bench reading his WIP of the proposal from his phone aloud to himself so he can hear what it sounds like, often making changes or altogether scrapping the WIP and starting over. 

Eventually, he’s able to narrow down a few details, knowing that he doesn’t want to do the proposal in a too-public location because he absolutely, beyond a shadow of a doubt, hates and despises people who make big public debacles of their proposals and engagements. There’ll be no skywriting for this man, no sir. Plus, he wants his sweetheart to have the dignity of a “no” option; public proposals essentially force the proposed-to into saying “yes” even if they don’t want to in order to avoid embarrassment and harassment, and Santi wouldn’t dream of putting his beloved in a position like that. Instead, he plans on doing the proposal in a private spot, but somewhere that, if she felt she had to leave, she’d be able to safely go on her own and take time away from him, should the answer be “no”. 

He also narrows down what kind of ring he wants to propose with; it’s a small, thin-banded gold ring that he picked specifically for its vintage charm, its jewel not ostentatious or gaudy but rather more a tasteful accent set into the classy, filigreed band. It’s almost floral in its shaping and the details carved into the metal, reminding him of something one might see in a museum. But it’s his to give to her, and he keeps it in a neat little black box, sometimes fidgeting with the box as he paces and thinks about how he’s going to propose.

Finally, Santi sits down and makes his decisions. He decides to forgo having a written-out proposal; he already knows in his heart what he wants to say, and he doesn’t need a practiced, stilted, word-for-word reading of a pre-written piece that may not match the mood of the moment. He wants to be honest and present with her, so he stops himself from going overboard and just decides to do it. He’s going to go home, tell her how he feels, and allow her to make the choice she feels is best. 

As he drives home from work the day he intends to do it, he finds himself both panicked beyond belief and strangely calm, as if standing in the eye of the hurricane. Santi is both entirely unprepared and ready as he’ll ever be, and he’s tired of waiting. Passing the parks of kids playing with their families, Santi smiles to himself; if she agrees to marry him, they’ll be making the beginnings of their own families, and maybe, one day, he’d be one of those dads standing in the park, watching their kid playing junior league soccer.

Before he knows it, Santi arrives at the apartment they share, hovering in the hallway. He stops before the front door, taking in deep, steady breaths, slow and assuring.

“You can do this,” he says softly to himself. “You can do this.”

He knows he won’t be going too far out on a limb; after all, in the years they’d been dating, growing more intimate and more entwined into one another’s lives, they’ve, of course, talked about marriage. It’s come up often; she wants to get married, and so does he. She wants kids and so does he. They’re on the same page. She’s even told him “I’d be happy to marry you, when you’re ready”, so he knows, somewhere inside himself, that this is all going to be okay.

But another, more anxious part of himself, gnaws on its own bones with fear that she’ll say no and leave him. Some panicky inner voice frets that she’ll reject him so wholly and so entirely that he’ll break on the molecular level and dissolve into particles, unable to ever be repaired again. Still, he has to try. The worst case scenario is a no: the best case scenario is all his dreams come true. It’s a gamble well worth the taking.

He unlocks the door and steps inside quietly, trying not to cause a stir, but he hears the TV turned on to some home improvement show and some sizzling in the kitchen, the familiar smell of cooking vegetables wafting through the air. He smiles when he hears his beloved humming to herself, drumming her fingers on the counter as she stirs the popping, snapping food in the pan on the stove.

“Hm hmm hm hmmm, I wanna cut to the feeling--” 

“Hey,” Santi says, leaning against the doorway that separates the kitchen from the main living room. She turns around and smiles at him, nudging her hip towards the stove.

“Stir fry night. Thought we could do veggies and rice since the chicken from the other night left a bit of a metaphorical and literal sour taste in my mouth.”

“I still can’t figure out how you burned it like that,” laughs Santi, coming to join her as he puts his hands on her hips and rests his chin on her shoulder. “I’ve seen you do chicken a hundred times, and it never comes out so... burnt and gooey at the same time.”

“I have two running theories,” she suggests. “One is that I accidentally deglazed with vinegar instead of wine, which made the pan start to congeal weirdly and thus burn in that really, really gross way. The other is that I’ve been hexed, but only hexed in a way that damages my cooking. Thoughts?”

“Much as a hex story would be a great one to tell at your next campfire,” Santi murmurs, kissing her neck, “I’m assuming you just mixed up the red wine vinegar and the actual red wine.”

“Darn. I was really hoping we could sell the movie rights to my hex story and be rich off the royalties from what would clearly be a very successful kitchen-horror film franchise.”

Santi chuckles as he rubs the ball of his nose against the column of her neck, delighting himself when he feels her shiver under his attentions. He kisses her lightly, almost teasingly, the way he knows drives her mad, and suddenly the silly atmosphere of the kitchen starts to heat into a much more romantic one. 

He glides his hands up and down her waist, all the way down to her hips, smoothing down her clothes and just taking in the solid warmth of her. Placing small pecks against her skin, he sighs.

“I love you,” says Santi, his eyes closed as he takes in the moment and savors it, holds it in his heart as a talisman to give him strength. “You know that, right?”

Her hand comes up and gently scratches his hair as she continues stirring the vegetables, an acknowledging hum leaving her chest while she pets him. Santi always melts when she works her fingers through his thick, curly hair; nothing makes him so pliant and soothed as the sensation of her touch on his scalp.

“I know, baby. I love you, too.”

“I just... want to spend the rest of my life with you,” he says gently. “All my years. Would you... want that, too?”

She takes a moment, turning off the burner and pushing the skillet of vegetables back a few inches. Then, she turns around and links her arms around Santi’s waist, hooking her hands on the small of his back and smiling up at him, her eyes soft, sincere, loving. She nods and presses up to kiss his chin, then lowers her head and rests her forehead on his shoulder, swaying with him for a few seconds. 

“Of course I do,” she replies. “I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather be with every day.”

“Maybe our kids?”

At that she puts one hand on his chest and rubs affectionately, and he looks down to see her shy, excited smile. She seems both present and distant, and he knows that look; it’s the same one he gets when he daydreams about what their kids would be like.

“Yeah. I’d like to spend every day with our kids, too. You and the kids.”

Her voice is sincere, setting a fire in Santi’s belly that can’t be put out. He presses on, invigorated, needing to know what will come next.

“So... then, can I ask you something?”

“Mhm?,” she hums, tapping her fingers along his chest dreamily.

“Do you like the last name Garcia?”

She pauses, looking up from his chest, broken from her reverie by his strange question. She blinks at him a few times, then seems to realize there’s something about to happen. Santi smiles at her, even though his brows set together in an anxious knot, and he reaches into his pocket to pull out the ring box.

As she gasps, Santi lowers himself into a kneeling position (not without some grunting and sharp pains; he should have known better than to think he, of all people, would have an easy time getting onto his knees) and takes her hand, opening the ring box with his free one. The ring sparkles under the kitchen lights and he gazes up at her with reverence, devotion, and pure, unmitigated love.

“Because, well, if you do... we can share it.”

For a heartbeat, she stares at the ring, flabberghasted and speechless. Then she turns and stares at him before her expression shifts from blank shock to brilliant excitement, and she drops to her knees and kisses him, flinging her arms around his neck.

“Santi, that was so cheesy!,” she giggles, hiccups of tears beginning to bubble up into her words. “B-but I love it, and I love you, and I want to be a Garcia, I want to be your Garcia, let’s be Garcias-es together, oh, Santi--”

Her words run together, sentences bleeding into one another as she intersperses her words with fervent kisses, and Santi half forgets the ring as he clings to her and kisses her, his joy so abundant and all-consuming that he can hardly feel anything else except joy, joy, joy. 

They stay like that on the kitchen floor for a good, long while, wrapped up in each other with kisses and breathed words of love and gratitude, an unbreakable bond forming between them as they lay in one another’s arms. When Santi finally manages to compose himself enough to slide the ring onto her finger, they’re sitting on the linoleum floors, backs pressed to the cabinets, holding onto one another like passengers in a lifeboat, as if they’re the only two people in the world.

And, for a moment, they are the only two people in the world; at least, to one another.

As for Santi’s involvement in the wedding, he’s both very specific and not at all picky about what happens. That sounds paradoxical, but it’ll make a little more sense when contextualized and explained.

The first and foremost thing is that Santi, without a doubt in his mind, does not want a big wedding. He does not want hundreds of guests, he does not want a big, splashy affair, he does not want exorbitant and expensive locales, he does not want any of it. He wants it to be a small, private event for him, his wife, and their families (and closest friends). That’s all he asks.

He’s somewhat religious and would prefer to have a few of the Catholic rites of marriage involved, but understands that if his wife is of a differing religious background that they can have an interfaith wedding with presence from both their faiths. He just wants it to be the kind of wedding that his mother would have been proud of, for her memory and for his own comfort.

Aside from that, he’ll be as involved as his bride-to-be wants. He doesn’t want to do any big stuff and thinks they can have a meaningful wedding without throwing money at things like cake or dresses or whatever, but he also understands that, for a bride, it can be a very special time, so he wants to be respectful of that. Plus, he’s got money enough to make her comfortable on her wedding day, so he doesn’t mind spending a little here and there to help her feel special on her big day.

Still, he’d like to keep it low-key and simple, so the wedding probably ends up being a tasteful, rather rustic affair more centered around the togetherness of the event than the idea of it being the Party Of The Century(TM). I mean, it’s not like it won’t be fun, but it’ll be more about the community of the experience, the showing of their love and dedication, than about the money or the expense or the showmanship. 

So Santi and his bride end up doing just some very basic shopping, but they make sure that everything they buy is meaningful to them. Her bouquet will be special to her, her dress will be special to her, her veil special to her. They’ll be keepsakes, not just trinkets, for the two of them to preserve in their memories and to pass down as heirlooms.

Heck, Santi would love it if, in fact, most of the wedding stuff was traditional heirlooms from their families. If her wedding dress was handed down to her by someone she loved, that’d make him really happy. If her veil was from someone who was important to her, that’d be fantastic! If these aspects of their wedding could show the importance of their families, communities, and cultural heritages, he’d be overjoyed, because that’s all he wants from his wedding. To show the world that he is hers and she is his, and that, together, they are now part of their respective communities as one, and that they’re here because of the people they love and who have loved them.

It’s not that he’s a cheapskate, it’s that he’s a sentimentalist; he wants their wedding to be about the meaning, the symbolic and internal value of what they’re doing, not just the flash and panache of it. For him, it’s not about having the most stylish wedding, but the most meaningful one. That’s all.

That all sounds really round-a-bout and corny, but it’s how he feels, and how he wants to go about structuring his wedding. 

Oh, and he’s going to be wearing his best dress uniform from the service when he gets married. No question.

[polarisavi]

Hi! big, HUGE fan of your band au! could you write something from it? like, anything at all or you can totally ignore this message too. no problemo

hey anon! I’m not sure when i’ll make a full on sequel, but please have this scene that will be part of any sequel and has been clear in my head since writing somehow escape. it takes place before lucas’ european tour when they’re both in france. i’m not sure what you expected, but after all the pining of the last one I wanted to write them cozy and together, so i hope you like it. and sorry this took a few days! i wanted to finish up something else before writing it. 

eliott is taller than him, but not that much broader, so some of lucas’ shirts slide over his shoulders easily and sit inconspicuous on his frame. it takes a few minutes to even notice the shirt, honestly. lucas’ hair is still wet from the shower, stray water drops tickling his neck, muscles pleasantly buzzed from a morning run, and the familiar burgundy shirt is rendered largely irrelevant relative to eliott. eliott, awake but still in bed where lucas left him earlier, rolling out of bed with the small knowing thrill that, unlike other times, leaving eliott in bed is only temporary, that he will be able to roll right back into him when he returns, will not be separated by obligations that force the thread between them elastic. eliott, sleep soft and probably still warm, staring out the window and undoubtedly a thousand miles away. eliott, who, regardless of where his thoughts have taken him, has a guitar on his lap and is coaxing something beautiful out of it. 

eliott demaury, lead guitarist of award winning indie pop band intricate teacups, film student, raccoon enthusiast, and lover of virginia woolf, abstract art and lucas lallemant. 

it still feels like a trick, sometimes, like he’s stumbled into something fantastic and fun and finite, just waiting for someone to tap his shoulder and drag him away. sorry sir there’s been a mistake, this was never meant for you. except eliott has noticed him now, eyebrows flicked up in a question (most likely about why lucas is standing in the doorway, still and silent, instead of crawling into bed, or making them coffee) and an easy smile on his lips. the song morphs suddenly, between one chord and the next, into a familiar comfortable arrangement, one he used to listen to non stop. it’s a reminder, yes, an inside joke between them no one else is allowed to be let in on, but also a prompt for lucas to do something, to get into arms reach, to talk or move. lucas takes the invitation for what it is, and sings a few words quietly as he crosses the room. 

