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blueparadis · 1 year

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❝ TIMELESS TWILIGHT ❞ + ARMIN ARLERT

CWs —» afab!reader with s!her pronouns,semi-linear plotline, suggestive themes, royal au + supernatural au ( reader is a supernatural being ), strangers (to childhood friends) to lovers, slowburn, light angst, mention of corruption, violence and murder, temporary unrequited feelings, implicit smut descriptions,sappy romance and happy ending.

+. PLAYLIST—» moonlight ╾╼ somebody that I used to know ╾╼ rewrite the starts ╾╼ until i found you ╾╼ miel

PRECIS —» Armin was a chaser of eternity while she was a slave of it. One yearned for it, the other despised it until a thread of tragedy tied them together, forever.

+. NOTES —» this is for @dearbraus via @suyacho ’s gift exchange collab. hope you like this piece. I was confused between noé and armin but settled with the latter because this idea was originally thought for him.

I got this idea around april but finally, i could write this thanks to eden for that <3; also, this fic was partly inspired by the song moonlight by dhruv. I'm very much sleep deprived, so lemme sleep while y'all have a happy read. Merry Christmas (⁠＾⁠∇⁠＾⁠)⁠ﾉ

Special thanks to @orchid3a, @sailewhoremoon & @chosovixen for ß’reading this. also, you can read this in AO(III) ; browse more of my works through navigation links.

Museums, sculptures, libraries, books, songs, stories, poetries, paintings— all these had one thing in common: that is, they were eternal. They carried so many memories with them and yet were so defunct. And then, there are humans that live and die like flies. Ever since Armin was bestowed with the ability to walk he would only use it to go to the library or to sneak out through the back door of his room into the garden, or anywhere that does not remind him of the burden he has to carry till his last breath, the burden of protecting each and every person around him— the burden of this whole kingdom that his father ruled.

He never asked for this life, the luxury, the fame, and the power that came with it. His father had told him that everything that the light touched belonged to him, but only one thought crossed his mind: for how long? Armin did not have to ask anyone to find the answer to that question. He saw it, he lived it. The fragility of his life.

At that moment, when he was on the brink of destroying thousands of lives in one blow, hesitation overpowered his senses; the man kneeling in front of him, waiting for death to embrace him to save him from such shame, gutted him in the stomach. So annoying, Armin thought and slashed the head of the ruler of the kingdom.

He was nineteen when he owned a new kingdom, a hefty crown adorned with the most lustrous jewels in the city, and the queen that was promised along with it. To his father’s disappointment, he denounced it, the kingdom, and the kingless queen. Oh no, that does not mean he did not enjoy the greater pleasures of life. He did, through and through, he is the crown prince, and anyone who denied his demands would be rendered lifeless, a mere memory just like stories, books, and sculptures.

He was desired by many, even males. Some people knelt to him to please him, while others were doomed to become an unpleasant distant memory. There was no in-between, no mercy came from the heart of the crown prince. He was not cruel, just a rageful young boy who desired things that seemed impossible to achieve, at least in this life. He envies lifeless things that do not have a lifespan. How utterly foolish!

Sometimes he would laugh at himself, thinking he had been born cursed, a little sick in the head, but his diary told otherwise. He kept it in the library, the journal with sapphire covers and his family emblem. It rested among those massive books that carried the history of great generations and his ancestors so that none, even Mikasa and Eren would not be aware of him, his truth, his true self. Half of him was amused by how all his writing mocked the rich legends that his father boasts at every royal dinner, while the other half, wept like a wounded creature for not being able to make his dreams come true. He is the crown prince, the prince yet all that power fell short of his dreams to achieve; to hold someone in his arms timelessly and to fall in love limitlessly.

Armin could think of only one name, y/n l/n. The girl who left him without finishing her stories. The girl who met him only during Twilight, smelt like forever, and looked like one of those decaying sculptures of Rome.