“well, i’ll run, babe, but i’ll come running, straight to you.“ 

it has the desired effect, and by the time lucas crawls over the bunched up sheets eliott is giggling, eyes gilded in delight, and the guitar categorised as secondary, shoved to the side and scooping lucas in his arms instead to take its place. lucas’ knees land on either side of his thighs and eliott’s hand lands, as it always does when they’re in this position, on the tattoo on his thigh, only a couple months old. mari had done it herself, in the end, rolling her eyes but acquiescing when he’d asked. it’d been a few years since she had worked as a tattoo artist professionally, officially, but her talent hadn’t faded an ounce, smiling and serious as she took a needle to his skin. bunches of tangled flowers, vivid petals and unexpected thorns and curled up leaves, peer through the spaces between eliott’s fingers. lucas’ arms loop around his neck, and he nudges their noses together, gently leans forward to place his forehead on eliott’s, his skin humming and breathing easy.

unbidden it reminds him of that death cab song imane adores about distance and yearning. her boyfriend, sofiane, of soft eyes and endless support and spectacular dance moves, who lucas has yet to meet, has spent the previous few years out of the country frequently, obligations in morocco that imane isn’t always able to join him in due to her own job. it’s hardly the exact same situation, but lucas understands why she listens to it a lot; he is always surprised, though perhaps he shouldn’t be, that they have so much in common. the lyrics, particularly applicable when they were apart, are somehow still relevant. most of the time any great space between them feels villainous; his skin, craving eliott’s, their hands tangled, ankles crossed, shoulders pressed close, anything. 

i need you so much closer. 

eliott leans back so they can see each other properly. “where did you go this morning? sleeping with the aircon only works if you’re there to keep me warm,” he adds with a teasing pout, thunderstorm eyes glinting in the light streaming through the window. 

lucas mirrors his pout but runs a hand across his head, fingers scratching lightly. in response eliott leans forward, head almost on lucas’ shoulder. “poor baby. i went for a run. and i was thinking we should go to the ocean today, if you want?" 

eliott huffs out a laugh, a flutter of warm air on his shoulder. "i want. i thought we were having lunch with mari, though?" 

"we still are. i was thinking later on, around sunset, maybe. i know a place, it’ll be chill. quiet.” 

"quiet as in not crowded?" 

"yeah. or, it usually isn’t.”

“perfect,” he says, the corner of his lips tilted up in the way that means he’s planning something, a secret tucked into his cheek.

speaking of, “what were you playing? i don’t think i’ve heard it before.”

“it’s new. i, uh, accidentally overhead an argument yesterday and got inspired,” he answers, sheepish but not ashamed, amusement twitching his lips. 

“lovers quarrel?”

“no, i think it they were friends. i’m mostly sure the argument was officially about gardening techniques but it sounded very…personal.”

lucas considers this. “broccoli as a metaphor?

they’re so close he can feel eliott’s chest bounce as he laughs, the sound vibrating right into his own body. “exactly, broccoli as a metaphor, and maybe snowpeas too.”

they just smile at each other for a small stretch of seconds, before somthing occurs to him. “have you eaten yet? had any coffee?” eliott shakes his head, so lucas kisses his cheek. "i’ll bring you something.”

“lucas, you don’t have to.”

“i know. i want to. and i’m hungry too, so it’s not entirely selfless. be right back." 

in the kitchen he makes a bee line to the fridge, already knowing exactly what he wants. sitting on the second shelf is a bowl of lychees, almost overflowing, gifted to him by arthur, who in turn had been given way more than any one person could ever need as payment for a piece of jewellery he’d given them. it had been a beautiful ring, the band composed of three braided strands textured like tree branches, and made out of recycled black metal. it was definitely worth the boxes of fruit and jars of honey and jam he had received in return, even if a lot of the produce had to be passed forward before it could rot. that night, a considerable portion of his payment was used for making various daiquiris and desserts, the close circle of friends he’d managed to maintain despite his restlessness cluttered into arthur’s kitchen, overly spoiling his dog with treats and attention, yelling over the video games and spanish music someone, probably mahdi or esra, had put on, the remnants of rum and cherry crumble and pavlova on every available surface. 

it’d happened a few nights before eliott arrived. he should try and organise something like it again, before he leaves. he can picture it vividly, suddenly, wisps of how eliott would fit into their group drifting across his mind like they’ve already happened. it makes his heart go terribly soft, thinking about how easily eliott fits into his life. how gently they’d bumped into each other, and how natural it felt falling into the possibility of them. if he was someone else, lucas might think the word fate, or destiny. as it is, he thinks about entropy and serendipity, the sea of chaos that put them in the same room, the deliberate choice of everything that came after. 

he returns to his room with a tray laden with a pot of coffee, two mugs, a bowl of lychees, and the portable speaker that he’d left in the living room. he places it on the bed but snatches the speaker and moves it to the desk in the corner. eliott doesn’t like any of the properly hard music lucas has in his library, so he opts for pantera, quiet enough for them to speak at normal volumes. if and when eliott gets sick of it, he will not be shy about telling lucas. until then, he sets his favourite album on repeat and focuses his attention where it should be. 

eliott has already dragged the tray close and broken open a lychee, juice glistening on his fingers. his house is high up and the view outside his window beautiful, early enough that the sky is partially bruised yellow and pink, the sunrise not yet flattened out. when he settles close to eliott, their knees bumping together, he is handed a mug of coffee.

"i like being in your city, with you here to show me all of its secrets. it’s nice seeing you so settled. comfortable.” ‘as opposed to in america’ is left unsaid. 

“you’ll have to do the same when i visit you in paris. tiny, overlooked secrets or bust, baby.” aka show me the places that are imbued with meaning and memories for you, too.

“i already have an itinerary,” eliott says solemnly. coming from anyone else lucas would presume it a joke, but with eliott he might be serious, a carefully crafted list of places they could enjoy together sitting innocently in his phone, or a notebook, a collection of neon post it notes. 

he pivots, shoulder perpendicular to the wall, to face him properly. “we’ll need to figure out when i can visit you. the semester starts in about a month, right? and then it’ll only be a handful of weeks before i have to go back to the states for rehearsal and then directly to dublin.”

eliott smooths a hand over lucas’ shoulder, down his arm, and it does settle him some, but not all, nervousness fluttering in his gut. “i know we do,” he says, low and faintly plaintive. “is it awful that i want to be selfish and, just, not think about that yet? it’s so much nicer only focusing on this day,” a kiss on lucas’ forehead, “this hour,” a kiss on the bridge of his nose, “this minute,” a kiss on his cheek, “here with you.”

he opens his mouth to say - something, but eliott holds a lychee to his lips and he bites into that instead, cold and lush. delicious and gives him time to think of a proper response.

“i think that we should talk about it soon, before you have to leave, but…yeah, okay, we can be selfish. i’d like that.”

he is reminded, once again, of entropy and choice. nothing is ordained, or destined, and any future days between them not promised by the universe. recognising his active participation feels almost startling, his mind wide awake. eliott steals his phone to turn off the music and pick up his guitar, hand big on the neck, crafting something jaunty and stumbling, fingers occasionally tripping over decisions. 

lucas breaks open another lychee.

[crazyzaika]

Love on Detours - Chapter 8

And we are in the next chapter. At first I have to say, that in the first part are some creepy things which could trigger you. Torture and child abuse. I mark it, so if you don't want to read it, pls just don't. And to all wo love Lisanna, this isn't a 'Shame-on-Lisanna'-FF. Yes I don't like her, because I think she isn't needed in FT, but in this ff she is broken and a bit insane. But it would explained why. Like everytime, let my know what you think. And still not checked.

Greets Z

Chapter 8

Anger filled her senses, raged inside her and crawled like burning lava through her veins. Her body trembled, was tense and it felt as if she was constantly under electric power. Her heart raced and she gritted her teeth so tightly that they grinded and her jaw had become tense in the meantime. He was together with her. With her. That slut! Lisanna had lowered her eyes to the tatami mats in her room as she felt the burning in her eyes. Her throat tightened and pain burned in her heart. She felt abysmal hatred. Hate for Lucy. How could she do that? How could she dare to be knocked up by Natsu? He was not to blame, which in her opinion only hit Lucy, that disgusting, abnormal woman. Her heartbeat was racing, blood was rushing in her ears and she took a step toward her dresser. She looked up and her vision blurred as she looked at the pictures standing on it. They were family photos.

Her gaze glided over the smiling faces of her siblings, the cool, almost emotionless faces of her parents. And then her gaze fell on an old photograph where she stood next to her cousin Lucy. They both wore a white dress and smiled into the camera. Hot fiery anger surged in her, she passed the bare meter and rammed her fist unchecked into the picture. Glass splintered, pain twitched through her skin as the splinters dug into her skin, but she didn't even feel it all. She took the picture and threw it on the floor, stepping on it again and again with her foot.

Her breathing went wheezing, rattling. Tears came into her eyes, veiled her vision and distorted everything. But she couldn't stop stepping on that picture. She wanted to kill her, put her fingers around Lucy's slender, pale neck and squeeze until she heard the crack of her neck. She wanted to feel her cousin's blood running over her hands, she wanted to feel her dying by her hand. An insane, cruel smile distorted her lips, and as tears ran down her cheeks, a crazy giggle broke from her lips.

"This is not appropriate."

She flinched as if she had been beaten, pulled up the gaze from the picture and swirled around her room with a searching look. But there was only her bed, the desk, the closet and her commode. She blinked and stared searchingly, a tremor seized her senses. She knew this voice. It was her mother's voice. Her nostrils widened and then she swallowed lightly, trying to get rid of the lump in her throat. Her heart was still burning, her soul screamed and waved bleeding and squirming on the floor. And it was as if she could hear her mother's voice again.

"You will never be as beautiful as Lucy. Your behaviour is not appropriate for a lady of the house Strauss. How many times do I have to tell you that?"

Her breathing accelerated and she moved away from the destroyed picture and her dresser, fleeing into a corner of her room over to her bed. Fear crept up into her, clutching her stomach with ice-cold claws, and she felt nausea surge inside her. She knew she wasn't here. She would never set foot in that temple. And yet she heard her mother's voice.

Lisanna swallowed in panic, crawled further into the corner of the room, pulled her legs close to her body and felt that she could no longer breathe. Hot tears were still dripping from her cheeks. Her body trembled and her heart pounded in panic, hurting with every beat and she felt the pull of memories. The dark, disgusting maelstrom of events she never wanted to experience again, that she had repressed.

"You are unworthy!"

The words were like poison. Poison that devoured her thoughts, her soul and destroyed her. She whimpered and pressed her hands to her ears. A malicious laughter penetrated her ears. Laughter that actually could not be real. Because that woman was not here. She did not want to. Lisanna wanted to fight, but the pull of her own memories was too strong. A whimper fled from her lips before these memories sloshed over her, overwhelming her.

AN: And know comes the ugly side of this ff. Or more one of the reason, why Lisanna is broken in soul and mind. So the torture and abuse stuff I told you on the beginning. I'm marking this, because you don't have to read it, if you would not.

"Lisanna!" Her father's cold and stern voice cut the cool air and she flinched, cautiously raising her gaze. And she met dark, black eyes. She swallowed easily as she smiled cautiously.

"What did I tell you? You shouldn't grin at me so stupidly, disgusting scum!" her father rebuked her, overcame the distance to her and pain twitched through her face when he hit her. Her head flew aside and tears formed in her eyes as her trembling hand raised to her reddening cheek. Her lower lip trembled, but she knew that if she started crying now it would only make things worse. Fear seized her heart and she felt the trembling of her knees. She heard the sharp click of his tongue and raised her gaze again. Timidly. The hate and disgust in his dark eyes made her flinch. His lips warped contemptuously.

"Why can't you be like Lucy? She is a true image of noble descent. But no, you have to be like that," his voice dripped with blatant disgust. Icy cold reached for her senses and carefully she took a step back.

"Where is your answer, ungrateful brat?"

"I ... i i i i'm s-s-s-sorr-sorry...", she brought out stuttering and her voice was thin, trembling.

"What are you sorry for?"

"T-that ... t-that i-i'm n-n-not l-l-like L-Lucy, f-father," she just stuttered the answer and then felt another hit. Pain struck her skull. She whimpered up and wanted to retreat, but a big hand reached for her left upper arm, grabbed her and dragged her relentlessly. She whimpered again and the grip strengthened.

"P-Papa ..." she whimpered and tears ran down her cheeks. She was dragged along so fast that her short legs didn't come along and she stumbled, but he didn't give her time to get up, just dragged her along. Her vision was blurred and bottomless fear made her narrow body tremble. She was afraid because she knew what he would do. A world of pain awaited her. Her throat tightened and she wheezed chopped off panicked and couldn't breathe. And then she was thrown into a dark room. Pain jerked through her body as she hit the cold stone floor. Air was pressed out of her lungs and she whimpered again. Tears streamed down her cheeks and she lifted herself up, looking around trembling. Fear made her heart race, she took a rattling breath. And then she was grabbed by a big, coarse man's hand in her neck. She whimpered and lost the floor under her feet, felt someone grab her arms and the next moment she felt cold metal on her wrists. Pain flashed through her shoulders as she was let go and her body weight hung on her arms. She was too small and couldn't touch the floor, looked around in panic, but it was too dark. She couldn't see anything. And then she felt someone cut her clothes. Hearing the tearing of fabric and fear made her really freeze. Her eyes were wide open in panic and she dared not to breathe. She felt the cold air on her pale, tender child skin, heard the creaking of leather. She heard a hiss and then a burning, hot pain shot over her back. Lisanna screamed.

She felt the burning on her back as if she had been punished today for things she could not influence. Things she just couldn't change. Her fingernails dug into her scalp as she shivered between her pillows and her rumpled duvet. The memory burned like acid in her body. She whimpered as hot tears ran down her cheeks, bouncing back and forth.

At that time she had tried everything, had let her hair grow, had even dyed it blond. She had worn brown contact lenses, dressed like Lucy, talked like her and moved like her. Until Lucy told her she thought it was strange and creepy and didn't want her to copy it from her. Lucy had cried because she didn't want to be replaced had angered her parents and Lucy's and this had led to further punishments from her parents. Punishments that she did not endure physically in the long run.

It had been her grandfather who had taken Lisanna in. He had saved her and taken her in. Her brother and sister had already stayed with him before, because they were older and went to schools nearby. But Lisanna had been too young and everyone had said that she should stay with her parents. That this was a mistake only turned out later. Hours passed during which the high school student sat crying on her bed. At some point the exhaustion won and she finally fell asleep.

Juvia hummed quietly as she baked cookies. She wanted to give it to someone very special and her heart raced with excitement when she thought only of him. A gentle smile lay on her lips and a happy gleam lay in her eyes. He was unique, smart, sexy and strong. Gray Fullbuster. Son of a police officer and a state prosecutor. He went to her university and attended the same courses as her.

The ringing of the clock in the oven ripped her out of her mind and she flinched slightly, then opened the glazed door, pulled out the tin with a glove, on which steaming cookies were lying, and laid it down on the marble worktop so the tin could cool out. Then she pranced through the kitchen, turned off the oven, and picked out the colorful icing she wanted to use to decorate the cookies. A soft, happy smile lay on her lips.

"Jo, Nee-chan", Natsu came yawning into the kitchen. Juvia raised her eyes and smiled at her younger brother. He yawned heartily, scratched the back of his head and rubbed his belly. He wore only boxer shorts and Juvia clicked her tongue. She thought he shouldn't walk around like that. That just wasn't right. He could also get sick. But he just grinned broadly and laughed quietly. She didn't even have to say anything and he knew what she meant. Then he sniffed and a glow stepped into his dark eyes as he approached.

"Ah! Not for you, Natsu," Juvia exclaimed protestingly before he could even say anything and pulled a kitchen knife against him. Natsu raised his hands defensively, but still had to grin.

"Wow ... Nee-chan. Calm down. For Gray, that troll, right?"

"Don't call him that," she growled and pulled her brows together.

"Does he actually notice what he has in you?"

His words made her swallow and she bit her lower lip. She put the knife aside and turned her eyes away.

"So no ... "

"Natsu I ... "

"Nee-chan. Listen. I see how in love you are, okay? And I know him. He was at my school after all, even if I don't understand why, because he's supposed to have sooo good grades. He is not good for you. He ignores you since the first year of high school. Since he knows that you come from a yakuza family, he treats you cool and pejorative," Natsu said and looked down on his older sister, who was one head smaller than him. She bit her lower lip and he saw the treacherous shimmer in her eyes. He felt her tense under his hands, how cramped she was and knew she was suffering. She suffered more than she should. She deserved a happy future, but she only wanted it with Gray, who had rejected her several times. Natsu smiled sadly, wrapped one arm around Juvia and pulled her to him, stroking with his fingers through the soft blue hair.

And that was enough to break her dams. Her shoulders began to tremble and he felt the tears running down his chest as she cried silently, clinging to him. Natsu wasn't particularly good at comforting. Juvia sniffed and her heart hurt, burning, while the tears wouldn't stop flowing. She couldn't stop while tears ran down her cheeks and snot from her nose. She clung to the warm body of her brother, who always felt 6° warmer than everyone else. A thick lump was stuck in her throat and she could barely breathe.

At some point she managed to detacht herself from him, still sniffing. Natsu laughed quietly, then got her a kitchen roll so she could wipe her nose and tears while he freed himself from snot and tears. Juvia smiled weakly at her brother.

"I'm actually the big sister. I should comfort you and the other way round," she said in a scratchy voice. Natsu just grinned, fluffed through her long hair and left the kitchen laughing. She smiled, then turned back to her cookies, decorated them, wrapped them carefully. Then she put them in her bag, washed her face, put on some makeup and then left her parents' house.

She still wouldn't give up. Not because it might have been difficult between Gray and her. She had never fallen in love so much as with him and just wouldn't let him go. Because she knew he wasn't so cold. Before he knew what her family circumstances were like, they had even been on a date. He had been incredibly friendly and courteous towards her. However, she had made the mistake of introducing herself to his parents with her real name. Of course, his father had immediately known who he had in front of him and had complimented Juvia out. The next day at school, Gray had ignored her and when she asked, he had made it clear to her that he wanted nothing more to do with her. With a criminal. She had assured him that she was not a criminal and that her family was not as bad as they seemed. The whole thing was 4 years ago now and she was still circling him. She hadn't really paid much attention to the way, knew it by heart and waited until the bus, which would take her to her university, arrived.

She got on the bus, showed her ticket and sat down on a window seat, looked out dreamily without really seeing anything. Her thoughts were totally fixed on Gray. Her Gray-sama, as she liked to call him. Her heart was beating hectically with excitement. Would he accept the cookies this time? She chewed indecisively on her lower lip. The cheerful murmur of the other passengers only came to her ear as a hiss. The thought of Gray distracted her too much.

Only when the bus stopped in front of her university did she blink slightly, rose and followed the others out. Nervousness clawed into her stomach and fear clasped her racing heart, making her restless. Her gaze glided around, searching as she continued to chew on her lower lip. The university grounds were of normal size. Nothing overly pompous. A building, a sports field, as well as a gymnasium and a normal-sized courtyard, where you could spend your free time. She walked with insecure steps towards the building, which had been built in the modern architectural style, and the gaze of her deep blue soul mirror gliding around, found the wild, black hair shimmering velvety in the daylight. Juvia pulled her shoulders up and walked exactly in this direction, swallowing slightly as her heart began to race. Her stomach contracted painfully. She had got up a good three hours earlier to bake these cookies, as she had let the mixture steep for an hour.

He was in a group of friends, including his brother Lyon and his girlfriend Meredy. Among them were Yukino, Sorano and Ultear. She wasn't very good friends with the others and swallowed slightly as she approached. She knew no one hated her, but you couldn't say they even really liked her. Her eyes lay on Gray. He was wearing a black Jean, Sneackers, a black shirt, a leather jacket and a bag over his shoulder. Her hands clasped the straps of her bag and her knuckles stood out white. She began to tremble slightly, but still put a smile on her lips as she approached the group.

"G ... Good morning, Gray-sama," she said with a soft voice and the quiet conversations in the group itself fell silent. Glances stared at her and she felt her cheeks getting hot. His dark gaze lay on her and she swallowed briefly, then dragged out the narrow box hastily and looked up at him with an unsteady smile.

"Gray-sama ... Juvia has ... "

"I don't need it. Leave me alone," he growled and pain twitched through her heart. Her hands began to tremble and her throat tightened. She felt the treacherous burning in her eyes. He didn't even let her finish. The smile on her lips began to waver, but she swallowed the pain and tears, stepped one step closer and then continued to hold the box to him.

"Please... Juvia baked the cookies, Gray-sama," she said and looked at him with big eyes. He sighed annoyed and twisted his eyes, driving himself irritated through his hair. Lyon grinned. The others seemed a little embarrassed. They knew Juvia and nobody could really handle her. None of the girls understood how Juvia could still run after him. Lyon gave him a slight elbow stab in the rib.

"Go on, accept it," he said quietly and Gray growled reluctantly, then he accepted the box and looked at Juvia with a cold look. A glow stepped into her eyes and the cold in his eyes became stronger. He opened the can and looked down at the homemade cookies, saw the fine patterns she had made with colorful icing. In the colours he liked. He looked at the sweets and then he looked at her face, saw the look of love in her eyes. His lips turned to a scornful smile and he stepped towards her, getting closer and closer and pushing her. Juvia stumbled back, bent slightly and fell on her ass. Shocked, she looked up at Gray, who looked down at her with disgust and contempt. He pulled a bottle of water out of his pocket, dumped the water into the box, closed it to shake it and then dumped the contents of water, sugar and biscuits over her. Juvia stared at him with big eyes wide open. Horrified whispers penetrated her ears and she began to tremble. Gray snorted.

"Now pay attention, yakuza bitch. I don't want anything to do with a criminal creature like you, is that clear? You are nothing, scum of society. I don't have time for someone like you. Besides ... ", his lips turned to a scornful grin, "... I already have a fiancée. So finally leave me alone."

His words gave her one blow after the other and she couldn't breathe, was as if frozen. It was as if her heart had stopped beating, as if time had stopped. All the noises turned into a hiss and everything around her lost its color, became bleak and gray.

Gray turned around and just let her sit on the floor. His heart hurt and he rubbed his chest unconsciously as he returned to his shocked friends.

"Let's go, then," he said cool as ever.

"Gray, what was that all about?"

"What was what," he asked and watched Meredy wait and see. She blinked and pulled her narrow pink eyebrows together, then pointed at Juvia. She was still sitting on the stone floor as if frozen.

"I showed her that I no longer wanted her near me. What's wrong with showing scum what he is," he asked and felt his heart contract painfully. Meredy pressed her lips together and Lyon growled angrily at him.

"Dude, do you hear yourself talking? Just because her parents are yakuza doesn't mean she can't get out," Lyon replied and slung an arm tightly around his girlfriend. The girlfriend looked at Gray angrily. Her body trembled slightly and Gray knew why. Meredy's parents had been subordinates of a local clan in the USA and had paid for their resignation with their lives. Only her big sister and little sister had survived.