The Library, that place has always been a wonder to her, y/n. Books stacked beside one after the other embedded with lores and legends from all over the world. Most are sugar-coated, few are the resultant of figmentation and truth but none told the bitter truth. The poets lied, love is not a prince saving princess, love is a princess waiting for the prince for eternity; love is not sharing kisses under the starry night, love is being burnt by mere words. Love is not divine, rather it is the most wretched curse.

Ever since she discovered the existence of the library, she had been fond of how lies are woven so slyly that even the witness failed to separate the truth from fallacies. She had been the witness to how all the kings confiscated the castle, slaughtered the innocents, and had all the women as baits for bodily pleasure, but those rusted pages of the book told how the ferocious warriors, ‘envoys of justice’, ‘harbingers of peace’, or so they liked to call themselves; those warriors killed so many cruel kings and saved the people of the kingdom from their madness. Same lies, different names, different times.

Eternity was nothing like she imagined it would be. It was never a promise of happiness, but rather a promise of loneliness. Heck, even promises faded with time, yet this followed her like a shadow. Even love failed to fill the hollow space she had in her heart. She stopped believing in good but did no evil. Indeed, she had the power to rewrite history, but that could endanger her life, even if she was at the edge of death. But hope can be a dangerous thing for a girl who has lived through an aeon, and it shone miraculously on a full moon night.

There was a particular book that caught her eye. The spine was slim, with a plain sapphire spread and a logo embedded on one of its ends. She perfectly remembers that a few days ago the book was not there and a certain someone is a fool enough to keep it among the books that have all scarlet bindings. But she should not let that bother her so much. Besides, she is here to read; read about how her lover turned against her, exchanged her to get a few coppers and silvers a century ago yet died at her hands. It was tragic, of course: to watch your beloved betray your love and trust, but ecstasy gushed into her veins when she killed him by burying her fangs into his neck, absorbing the life out of him.

At first, eternity was a boon, and now it is a bane. At first, killing was out of rage and now killing was the only way of survival. She took a few steps back from the family shelf of Tyburs, and stood in front of the Arlerts family shelf. For a minute, she let her fingers run through the books and halted at the sapphire one, which had the royal emblem of the kingdom. She took out the book, thinking it would not hurt to spare an hour or two, after all, she had all eternity.

It was a journal. The handwriting was neat and artsy. The front cover read, “my daily dose of dread.” What a child! She thought, but alas, she could not open the journal. She presumed that it was sealed with magic. And, just like the cascade, the emotions that she locked away when she buried her lover in a grave gushed in her body, through every vein, through each vein. She felt alive again.

The next day, y/n spent the whole day outside observing the humans in the town, gathering some intel. After two weeks, when night befell, she made her way where she wanted to be all this time, the library, the very palace where she loved to sneak in and read those great lies and laugh at the dead. She waited till she heard footsteps, to her surprise it was a boy of fifteen, the son of Duke Arlert. It has been almost a century since she had any human interaction. And now, a boy of fifteen with all the life ahead and innocence intact became alien to her. It thrilled her.

“Who are you?”, the boy asked with aimless, oceanic eyes that had the tragedy of the great Gatsby. She jolted, blinked and took a few steps forward, bowed down in front of the boy and whispered, “I’m the new cataloger, your highness.” And that day, a new friendship was born. Only the moon and the stars were the witness of it.

Unbelievable it seemed to her, for how Armin warmed up to her so quickly. Y/n used to wait for him during nighttime at one corner of the library till he would come to her. Gradually he learnt to use the loopholes in the rules of royal court just so he could hear stories from her, stories that were not written on any of the books, stories that talked about the origin of fairies and monsters. Some days Armin refused to go to his chambers just to hear such stories from her, some days he fell asleep in her lap while she was reading out stories to him. The very stories that he despised so much became engaging to him. He started to take interest in royal duties too.