"Well ... but she is still with her scum family. No matter how much she supposedly loves me. That doesn't change anything. Besides, our parents were very clear back then, Lyon," Gray said and snorted slightly. Then he turned away and marched towards the building. It hurt to be like that to her, but it was right. He had learned to hate her, had locked his love for Juvia deep away. Because she would never change. She would always remain the daughter of a yakuza.

[davidbuddbg]

Bodyguard TV Show Fanfiction: What if it’s all worth it?

Let me know you what you think of it, it’s been a while since I’ve last written. 

Prologue

London itself was a contradiction. It was one of the busiest cities worldwide, and yet, if you knew just where to go, you could end up feeling like you were the only person in the world. For some, like me, it was refreshing and truly cathartic. For others, like you, it was threatening and truly scary.

I wouldn’t call it rain, but there was a fizzle. My hair was wet and my feet were constantly slipping out of my heels as I walked through pavement. I gazed up, looking at the tall buildings from afar, and decided to take the long way in order to benefit from the calmness some more time.

I made my way through a park and took off my heels to walk barefoot on the mud. I’d certainly regret it in the morning when the dirt would be incrusted underneath my toenails, but right now, I felt free. And freedom was indisputably the best feeling in the world.

Not that I didn’t appreciate going to my friend’s band smallish concert on the outskirts, but in the end, there were just too many people and too much noise, too little freedom. The park slowly came to an end and I hesitated putting my shoes back on and getting them dirty, or walking barefoot through a large city pavement.

However, those silly preoccupations soon came to a stop when I saw a figure standing still on the bridge’s guard rail. I slowly approached the figure and saw the man was shaking, crying.

“Mate, what the fuck!” I yelled, but not too loud as to scare him, just enough to let my presence be known.

He turned his head to look at me. Beautiful face he had, and not even the tears and the swollen eyes could change that. “Go away!” He yelled back, but it sounded more like he was pleading, too weak to give an order.

I shook my head, and walked up closer. I climbed up to guard rail and sat down a couple meters away from him, staring at the deserted road. “I’m sorry mate, but that’s not possible. I believe I have a duty to rescue toward other people.”

“What?” He yelled confusedly trough the wind as it was now raining harder. I was scared he would slip and fall, because I certainly didn’t have the necessary reflexes to stop that from happening. His knees buckled and I thought that was it, but he regained his balance and I was able to breathe again.

“My name’s Alma Guinness.” I said calmly, stretching out my hand knowing that he wouldn’t take. “What’s yours?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he kept staring into the city and I dared a small peak downwards. We were high, but not high enough to guarantee a certain death. He’d probably end up seriously injured for life, though.

“Budd,” he mumbled. “David Budd,” he eventually replied in the thickest Scottish accent I’d ever heard. Good thing I didn’t go to college there because I wouldn’t have understood anyone, I now realized.

“Nice to meet you, David,” I spoke lightly but inside I was shaking. “Now tell me, why are you doing this?”

“Obvious enough, ain’t it?” His voice seemed impatient, but somehow it felt like he wanted to be reasoned, to be saved.

“Alright, so your life’s a mess and you want to end it?”

He nodded, crying harder but he didn’t budge, if anything he moved closer to the edge and I instructively closed my eyes but I heard no boom. Tentatively, I opened my eyes and saw him nodding, ever so slightly. “What happened, David?”

He started saying something, but he was crying too hard and it was pouring now. “You need to speak louder!”

“My wife left me!” He yelled, louder than I expected. “And I suck at being a father!” He started hardcore sobbing, his chest heaving.

“And you think jumping from a bridge will solve any of that?” I asked sarcastically, but the truth was I had no idea what the fuck I was doing. “Best case scenario, you die, your wife becomes a widow and your kids lose their father.” He looked at me again, full of agony and I was scared I wasn’t up to the task. “Worst case scenario, you become a vegetable.”

“Will any of those scenarios make you a better father or your wife stay with you?”  He was shaking again, this time harder. One of his feet slipped on the wet metal, I tried to grab his leg but I was too far. Out of nowhere, he managed to regain his balance but I couldn’t let this happen again. I started sliding closer to him, slowly enough that he wouldn’t notice.

“No.” He responded, his voice broken and raw, and yet still so Scottish.

“Then, this isn’t the solution, David.” I whispered now that I was sitting right next to his feet. “David, I know suicide is tempting, but it’s truly inappropriate in your situation.” He stood still, so very still even though the wind was hitting his body with unhuman strength.

I stretched out my hand again, the tips of my fingers brushing against his. His hand was frozen. “Take my hand when you’re ready.” I nudged reassuringly. Minutes passed and my arm was starting to cramp badly but I couldn’t let him down.

I was giving up after a while when all the sudden, I felt his hand tighten around mine, his fingers finding warmth behind my own.

On instinct, I pulled him backwards and the both of us fell on the pavement without a scratch. I got back up on my feet and pulled on his hand, bringing him to a standing position, before running into the city with him.

“Why are we running?” He asked next to me, his voice significantly lighter.

“Because it’s pouring!” I laughed.

I was out of breath within minutes but David kept on running, evidentially in a much better shape that I was. As we neared the city center, we came to a stop when I saw the time on a pharmacy’s logo:  It was two in the morning and I had an oral exam at eight. I was hesitating but then I saw David Budd, in the middle of the street looking completely lost and I knew I couldn’t just leave him like that.

“Let’s hail a cab.” I suggested.

The car stopped in front of my building, and David and I stepped out of the vehicle, him still holding my hand like a lost puppy. I brought him up to my messy flat, having neglected the house chores during the exam period but he didn’t say anything.

“Alright, I have cookies, Whisky and a half finished Red Bull.” I announced cheerfully as I walked out of the kitchen and joined him in the main room.

“Do you want to talk it out?” I asked, not sure if it would work but it was worth a try. However, there was nothing Whisky couldn’t help. In no time, it felt as if I knew enough about him to write his biography: Vicky was nurse, they met when they were both 23. He got injured during training, fracturing his foot and Vicky was one of the ER nurses on duty that day. One year later, they got married. One year after that, Ella Budd was born and soon came Charlie, and they were a truly happy family for a while.

And then it happened, Dave was sent to the Helmand Province in Afghanistan. And he never really came back.

“I knew things were off,” he explained, taking another sip of Whisky. As much as I was interested in his story, sometimes I couldn’t help but to just focus on his voice and nothing else. “Ever since I came back from war, Vicky never again said she loved me. Flinched every time she saw my body covered in scars. And the kids, it was as if they didn’t know me and I didn’t know them.”

The both of us finished our drinks, and David poured the rest of the bottle into our glasses. I didn’t know what to respond to that. I was no psychologist, hell, I even went to a psychiatrist weekly myself. And more than that, I knew that whatever people said, it never healed the wound, it just covered it with a new bandage.

“Indeed, that sucks.” I admitted after the room had been silent for a while. Dave, laughed hard and it was a very pleasant sound, even quite sexual.

And then his face changed, the whole mood did, and it felt like the TV was no longer running in the background. I was still sitting on the coffee table when he leaned forward, not leaving the couch, but getting close enough to kiss me. And then he did, once, tentatively before stopping, as if gauging my reaction.

I set my empty glass down next to me on the coffee table and kissed him back. Pushing him backwards against the couch before straddling him. His heart was beating fast, and so was mine. My hands were now on the nape of his neck, trying desperately to get ahold of his short hair as kissing was no longer enough. His hands were under my shirt, and they felt warm now, as they got dangerously close to my bra. Without a thought, I pulled away from him a few inches, to take it off and Dave’s attention immediately went to my now partially revealed breasts. But I wanted more, and if the pressure I felt between my legs was anything to go by, so did he.

Cheekily, I whispered against his ear: “David Budd, could I interest you in some sex with me?” I felt silly, but it did appear to work because suddenly I was in his arms as he walked us to my bed.

It turned out, the Scottish accent wasn’t the only good part about him, I thought to myself. Our chests were glued together with sweat, the both of us still breathing with difficulty after our intense activities.

After a while, I felt his body go limp against mine. He must have fallen asleep after the exhausting night and was now lightly snoring. I wanted to do the same, but daring a quick look at my alarm clock, I realized it was best if I started getting ready to go to my examination.

I softly moved away from him, trying not to wake him up and putting a pillow in the spot where my body had been laying moments before.

After I had finished showering and getting dressed, I realized that he was still fast asleep. Trying to be kind one last time, I set up the alarm next to my bed to ring at ten and decided to leave him a note.

“Next time you want to jump off a bridge, have sex with someone instead.”

[teagrl]

So it seems I am on hiatus, while I straighten up things in Stone for the final arc and try to make headway on my next project, which means we’re back to a snippet a week.

Today’s snippet is a continuation of this. 

It’s trippy so it might not make much sense without that. The ideas are some explored in Flying Cage so they might be confusing. 

This is the first scene from the third installment of the  Adyton series, tentatively titled Mnemotherapy. It could most accurately be thought of as the follow up to Washing Blood with Blood. The gist of Washing Blood is Mara driven insane by Jacen giving her a vision of him being Ben as she killed him, and eventually ending up in an astral plane from which Luke has to pull her out.

They’re out of the astral plane, but not in the real world yet. This is mindfuckery pretty much. LotF timeline. Might not make sense without context.

She never thought she’d see this place again and the sheer relief would make her sink into her knees. Someday she’ll stay here forever. This or a place like it.

Even now, there’s little more she’d like to do than stop and lose herself here, but time pressed down, the tick of the chrono echoing through the tack tack of her heels on the pristine floors, the swish of her massive, black trailing skirts. She’d pause and stare at herself out of curiosity. She gathered she was human, female, she supposed she was young too, but wants to see the whole not just pieces.

She reached the landing and wanders down a hall of mirrors, smiling to herself as she keeps dashing forward.

Ask and you shall receive is the way this place works.

The mirrors showed she was beautiful, her hair a bright red gold, flowing loose and halfway down her back, the skin of her shoulders smooth, her torso tapered to a small waist in a fitted bodice before it flared out to those voluminous black skirts. It’s a ballroom dress.

A child’s voice said as if from far away, a princess dress.

She smiled more widely, amused. Except for all that black.

A few more steps and she found a door to the left. Her destination. That was also how it was here, an intuition led more than anything else.

She opened the door to a stormy sea.

Her smile faded as she considered the small boat, a dinghy, tethered to the short dock. No, there was nothing to be feared in this place, but she enjoyed some parts of it more than others.

And even in a place like this there were rules. Guidelines.

She whispered, “I’d like a guide, please.”

It isn’t that she needed one; she belonged here, but when there was something she’d never encountered before she always asked for a guide.

This place always obliged.

(Of course it does. She is this place. This place is hers.)

“The night that Zena smudged her dress and made mischief she was sent to her room without supper.”

She turned around to see a small redheaded boy maybe six or seven. He was dressed in a casual white tunic and leggings, a contrast to the palace and her own ostentatious dress.

He met her eyes and grinned. “Your dress is supposed to be smudged. That’s why it’s all black.”

She smiles back and crouches, reaching forward to cup the child’s cheek.

It wasn’t really a boy, it was an entity, an avatar, like everything here. Because she belonged here, she felt the true form of things, however fragmented they were, regardless the shape they take.

“Is it?” she murmured. “It looks beautiful. Just like you.”

“Well, one has to make allowances. We’re in a palace, after all,” he said. “Who do you want to see? Or would you like me to tell you a story? I know lots.”

She reached to fold her arms around the child.

“What’s that for?” the child’s voice was muffled as she drew him close, but in good humor as he submitted to the embrace.

“Because I missed you, sweetheart.” All too soon she had to let him go. “And I love all your stories, but I think I should speak to the oracle.”

The boy frowned. “The oracle is sad.”

“That’s why you should take me to her. Maybe I can cheer her up.”

“Okay.” The boy stepped forward through the door and to the windy dock. He turned back, eyes sliding down her dress, ruffling in the breeze. He pursed his mouth. “That’s not proper attire.”

“You might be right,” she told him. “What do you suggest?”

“Hmm. There.”

The boy looks much bigger now. Everything does. She looked at herself. Instead of arms she has black furry paws now. She was on all fours.

Ah. She was a whisperkit now.

She followed at the boy’s heels. He jumped into the dinghy and she looked at it for a second, before jumping after him. The boy bent and scratched at the base of her ear, a content purr escaping her. She curled beside the boy on the seat as he rows the boat through the waves.

“And that night outside Zena’s room came a ship that had her name on it.”

She laughed. “To rescue her from being punished for misbehaving?”

“Kind of.” The boy smiled. “After many days, many weeks, and almost a year she ends in the planet full of fierce things.”

“Monsters?”

He shook his head. “No, just fierce things.”

“She comes home,” she offered.

“No,” he chides.“You’re always so impatient.”

She bunted her head against his forearm. “Sorry.”

He smiled and stopped rowing to scratch at the base of her ears. Another purr escaped her. “She was just Zena in her smudged dress, but when she meets up with the fierce things, they roared at her and showed her their fangs and claws.”

“Sounds a lot like monsters,” she opined.

The boy gave a long suffering sigh, but scratched under her chin before grabbing the oars again.

“Did she pull out her lightsaber and challenge them? Have them for dinner with silec sauce?”

He laughed, a buoyant sound. “No! She’s a little girl! She shows her own teeth and nails and roars at them. But that’s enough. They cower, knowing she’s the fiercest of them all, and that’s when they name her the Princess of the Fierce things.”

“I see why this is your favorite.”

The boy’s expression loses its brightness.

“It wasn’t,” he said softly. “It wasn’t my favorite.”

“What happens to the Princess?”

“She goes home after that and her family isn’t angry at her anymore.”

“Of course they wouldn’t be.” She curled tighter against him. “They love her. They must have been very worried not to find her in her room.”

The boy’s eyes were on the waves. “They even brought her favorite dinner and desert up. She was very sorry.”

“Hurts?” she asked gently after a moment.

The boy nodded. “A lot. But we don’t know why. The oracle’s blocked most of it, and she won’t talk. It’s because you’re here that it hurts more,” he said without accusation. “We don’t want you to go away though. You shouldn’t. Ever. We missed you.”

“I’ll talk to the oracle,” she assured him. “We’ll find a way to make it better, even with me here.”

The boy nodded. The boat has stopped at another dock, and the boy reached to pet her again. She pushed lightly into his hand, purring. “We missed you,” the boy repeats softly. “It rained here for a long time. Only you like that.”

She shook her head as she lifted her head to meet his eyes. They aren't blue. “Not that kind of rain.”

The boy stood up and tied the boat to the dock. She jumped up to it, hearing the boy sigh. “The oracle’ll be mad if you’re not back to that silly princess get up.”

In a blink the flowing black skirts were all around her. The dock was longer this time and she walked down it to a beach with cream colored sand. She turned to wave at the boy, but he and the boat were gone. She continued on through the sand.

Even here walking on the sand with heels was annoying so she took them off. After a bit of walking, she started seeing objects on the shore, pieces of machinery, stores, crates, torn servomotors, actuators, batteries, a hyperdrive ring, sensor wires, chunks of durasteel, and other scattered debris.

It looked like a crash.

She started running through the strewn material, instinctively, picking up her skirts. There, by the distance, she could see a human figure sprawled on the sand, and she ran harder weaving through the material that was washing up.

It was her, the oracle, on her side, a thin metal pipe running from her left side to right, blood blackening her blue flightsuit along her middle. The suit was half charred. She lay face down, red hair faded and gnarled, covered with soot like a broken body washing up on shore.

It’d been a long, long time since she’d seen a gruesome scene like this here.

Still unacceptable.

The pipe vanished. The tattered clothes transformed into a new tunic a few shades lighter than the sand, which lifted from her hair, along with the soot, leaving thick red hair streaked with gray. The oracle slowly lifts up on her arms. Her green eyes track up the black skirts...

...which become obsidianbirds taking to the sky, leaving a different form behind them, a truer form, once, but not anymore, here.

(Because he has become this place and this place has become him. It has become everything.)

“I’d made you so pretty,” the oracle whispers, chiding as she sits up.

“I think I’m going to stop wearing black.” He lowered himself down to sit by her, his tunic now the same color as hers. “You’re right. Maybe it’s just too boring.”

She snorted, a smile playing on her lips. “Twenty years later he agrees with me.”

[akiscribbles-blog]

Only You - P2

Part 1

Pairing: Kim Heechul x Reader

Genre: Drama, humor 

Summary: A broken heart and a few drinks later, you had confessed your feelings to him. What now?

Word count: 3579

You ran, finally standing in front of your apartment building, trying to catch your breath. There was a horrible ache in your knees and legs, but you ignored the pain. You dug around your pockets to find your keys and finally after a few frustrated groans, you found them and approached the door to open it up, but not without a few failed attempts. You slid into the building, taking the elevator as you were too tired and still too drunk to walk up the stairs. You slammed your body against the cold metal wall and lazily raised your hand to pick up your number. After the elevator doors had closed, you collapsed to the floor, letting yourself cry out loud.

   The doors opened, you sniffling loudly just watching them be open for a few seconds. You tried to push yourself up to stand, but not without some struggling. Your knees shook as you stood up and hold on to anything for support. 

   Somehow, you could still take yourself to your home with the key sliding in on your first try. As you got in and closed the door, you fell down to the floor on your knees and on your stomach. You were exhausted, maybe from the alcohol, maybe from the running, maybe from the crying, or possibly from all of it. You knew you should pull yourself to your bed at least, but you couldn’t. As if you were paralyzed, you just couldn’t move from the spot, face down facing the wooden floor. You couldn’t even cry anymore, you simply fell numb from everything. Your eyelids fell so heavy. A single tear still fell out down your cheek as you closed your eyes and fell asleep.

---

You groaned sleepily after you were rudely woken up by a loud buzzing noise. It kept going and going, seeming as if it was never going to stop.

   “What...?”

   The noise continued.

   You stood up slowly, supporting yourself with your hand, while the other held your head.

   The buzzing got short, but repetitive, like an annoying alarm clock. 

   “What the hell??”

   It was your buzzer making noises. You groaned louder as a rising headache began to have its toll on you. How long were you asleep? You checked the wall clock. It had only been forty minutes from when you had fallen asleep, but it felt like two hours.

   Your door kept buzzing and you were starting to get irritated. Was it your neighbor complaining about something? Did you fall on the floor too loudly? Had you snored? The walls were very thin so it wouldn’t be a surprise to you if they could hear every little noise.

   With your last strength, you pushed yourself up, now truly feeling the pain in your legs. Yes, the alcohol was already getting out of your system. You opened your door, expecting someone to be there, but there was no one.

   “What?”

   The buzzing continued like there was no tomorrow. You slammed the door shut and looked at the monitor on the wall, next to the door. If it wasn’t the doorbell, then it was someone outside who didn’t have the keys to the building. You pushed a button to get the monitor on.

   Your eyes widened.

   “Are you serious?” you glared at the person whose face was right in front of the camera as if that would help them see you. You then pushed a button that opened a microphone and a speaker, to immediately be greeted with a call of your name.

   “Go away, Heechul!” you yelled back.

   “Listen! I-” you interrupted him by closing the speaker and then turned around to leave to the bathroom.

   The buzzing started again. You sighed in annoyance and had a look at the monitor. Heechul pressed the button repeatedly, his eyes full of determination. It looked like he could stay there the whole night if need be. You could see him mouth your name over and over again, even if you couldn’t hear it. With a sigh, you took a step back and pressed for the speaker again.

   “Stop it, Heechul!” you yelled. “I already embarrassed myself to the people outside, do you want to embarrass me in front of my neighbors too!?”

   “If you could let me speak for a fucking second, then maybe I wouldn’t have to do this!” he stared at the camera. You could almost feel his eyes on you.

   “Leave me alone”, you lowered your voice. 

   “Leave you alone?!” he repeated, irritation rising in him. “I was worried! Why did you run in that state?! You could have hurt yourself! Did you run the whole way there?? Are you okay??”

   You didn’t respond.

   “Let me in!”

   “No. Just... Just leave”, you closed the speaker once more and took off, not caring that the buzzing started again. You completely shut it off in your head, walking towards the bathroom to clean yourself up.

   You leaned close to the sink and splashed the water on you, then washed your face with soap. You dried yourself with a towel, taking your time. Eventually, the noise had stopped. It still made you somehow sad, thinking that Heechul had given up on you. But then again, you were the one who pushed him away. You shook your head and walked over to your bedroom, collapsing onto the warm bed. You didn’t bother to change your clothes or even get under the covers. You just wanted to sleep.

---

You woke to the sun that was shining through the window, with birds chirping outside loudly like they didn’t care about your hangover. You rubbed your eyes taking the pillow to cover your ears with it. You wanted to sleep the horrible headache away. Drinking was all fun until you woke up the next day.

   As you were about to fall into the dreamland, your doorbell suddenly started ringing. This time you could tell it was the door and not the outside bell. You groaned as the ringing wouldn’t stop and pressed the pillows more against your ears. When you realized that it didn’t help, you jumped up, a little too fast. You ignored the dizzy feeling and stomped through your apartment to get the door.

   “What?!” you yelled as you opened it, seeing an elderly lady standing in front of you.

   “Sorry to bother you”, she said politely, “But I would like it if you got your friend to leave. He’s been down in front of the door for hours.”

   “What?” you furrowed your eyebrows. “What ‘friend’?”

   “The loud man”, she answered, pointing to the monitor at your wall. You had forgotten it on.

   You took a closer look, your eyes widening again when you saw none other than Kim Heechul staring at the camera with hazy eyes.

   “That little- Has he been there all night??”

   “I guess so...” the elderly woman scratched her head. “Other people have complained about him. He was apparently sleeping there before someone woke him up! After that, he has been there calling out your name non-stop. So I figured you know him.”

   “Right now, I wish I didn’t”, you placed your index and middle fingers on your temples and rubbed lightly. “He’s giving me a headache.”

   The woman smiled faintly, but then cleared her throat. “Could you please get him out, or take him in? He clearly wants to see you.”

   “Yeah, well I told him to leave, but he is very persistent.”

   She gave you a sympathetic look. “Is he a hopeless admirer? Do I need to call the police?”

   “What? No, no, no! I’ll open the door to him.” You smiled kindly to the lady, bowing, “Have a nice day, and... I apologize for him.”

   “That’s okay. I hope everything works out for you two”, the elderly woman took her leave and stepped into the elevator.

   You let out a loud sigh and pressed a button so you could hear and speak to the man in question. You were again greeted with a shout of your name, but this time it was a lazy call. He must have been tired.

   “Get your ass up here and stop harassing my neighbors!” you pressed another button that opened the building door.

   The second after, you could hear loud and fast footsteps on the stairs, getting stronger as they got closer up to you. In seconds, Heechul had run up and was in front of your apartment. He tried to support himself with one hand as he leaned against the wall, panting like crazy. You raised an eyebrow, staring at him in disbelief.

   “Aish...” he rubbed his free hand against his leg.

   You remembered his past injury and couldn’t help but feel sorry. “Come on in”, you grabbed his wrist and pulled him inside.

   You closed the door after him, then quickly let him place his arm around your shoulder while you placed your hands onto his side and led him to sit down on the couch. He held his leg, hissing quietly in pain.

   “Do you need ice?” you crossed your arms, looking down to him. You tried to keep your voice as even-toned as possible, though in reality, you were dying inside of worry.

   “No. No”, Heechul gently placed his leg down. “I’ve felt worse. It’ll go away soon enough.”

   Your gaze turned into a glare. “But what if something happened?? You could have injured yourself more and made it worse!”

   “For you, any pain is worth it”, he let out without thinking.

   Your eyes grew larger. “What?”

   Heechul sighed, taking his eyes to you. “I care for you. A lot.”

   “As a friend”, you interrupted him, turning around so you didn't have to look at his eyes.

   “If you would just let me finish for once-!”

   “Finish what?! You telling me that you have always seen me as a friend, and nothing more?!” You took your courage to face Heechul. “I know you. I know you don’t ask your friends out. I know that when you like someone, you go for it right away. We’ve been friends for almost three years! Three! You even asked me to be at your wedding! I know you don’t feel the same way about me as I feel for you. And I’m sorry I said what I said...”