Sometimes, Armin waited alone in that library but he never asked questions like, ‘Why do your eyes change color? How come I do not see you when I come during the day?’ He was kind to y/n, kinder than most people she had met, killed, or had to betray, but at the same time, those questions weighed heavy on her heart and died at the tip of her tongue whenever she came to visit Armin. As Armin grew up, her visits became less frequent. With all the agony and anger in him, Armin never bothered to ask why. Moreover, he didn't want to cease those pixelated visits from her, however fleeting they became, they belonged to him and only him.

On his twentieth birthday, y/n went to the main court to join the celebration, mostly at his request. Amongst so many souls you felt lifeless as if you were a sculpture. And then, you saw the boy of fifteen who has reached his peak of youth.

Armin still has those eyes of tragedy, that would tell you nothing except stories that never ended, stories that were abandoned by their auth,or or where the author had died before finishing it. But today, those blue eyes were not blue anymore. They were gleaming in hope and yearning as he watched you walking towards him surfing through the crowd.

Armin was sitting on the throne, with his cape flowing down past his ankles with the crown that sealed many fates of varied rulers. There was a line of visitors to meet him, you were one of them, just for today. Your turn came in “Happy birthday, your highness. Congratulations on your coronation. I wish you the very best of life.”, you uttered as you handed him the gift. He smiled. With a bow, you left his sight. That was it; nothing special happened. There were no secret smiles and stolen stares. It ended so soon, happened so fast that all you felt was remorse. But you did not let that linger on your mind since you knew that, late at night, when everyone would be asleep, Armin would come to visit you. He was not a creature of the night. You were. But it turned on you that very day when you waited for him till dawn.

A girl who had eternity started counting the days.

Four weeks and three days have passed yet Armin neither came for a visit to the library nor wrote about his days in his journal. You remembered how he told you that you should not read his journal, it’s personal, he said yet would sometimes read from that very journal, just some musings. A few days later, you could hear his name in waves and in whispers, that he conquered several kingdoms, that he won many wars, and perhaps would conquer the whole world. The entire kingdom rejoiced at his success, however, you could not. You missed him. You mourned a living person since he never wrote about such dreams in his journal. Maybe that person was long-lost, somewhere in the pages of the books that anyone no longer bothered to read.

After almost five years, Armin returned home. He had abandoned all sorts of hope to see her again. The only girl who could feel what he was thinking, the only girl who could see behind his eyes, and live in between his bedsheets. He had desired her day and night, at each passing moment, in every way a man could ever desire a woman. He remembers the feeling, the feeling that has always haunted him since childhood, people called it love while Armin could call it burning, burning with desire, yet remained lifelessly indifferent about it. True love, as they said, but Armin thought it was punishment.

He was on horseback with his sword tucked in his belt which was made of gold and silver. His mantle shrouded the armor, which had witnessed many battles and mishaps, and was embedded with rare gems and pearls carving his family emblem on the mantle spread. His blue eyes wandered everywhere, he looked every bit of regal he was.

His own home city felt foreign to him except her, except you, who stood young and beautiful amongst several bouquets of flowers receiving smiles and coins in exchange for said flowers in broad daylight. Even after five years, you look just the same; just like how he saw you that day on a full moon night for the first time. So many things to tell you, so many things to write in his journal yet all he could do was to watch you from a distance.

Armin dismounted from the horse, and a gust of wind swayed his hood off, revealing his blonde hair that kissed his shoulder blades. There he was, standing on the opposite side of the lane, with his right arm resting on his sword, his azure eyes locked on you while everything around you seemed to evaporate. When you shifted your gaze from the customers onto him, his lips took an upward curve and your heartbeats ceased to exist.

The lane between the two of you was filled with people that lead their life without being aware of the tragedies evoked by two distant souls. The dusk was approaching; the crimson sun rays fell short on them, for it witnessed two polar souls burn with desire for each other. It seemed like an endless twilight where only they could exist and none other. Armin took a step forward to cross the lane while all the flowers in the shop closed their petals as if they were to witness the greatest kiss of timeless love, but alas! Tragedy befell them.