   You took a deep breath, calming yourself down. The idol sat in the same spot, his sight never leaving you.

   “I... I hope this doesn’t break our friendship, because I love you. I mean I love you as a friend and I don’t want to lose you...”

   Silence. Heechul kept staring at you. You stared back shyly. You couldn’t read him. What was he thinking? Was he there to tell you that he couldn’t be your friend anymore? Was it over between you two? You were starting to get anxious.

   “No you don’t”, he suddenly said.

   “What?”

   “No you don’t know”, he repeated. “You don’t know how I feel.”

   You tilted your head to the side. Heechul noticed your questioning look.

   He smirked. “You'd think that after three years you would know me, but in reality, you know nothing about me.”

   “What are you-?” you were now getting upset. It felt as if he was mocking you. “Start making sense!”

   “You didn’t let me finish when you confessed to me.” He continued, “You are my friend, but I love you too.”

   Suddenly, the time stopped. All the little noises fainted and your surrounding disappeared. You could hear your heartbeat ringing in your ears. Your eyes nailed on him, unblinking. Now you could only pay attention to him.

   “You... You what?”

   “You said you loved me. I love you too.”

   “As... as a frie-?”

   “No. More than that.” Heechul stood up and took a step so he was standing right in front of you, your bodies almost touching.

   “I don’t think I understand...”

   He chuckled. “Dumbfounded much?”

   You were. You couldn’t believe his words. Was this some sick joke he was pulling at you? It seemed impossible for him, Kim Heechul, the man who you had loved for all these years, the man who had told you his crushes and other intimate things, to feel the same way for you as you did for him.

   “But, what about our friendship?” you asked.

   “What about it? Can’t I have feelings for my friends?”

   “But you... I...” You swallowed harshly while you tried to think of something to say or something to ask.

   “When did you know?”

   “I realized that I had feelings for you some time ago, I’m not entirely sure when.” He gently brushed the back of his index finger against your cheek, “All I know is that one day I looked at you and just, saw you in a different light.”

   “How? I swear to god Heechul, if you’re kidding, I will kill yo-”

   Heechul laughed.

   “Yah! Stop laughing! This is serious!”

   “I know, I know”, he placed his hands on your shoulders. “I just can’t believe how this went. I should have listened to Teukie earlier.” He shook his head to himself.

   “Jungsoo?” you raised your eyebrow.

   “Yeah, he always pointed at you. He kept saying ‘See Heenim! You two should date!’”

   You furrowed your eyebrows slightly while you listened to him. He smiled to himself as he continued.

   “When I one day complained to him about my love life, he again said ‘Your friend is free. Date!’ I kept telling him that I don’t do that, but he just wouldn’t stop nagging. Then I thought, well what the heck? What’s really the worse that could happen? I knew I kinda liked you, so maybe I should try dating you. Then if it wouldn’t work, I don’t think we would stop being friends.”

   “Why didn’t you tell me before?” You kept staring at him with questioning eyes.

   “Because you looked suddenly so happy.” He took his gaze away from you. “I assumed you had a boyfriend or something... I didn’t want to ruin that for you. So there was that girl I told you about, but you know how that went.”

   You raised your eyebrows, “Then... Who was that girl you kissed??”

  “Oh, just someone I met. She was cute and she liked me, so I went for it.” 

   Your heart sank when he spoke like that, the memory of the scene you had seen that night creeping in your mind.

   “I thought this was how it’s supposed to be. I don’t date my friends. But last night, I saw you with that guy, that stranger, and I felt jealous. That is when I knew for sure that I had fallen for you.”

   You stared at him, blinking once. “Wow...”

   Heechul looked at you, waiting eagerly for what you were going to say. He looked like a child with his eyes so wide open.

   “That is so cheesy”, you shook your head.

   “Yah! I am trying to be romantic here!”

   “Sorry”, you bit your lip, keeping in a chuckle. “So, what happened to that girl?”

   “I called her soon after you had left and said it’s not gonna work out”, Heechul shrugged.

   You went quiet, trying to put this all together. When could it have been that he realized his feelings? Was he about to tell you the day before when you hung out? Is that why he was asking if you had a boyfriend? Then there was that man who bought you drinks. You tried to remember. Heechul did maybe act and sound as if he was mad at you when usually he was okay with you going out, especially with possible new dates.

   ”How about that drinking buddy of yours?”, he asked, stopping your thoughts. “You weren’t thinking of dating him, right?”

   “No! I barely knew him.”

   “And what if I hadn’t shown up?” Heechul looked concerned. “Would you have let him take you home? To his home? Would you have hooked up with him?”

   “Wha-?” You gave him a scandalous look in “No!”

   “I’m just saying, you were quite drunk”, he noted. “I know how, ahem, touchy you get when you are.” Heechul gave you a quick wink followed by his famous smirk.

   You blushed bright red.

   “Not that I mind”, he trailed his slender finger on your face, stopping at your lips. “I’ll admit that my thoughts of you haven’t always been purely innocent.”

   You shot your eyes as wide open as possible, your whole face now hot and red. You smacked him on his arm, once, then twice, then repeatedly with both of your hands.

   “Ow, ow, ow! What are you-!? Stop!” he tried to dodge your hits by crouching until he ended up back on the couch.

   “Yah! What are you saying!? You pervert!”

   “What??” He grabbed your arm to make you stop for a moment. “Are you going to tell me, that you haven’t thought the same way about me?”

   “I...” you stopped as you felt yourself getting nervous, cheeks then turning to a rosy color while the angry red faded. “Well, I...”

   “Aish.” He adjusted himself to sit on the furniture more comfortably. “It’s okay if you have”, he mumbled to himself, but loud enough for you to hear. You bit your bottom lip and calmly sat next to him.

   He glanced over at you, shaking his head. Neither of you said anything for a good minute. You didn’t know what to say or do. He had just confessed so much to you and you couldn’t handle it all at once.

   “So”, Heechul broke the silence and turned to face you. “I guess I should do this properly.”

   You looked back at him. Your heart was pounding faster and louder than ever while you imagine what he was going to say.

   “I’m going to ask you out”, he started. “I’ll close my eyes and if you like me, you kiss me.”

   You watched as Heechul closed his eyes, waiting for something to happen.

   You didn’t hesitate for one second as right at that moment he had shut his eyes, you had wrapped your arms around his neck, your lips fast attached to his.

   He let out a muffled moan while you kissed him like he was going to disappear. He placed his hand on your neck to deepen the kiss, which you thought couldn’t even be possible. Then another hand was put on the other side of your neck. Your lips moved perfectly together and the kiss turned passionate in an instant. Too soon, Heechul parted from you to trail kisses down from your chin to your jawline. He removed his hand and replaced it with his silky soft lips. A quiet moan escaped your mouth in reaction to his action and you could feel him smirk against your skin.

   “H-Heechul...” you sighed, “I...”

   He leaned away and you whined a little because of the lack of touch when you felt the cool air on your skin. Heechul grinned in amusement. You let out a dry cough awkwardly, feeling his intense eyes on you. He leaned in a little at you so his nose was almost buried in your hair, inhaling your scent.

   “You reek of alcohol”, he said out of a sudden.

   You looked at him with an eyebrow arched.

   “Maybe you should take a shower”, he added.

   “What??” You were speechless. This man was unbelievable. “You’re such a jerk!”

   Heechul looked genuinely confused about your comment until he then closed his eyes and tried to preserve, taking a deep breath.

   “You dummy...” He took his gaze back to you, this time smiling in an adoring way. “You were meant to say ‘You’re right’ and then I would have offered to join you.”

   You blinked repeatedly, getting quieter at every second.

   Heechul sighed annoyingly while rolling his eyes, “I am asking for us to have a shower. At the same time. In the same bathroom.”

   “Oh... Oh!”

   “You, I swear...” he shook his head. “I had to fall for you, huh?”

   You let out a nervous chuckle, scratching your head gently. “Sorry...”

   Heechul smiled at you again, but it was short-lived as it turned back to that irresistible smirk.

   “So, about that shower-”

   You humored him and sniffed your shirt that in reality had no weird smells to it. “You’re right”, you then said. “I didn’t get to have a shower last night. I should have a warm one now.”

   With a rather elegant move, you stood up from the furniture, slowly walking past Heechul, making sure he had a good look at you. You could feel his eyes buried on you and it made you smirk.

   “I’ll leave the door unlocked.”

   Heechul didn’t say anything as you walked away to the bathroom. He bit his lip gently, watching you get out of his sight. He sat in one spot, staring at the bathroom door until some minutes after he could hear the shower go off. He waited a little longer, not wanting to seem too eager.

   Then as he finally was about to stand up, he slowly sat back down, his grin turning into an amused smile. He chuckled to himself.

   “This doesn’t feel weird at all”, he noted to himself.

   “Heechul?” you peeked your head out by the door hesitantly, your hair already partly wet. “Could you, um... help wash my back? I can’t reach it.”

   Heechul jumped up from the couch, looking at you the same amused smile framing his handsome face. “Yes, darling.~”

[pernatius]

Lost in Space Part 11: Ch 3

Previous

Summary: Finally, on Commander Knox’s spaceship, the trio finds themselves running out of time before the commander becomes an all too powerful Watcher.

Lost in Space on Tumblr

Lost in Space on ao3

The false deity rams his lifeless fist into my gut. He twists it, reopening Ashely's slash. Besides my blood, I can feel my insides sliding through the widening opening. I shudder, and so does my sword. It scratches against that sole silver finger, but it remains unblemished. 

"Now repent before God!"

His almighty punch sends me flying across the room, spinning underneath one of the bulbous veins and crashing into a wall. I sunk into it; the wall depressed around my limp self. I'm hundreds of feet above the floor. My fractured body lunges forward in the aftermath, and I can't keep my grip on my sword. Through my hair strands covering my face, I see its flames trail behind it as it falls. It stabs the floor, and I nearly join it if I didn't lay my glowing hand back onto the wall. The limb isn't inflamed but instead glowing blue. Saamuki shared some of her powers with me.

I'm dangling in the air. The nanites have healed my wounds, but they're not the ones keeping me from going splat. I don't know how long Saamuki's powers can keep me up here. It's not close to running out yet, but my arm is beginning to shake from fighting against this room's gravity. My tendons are quickly giving in to the pressure as one by one they shear. I must've lost tons of weight throughout my travels, but apparently not enough. I don't think I am enough for that thing all the way down there. 

Wait. Where did Knox go? I look around the room. S1Y is still standing there, looking at me. When Earth was taken, we came onto his planet thinking we could take a break from the mess happening beyond the stars. That once-friendly robot risked his life to save me, a stranger he barely met, because he genuinely believed in helping those who couldn't help themselves. That smile, one that's been replaced with a frown, said it all. While my smile in return said the opposite. Now the tables have turned. He's gone. He's alive, though, but in a broken shell, and as for me, I'm trying to keep living for my previous self because she was killed too soon. Or so I thought until I noticed something in those eyes. They darted left. I follow it and see Knox has teleported to my left. Knox's blaster is charging up. Electricity surrounds the increasing purple ball of light. My nanites won't be able to put me back together if that thing hits. So, all I'm left with is down. I hope for the best as I let go just when he shoots. Cool air rapidly pushes against me. What's left of my clothes flaps at my sides, still clinging onto my body. 

I smack the ground with my left arm first. I didn't have enough time to readjust myself to balance out the force. So, my left arm shatters. I shout, but I don't hear it through the ringing in my ears. At least my eyes work. S1Y looks away from me, which means he's in there somewhere. My working arm reaches out to him. 

Knox reappears in front of me, standing between my helpless state and S1Y. He steps on my only working hand and crushes its bones. I scream. S1Y twitches, but he remains glued to that one spot, but something does push him off of me, and that something is a rushing beam of blue light. Knox is sent flying into a nearby wall, chunks of its metal are sent scattering away from him, and Saamuki replaces his previous position. Her body is covered in blue light. Some veins have popped out of her blue flesh. They are pumping, and a lot of them are bulging around her flaming eyes. Her hair and the hems of her cassock are floating too, but not her sash. She lifts the red cloth over her shoulders. It turns into a sword as big as mine, but hers looks more like a cross. 

Saamuki helps me up. Her powers flow through me again. My body has a tint of blue to it, my energy renews, and my skin and bones have healed. Hints of The Speaker are heard when she asks, "Are you okay?" I nod. Her hand moves behind me, and metal being scratched is heard. My sword seemed to pry itself free and flew towards me with the pommel directly pointed at me with a now glowing blue handle. I catch it, wrap my hand around the handle, and the blue fades away. 

Knox removes himself from the wall. He falls, and his eyes slowly move from Saamuki to me. When our confused opponent stands back up, his fingers flick off a dark drop of purple blood from his lips. His eyebrows furrow as he frowns, but he quickly shifts the grimace into a nonchalant expression. The Virmus dusts himself off. He smiles as he finishes. "Look what we have here, S1Y. I now have two sinners that wish to defy their savior. Two Lucifers instead of one and it appears one of them is planning on stopping me with a cross." He swipes a finger in front of him, activating a screen with a timer, and pushes it. The screen floats past us and stops above the crystal. "Ten minutes to entertain me, and after that I will make you join me," the tyrant commander continued. 

Saamuki and I turn to look at each other. We nodded, and she bolted left, and I bolted to the right. She became a blue blur, and I'm sure I looked like a blur mainly of red and yellow. We jump over vein after vein and slide our feet across the floor when we're on either side of him. At the same time, the two of us swing. Knox teleports away, and we stop right when either of our swords can cut the other's heads off. 

Knox is standing above an arching vein behind us and smiles as he pulls his arms back. He stretches his arms towards us, and we swerve away from the incoming hands. They hit the floor, and once its smoke clears, I see it went through several rooms beneath us. I gulp, but another nod from Saamuki, and we begin running towards Knox on the veins at our sides. He pulls back his arms and turns them into blasters. He aims at us. The two of us deflect the rushing purple light as we jump from vein to vein. They bounced off our weapons, sent all over the room, smashing through the walls and floor. Each easily could've killed us if we weren't quick enough. The ones that become directed towards some of the veins don't even leave a mark on them.

Knox turns his pointer fingers into large swords. Near his knuckles are angelic wings as their cross-guards. Their blades have those symbols again, which glow purple along with, now, his eyes. Our swords clash with him from side to side, but the two of us struggle to keep up. Saamuki and I are gritting our teeth. His fluid movements are too much for our eyes to keep up with. I mainly as I'm gaining cuts across my arms. The nanites are stitching my skin back together, but another cut replaces that one every time they do. The rest of his fingers grow swords. I nearly slipped off of the vein to dodge the attack of five blades all at once if it weren't for Saamuki summoning a platform underneath my feet with my next backstep. Knox yawns through our struggles. 

He reverts his hands back and bends his arms towards him, pointing his elbows which suddenly turn into blasters at us. He shoots, but Saamuki is one step ahead of him. She makes shields for both of us. The electrifying purple energy goes around these blue shields, hitting everything around us, S1Y dodges the stray blasts and this time some tear through veins. Purple goo flows out of the newly formed holes. Being so, we're being pushed back, and our defenses are starting to crack. Piece by piece, these things are being vaporized. I try to keep it stable with my flames. It binds it, but not enough. He's going to tear through the shield. The vein underneath us is starting to crumble as well because of the blast's sheer strength, but I don't know what's going to snap first, and my faint blue glow is beginning to fade. The crystal is slowly absorbing my energy again.

I'm on my knees when someone bellows something. That thing inching closer to taking me away makes it hard to hear what was said and who said it. When Saamuki shouts, I'm finally able to hear, "Raise your hand towards me!"

I was growing numb, and I was losing my vision. My body is rapidly growing too heavy. 

I can't do it. 

I can't save us. 

I can't protect the universe. 

I was about to blackout until I heard a voice whisper into my ear. "Please, stay awake. They need you." 

A hand is lightly pressed onto my shoulder. I felt energy soar through me. It rushed towards my hands, and when I turned around to see the cause, I found my eyes watering. Shiitake, glowing, has his head back. My mushroom friend wipes away my tears. Before I can thank him, he fades away from me and appears before Knox, floating before him, and punches him in the face. Saamuki and I, standing in shock, watch Knox fall and spin into a lower vein, which he crashes through, breaking it. Knox quickly recovers from it, using his blasters to fly towards Shiitake. Pulling back his fist, he then punches Shiitakee, but it goes right through him. The ghostly figure that was Shiitakee vanishes into thin air. 

Knox is back between us. He turns left and right, looking at Saamuki and me. No one has an answer for what we're all questioning. I shrug. We do get our powered-up selves towards him with our swords pointed forwards. No, overpowered selves because Knox is no longer outpacing us. We slice through him, but his nanites fix it. They're not fast enough, though. He's gritting his teeth as more and more of his blood splashes onto his face. 

Knox is stumbling about with his hands swaying in front of him, nearly slipping off. He's looking at the two of us, but he can barely keep his eyes open. We're about to win this. We're about to decapitate Knox until he snaps his fingers. S1Y steps in front of him. 

"S1Y, I know you're in there somewhere. I know you can hear me. You have to fight against Knox's control."

"He doesn't have me like how he does with your friends. All I'm about to do is of my own volition, but I'm sorry."

What I thought was my friend shoots at me. My sword is ready to block it, but instead of having to face the same blast that killed that serpent on his homeworld, the ground beneath me breaks. He shot at the vein. I fall, and as I do, he jumps and flies towards me with his fist pulled back. My back hits a vein, causing a painful tingling sensation to run up and down my body. After I grunt, I roll out of the way of S1Y's punch. The vein cracks, and pieces of it and its goo are sent upwards. They rain down on him. He stands upright when I do it with the help of my sword. 

We're five minutes before the end. Knox is still wounded, but his pace is much better now that he only has to face Saamuki. Her sword has to deal with ten swords, which their maneuvers get faster and faster with each swing. She only has seconds until his nanites recover him fully. Whereas I don't know how long I have, but I do know it's not short enough. Sword in both hands, I command, "S1Y, step out of my way. I don't care how much you think you're in control of your own body. I know you and this isn't you. The you I know won't let what happens after that timer hits zero."

"On that day, I protected you and your friends. It's in my program to help others in need. In five minutes, my master will make my purpose pointless. He will protect all those left that didn't get to be part of the greatest purpose a person can be given. Commander Knox will make the universe a better place."

"By taking away the lives of billions, some of which includes the friends you saved."

"I've learned you can't save everyone."

"How can you even say that? Why are you truly doing this, S1Y? What happened to you?"

"What happened to me? Simply, I was reunited with my creators. Virmus three generations ago created my people. I am the last of them now. Each one sacrificed themselves to make this day possible."

"S1Y, I'm sorry."

"No, I am." He sprints towards me with a ferocious punch. I blocked it with my sword, but I felt the impact hitting my abdomen, and he's pushing me back. As I try to move him away, in the corner of my eye, I see Saamuki taking a hit. One of the ten blades pierces into her shoulder. She grabs it, and it cuts into her hand, but Knox pulls it back, causing the cut to deepen and her to nearly slip. 

S1Y's other fist collides with my jaw. My vision fades, and once I hit the floor, I blackout. 

[sophs-the-name]

“Troop Leader” Part 13

Summary: How will your father handle the fact that James Buchanan Barnes is the one mending your broken heart?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Stark!Reader

Warnings: Fluff, GRAPHIC SMUT (it’s the only way i thought to end this series)

Word Count: 1965

A/N: The epilogue will be up soon! If anyone from the series taglist wants to be switched to my permanent just send me an ask!

Troop Leader Masterlist

Tony had to wake Bucky up at Noon because him and Bruce had completed his arm. You naturally woke up once you heard the whispering voices.

“What’s going on?” you rasped out, your voice still laced with sleep.

“The Terminator here is getting his new arm. Care to join?” Tony asked you with a hint of a smile on his face.

“Breakfast first, then new arm.” You responded while trying to stumble your way out of the cocoon of blankets you had made.

Bucky just laughed at you and helped steady you on your feet. You gave him an appreciative smile and grabbed his hand, leading him to the kitchen. Tony followed close behind.

The kitchen was full of all the team members. Wanda and Vision were making pancakes for everyone, Steve was reading the newspaper, and Natasha was cleaning her guns. Tony had to tell her to keep the guns off of his expensive table. You and Bucky sat down next to each other across from Steve. He looked up from his paper and you could see the small smirk forming on his lips.

“What’re you lookin’ at Punk?” Bucky asked jokingly from across the table.

Steve raised his hands in a surrendering manner and walked away to hep Wanda and Vis. He kept burning the pancakes so Steve was going to take over.

Bucky let out a small laugh and pulled you on close to his side. You rested your head on his shoulder and you felt him place a feather light kiss on your forehead.

“Hey! No PDA at the table!” Sam shouted from the bar.

“I agree with Birdbrain.” Tony said as he sipped his coffee from the kitchen island.

Just to spite them, Bucky took your chin in his hand and tilted your head up. Your lips met in a soft, sweet kiss that had you melting into him. Sam let out a noise of disgust and walked to the common room. Wanda awed at the action. Steve couldn’t help but smile, and Tony was trying hard not to freak out.

You pulled away when Wanda set down a nice stack of fluffy pancakes in front of you. You savored each bite of the fluffy goodness. Bucky couldn’t help but laugh at your expression every time you took a bite. Once everyone was done eating, Tony pulled Bucky away to get prepped for the arm replacement. He said it wouldn’t take long, so Bucky told you just to wait for him in his bedroom. You guys would probably watch a movie once everything was done.

The surgery took almost an hour. Bucky didn’t need to be put under anesthesia because they had to see what wires they had to connect. They had to check the movement in each finger and each part of the arm. The procedure was painless anyway.

 You waited for Bucky in his room. You had brought your favorite book with you. You were at the most intense part when you heard the door open. In walked Bucky, shirtless, and with a brand-new arm. T’Challa had provided the vibranium for the arm, but this time it was different. His new arm was a beautiful, sleek black.

“Holy shit.” Came out of your mouth before you could stop it.

Bucky looked at you with a smirk plastered on his lips. He did his classic murder strut over to you.

“I take it you like the new arm, Doll.” Bucky rasped out, his voice incredibly sexy.

Your words got lost in your throat. All you could do was give him a small nod of your head. His smirk widened. When he made his way in front of you, he slowly pulled the book form your hands. You had forgotten it was even there.

He cupped your cheek with his new arm. It was incredibly smooth to the touch. You pushed your cheek even farther into his hand. His thumb started to caress your cheekbone. You looked at him with wanting eyes. He dipped his head down until his lips were almost touching yours. His warm breath feathered out over your face. When his lips finally connected with yours, it felt like fireworks had gone off inside you.

The moan you let out was almost pornographic. You pushed your lips against his harder. Your hands immediately went to his silky locks of chestnut hair. His hands wandered up the small of your back. The contrast between hot and cold made you shiver.

His slender fingers reached your bra and he unclasped it. He pulled away from your lips to take off your shirt and your no undone bra. When he rid you of the garments, he couldn’t help but stare. The supple curves of your breasts enticed him. You bit your lip as you watched both of his hands reach out slowly. His hands cupped the globes of flesh. The touch had your nipples perking instantly. He used his thumb and index fingers to tug at the hardened peaks.

You let your head fall back and let out a strangled moan. You gasped when you felt his soft lips close around one of your nipples. You blindly reached out in front of you and tugged at the bottom of Bucky’s shirt. He laughed lightly as he complied to your silent demand.

When he pulled off his shirt, your hands instantly went to roaming his rock-hard body. Your fingers traced the lines of his abs, they made their way up his strong arms. The metal felt sleek and smooth under your touch. You felt goosebumps rise in the wake of your hand on his flesh arm. When your hands got to his face, he tilted his head back towards you. His pupils were blown wide. There was only a small ring of blue left around his eyes. He was full of lust. It was no secret that the sexual tension had been there from the first day you meet back at the troop sale.

Both of your hands had stopped roaming each other. You brought yourself off the bed and kneeled in front of Bucky. You brought your hands to his waist band. You pulled him to sit on the edge of your mattress. You grabbed his pants and boxers and slowly brought them down his thick thighs.

His cock sprang free. The tip was an angry red and leaking precum. It was the most beautiful cock you had ever seen. You brought one hand to the base of his cock. He gasped when he felt your hand curl around him. He groaned when you started moving your hand slowly up and around the silky tip of his cock. You used your other hand to apply pressure to had balls. His hands immediately went to your hair.

You lowered your mouth to his cock. You licked a slow trial across the prominent vein on the underside of his cock. It throbbed at the contact. When your lips got to the tip, you sucked him into your mouth. His hands tightened when you took his whole cock in your mouth. He had grown in size when he was injected with the serum. He didn’t think that anyone would be able to fit the whole thing in their mouth.

He moaned out low when his cock head made its way down your throat. He had never been in anything so tight. He pulled your hair into a makeshift ponytail and started bobbing your head up and down. You would circle your tongue around the tip when he made his way back to your lips. He had to pull himself completely from your mouth before he came.

He grabbed you by the waist and threw you on the bed. You giggled when you bounced a couple of times. He crawled his way up to your waist and pulled your pants and panties down your legs. He kissed his way back up. His hands moved to separate your legs. You felt lucky that you had just gotten yourself waxed.

He kissed your navel down to your pussy. He sucked and licked at your lips. you mewled at the delicious feeling. He moved his hands to separate your lips. he got a good look at your pussy. Your clit was throbbing, looking for attention. He licked his lips and dipped his head into your dripping core. The first lick to your clit had your back arching.

Bucky watched you while he attacked your core. You were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Your hands pulled once again at his chestnut locks. He moaned into your pussy. The vibrations made your legs shake with pleasure. He pulled them apart even more. At this point, you were spread impossibly wide for him. He attacked your pussy at a fast pace.

You were on the verge of your orgasm when he pulled away. You whined and reached out for him. He laughed and crawled up you so he was lined up with your core. His forearms trapped your head. He gave you a sweet, gentle kiss before pulling away.

“You ready, baby?” he asked.

You nodded your head to him with a smile on your face. With one last peck to your lips, he grabbed his cock in his hand and slowly pushed his way inside you. He was the biggest person you had ever been with. The stretch stung, but also felt amazing at the same time. Your eyes rolled back in your head as soon as he was fully seated inside you.

He had to stop himself from cumming right then. He had never had this type of effect on a woman before. He took a couple seconds to let you adjust before he started with a slow roll of his hips. Your hands scratched their way down his back and landed at his ass. You gave both cheeks a firm squeeze, encouraging him to go faster.

He picked up on the hint and went up to his knees. He grabbed you by the ankles and spread you wide. He kept his eyes staring where you two would meet. The base of his cock was constantly on your clit.

“Oh, Fuck! Bucky! Right there!” you screamed for him.

He picked up the pace and kept his cock hitting your g-spot. You had never had someone pleasure you this much. He could feel your pussy squeezing him. You were on the brink of your orgasm. He was close behind.

“C’mon, baby. Get there. I’m right behind you.” He kept encouraging you.

He pounded into you until he felt your walls completely constrict around him. His pace was faltering. He could barely move you were squeezing him so tight. With a few more thrusts he emptied himself into you. His arms gave out and he laid on top of you.

You caressed his back and hair, slowly bringing him down from his high. When he lifted his head, you saw a boyish smile grace his features. He leaned in and gave you one last kiss before pulling his soft cock out of you. He walked himself to the bathroom and brought back a warm washcloth to clean you up.

The contact made you wince away from him. You started to feel the aftermath of your bedroom activities. Once he discarded of the cloth, he jumped back into bed and pulled you to cuddle. He spooned you and caressed your body.

“I love you, Y/N/N.” he whispered in your ear.

You couldn’t help but smile at his honest words. You turned your body in his hold and cradled his face in your hands.

“I love you too, Buck. Forever and Always.” You whispered against his lips.

This was the start to a life the both of you deserved.

The End

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[davidbuddbg]

Prologue: What if it’s worth it?

London itself was a contradiction. It was one of the busiest cities worldwide, and yet, if you knew just where to go, you could end up feeling like you were the only person in the world. For some, like me, it was refreshing and truly cathartic. For others, like you, it was threatening and truly scary.

I wouldn’t call it rain, but there was a fizzle. My hair was wet and my feet were constantly slipping out of my heels as I walked through pavement. I gazed up, looking at the tall buildings from afar, and decided to take the long way in order to benefit from the calmness some more time.

I made my way through a park and took off my heels to walk barefoot on the mud. I’d certainly regret it in the morning when the dirt would be incrusted underneath my toenails, but right now, I felt free. And freedom was indisputably the best feeling in the world.

Not that I didn’t appreciate going to my friend’s band smallish concert on the outskirts, but in the end, there were just too many people and too much noise, too little freedom. The park slowly came to an end and I hesitated putting my shoes back on and getting them dirty, or walking barefoot through a large city pavement.

However, those silly preoccupations soon came to a stop when I saw a figure standing still on the bridge’s guard rail. I slowly approached the figure and saw the man was shaking, crying.

“Mate, what the fuck!” I yelled, but not too loud as to scare him, just enough to let my presence be known.

He turned his head to look at me. Beautiful face he had, and not even the tears and the swollen eyes could change that. “Go away!” He yelled back, but it sounded more like he was pleading, too weak to give an order.

I shook my head, and walked up closer. I climbed up to guard rail and sat down a couple meters away from him, staring at the deserted road. “I’m sorry mate, but that’s not possible. I believe I have a duty to rescue toward other people.”

“What?” He yelled confusedly trough the wind as it was now raining harder. I was scared he would slip and fall, because I certainly didn’t have the necessary reflexes to stop that from happening. His knees buckled and I thought that was it, but he regained his balance and I was able to breathe again.

“My name’s Alma Guinness.” I said calmly, stretching out my hand knowing that he wouldn’t take. “What’s yours?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he kept staring into the city and I dared a small peak downwards. We were high, but not high enough to guarantee a certain death. He’d probably end up seriously injured for life, though.

“Budd,” he mumbled. “David Budd,” he eventually replied in the thickest Scottish accent I’d ever heard. Good thing I didn’t go to college there because I wouldn’t have understood anyone, I now realized.

“Nice to meet you, David,” I spoke lightly but inside I was shaking. “Now tell me, why are you doing this?”

“Obvious enough, ain’t it?” His voice seemed impatient, but somehow it felt like he wanted to be reasoned, to be saved.

“Alright, so your life’s a mess and you want to end it?”

He nodded, crying harder but he didn’t budge, if anything he moved closer to the edge and I instructively closed my eyes but I heard no boom. Tentatively, I opened my eyes and saw him nodding, ever so slightly. “What happened, David?”

He started saying something, but he was crying too hard and it was pouring now. “You need to speak louder!”

“My wife left me!” He yelled, louder than I expected. “And I suck at being a father!” He started hardcore sobbing, his chest heaving.

“And you think jumping from a bridge will solve any of that?” I asked sarcastically, but the truth was I had no idea what the fuck I was doing. “Best case scenario, you die, your wife becomes a widow and your kids lose their father.” He looked at me again, full of agony and I was scared I wasn’t up to the task. “Worst case scenario, you become a vegetable.”

“Will any of those scenarios make you a better father or your wife stay with you?”  He was shaking again, this time harder. One of his feet slipped on the wet metal, I tried to grab his leg but I was too far. Out of nowhere, he managed to regain his balance but I couldn’t let this happen again. I started sliding closer to him, slowly enough that he wouldn’t notice.

“No.” He responded, his voice broken and raw, and yet still so Scottish.

“Then, this isn’t the solution, David.” I whispered now that I was sitting right next to his feet. “David, I know suicide is tempting, but it’s truly inappropriate in your situation.” He stood still, so very still even though the wind was hitting his body with unhuman strength.

I stretched out my hand again, the tips of my fingers brushing against his. His hand was frozen. “Take my hand when you’re ready.” I nudged reassuringly. Minutes passed and my arm was starting to cramp badly but I couldn’t let him down.

I was giving up after a while when all the sudden, I felt his hand tighten around mine, his fingers finding warmth behind my own.

On instinct, I pulled him backwards and the both of us fell on the pavement without a scratch. I got back up on my feet and pulled on his hand, bringing him to a standing position, before running into the city with him.

“Why are we running?” He asked next to me, his voice significantly lighter.

“Because it’s pouring!” I laughed.

I was out of breath within minutes but David kept on running, evidentially in a much better shape that I was. As we neared the city center, we came to a stop when I saw the time on a pharmacy’s logo:  It was two in the morning and I had an oral exam at eight. I was hesitating but then I saw David Budd, in the middle of the street looking completely lost and I knew I couldn’t just leave him like that.

“Let’s hail a cab.” I suggested.

The car stopped in front of my building, and David and I stepped out of the vehicle, him still holding my hand like a lost puppy. I brought him up to my messy flat, having neglected the house chores during the exam period but he didn’t say anything.

“Alright, I have cookies, Whisky and a half finished Red Bull.” I announced cheerfully as I walked out of the kitchen and joined him in the main room.

“Do you want to talk it out?” I asked, not sure if it would work but it was worth a try. However, there was nothing Whisky couldn’t help. In no time, it felt as if I knew enough about him to write his biography: Vicky was nurse, they met when they were both 23. He got injured during training, fracturing his foot and Vicky was one of the ER nurses on duty that day. One year later, they got married. One year after that, Ella Budd was born and soon came Charlie, and they were a truly happy family for a while.

And then it happened, Dave was sent to the Helmand Province in Afghanistan. And he never really came back.

“I knew things were off,” he explained, taking another sip of Whisky. As much as I was interested in his story, sometimes I couldn’t help but to just focus on his voice and nothing else. “Ever since I came back from war, Vicky never again said she loved me. Flinched every time she saw my body covered in scars. And the kids, it was as if they didn’t know me and I didn’t know them.”

The both of us finished our drinks, and David poured the rest of the bottle into our glasses. I didn’t know what to respond to that. I was no psychologist, hell, I even went to a psychiatrist weekly myself. And more than that, I knew that whatever people said, it never healed the wound, it just covered it with a new bandage.

“Indeed, that sucks.” I admitted after the room had been silent for a while. Dave, laughed hard and it was a very pleasant sound, even quite sexual.

And then his face changed, the whole mood did, and it felt like the TV was no longer running in the background. I was still sitting on the coffee table when he leaned forward, not leaving the couch, but getting close enough to kiss me. And then he did, once, tentatively before stopping, as if gauging my reaction.

I set my empty glass down next to me on the coffee table and kissed him back. Pushing him backwards against the couch before straddling him. His heart was beating fast, and so was mine. My hands were now on the nape of his neck, trying desperately to get ahold of his short hair as kissing was no longer enough. His hands were under my shirt, and they felt warm now, as they got dangerously close to my bra. Without a thought, I pulled away from him a few inches, to take it off and Dave’s attention immediately went to my now partially revealed breasts. But I wanted more, and if the pressure I felt between my legs was anything to go by, so did he.

Cheekily, I whispered against his ear: “David Budd, could I interest you in some sex with me?” I felt silly, but it did appear to work because suddenly I was in his arms as he walked us to my bed.

It turned out, the Scottish accent wasn’t the only good part about him, I thought to myself. Our chests were glued together with sweat, the both of us still breathing with difficulty after our intense activities.

After a while, I felt his body go limp against mine. He must have fallen asleep after the exhausting night and was now lightly snoring. I wanted to do the same, but daring a quick look at my alarm clock, I realized it was best if I started getting ready to go to my examination.

I softly moved away from him, trying not to wake him up and putting a pillow in the spot where my body had been laying moments before.

After I had finished showering and getting dressed, I realized that he was still fast asleep. Trying to be kind one last time, I set up the alarm next to my bed to ring at ten and decided to leave him a note.

“Next time you want to jump off a bridge, have sex with someone instead.”