It happened within a blink. When y/n opened her eyes, she watched Armin fall to his knees with a wound near his heart. The crowd became unruly; while everyone was fleeing from the scene your feet moved on their own to save him, to stop his bleeding, to do anything, anything at all that would save his life, but before you could barely cross half of the street, your senses betrayed you. It was such a mighty fall, for both of them.

“Oh! You’re awake?”, a bold voice, ruptured your eardrums that could still hear the screams of the locals. A finger traced your face as you opened your eyes, and you saw the face that you have mourned for so long, so silently, that you failed to realize the budding love at the bottom of your heart.

“Yo-you are okay?”, you gasped, blurted out in a hurry to check his wound. It was not there anymore. What actually happened back then?

“How can I not be?”Armin stated, taking a seat near you at the edge of the bed, “What was the last thing you remember, y/n?”, his fingers found their way irrevocably in between yours.

“... that you were bleeding. Everyone was running…to save …”, Armin placed his index on your lips saying, “I was wounded before I came to see you. I wanted to see you for the last time…”, he leaned against your forehead, continuing, “... but you, you y/n saved me.”

It must have been the power of love. A voice mocked the back of your head, but then Armin showed you a pendant; the very pendant that you gifted him on his coronation day. It was embedded with magic. It carried the untimely dead souls, people who departed before their time came.

“This. This has been saving me every time.”, Armin smiled looking at your astonished face.

“You knew about me? All this time?”, you asked, a little offended by the childish tantrum he pulled.

“Of course, love.”, he reported meekly before kissing your lips that he had been dying to taste. You moaned as he advanced his way, his hands palming your face. His touch was so tender and soft that it felt as if he was afraid to touch you, what if you break again?

You looked at him as your lips whispered, “Even before you touched me, I belonged to you, Armin. All you had to do was to look at me. I was right there, with you, the whole damn time.”

—

@tokyometronetwork

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corner-stories · 1 year

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team speedvager!

Rose Wilson. Mia Dearden.

Party Crashing. Drunken Confessions. Portmanteaus.

1433 words.

(ao3.)

Rose Wilson had learned a few things in her nineteen odd years of life — distilled white vinegar could always remove blood from fabric, taking up an instrument was appropriate at any age, and most college bashes were okay with party crashers as long as they were hot enough.

She wasn’t even sure what kind of school the partygoers were affiliated with. The fact that the only songs on the playlist tonight were from the Cheetah Girls 2 soundtrack did not make the answer any more clear.

Nonetheless, Rose was enjoying her time. After the last few Titans missions — some that involved time travel, others that involved zombies from another dimension — Rose felt like she deserved a night off.

It was strange to say, but there was something about a solo cup of watery American lager and weaving through a room of young people she didn’t know that felt oddly comforting.

Not in the sense that Rose was even feeling a buzz, as her enhanced metabolism made even getting there difficult. But rather, the fact that her life was so abnormal meant that she could feel at ease with something so typically common.

Perhaps in another life she would have been one of the students living it up inside the walls of a student housing building. Perhaps if she had been just a bit more fortunate — and if the life she had adored had not been ripped away from her — then she could have a trying chance at some kind of normalcy.

Sometimes Rose wondered if her teammates would believe that as a child she dreamt of becoming a teacher.

On the balcony of some house filled with intoxicated young adults, Rose enjoyed a cigarette underneath the night sky. On the grass below the structure were a handful of other party goers, some enjoying their substances of choice, others just relaxing free from the chaos inside.

Rose took a drag of her unfiltered Pall Mall in one hand and typed a number into her phone with the other. Only moments ago she had run into a gaggle of girls who seemed to be intrigued by the nineteen-year-old with white hair and an eye patch. After striking up a brief conversation, Rose had somehow charmed them enough for one to ask to remain in touch for a rather interesting opportunity. Now only time could tell if Rose had what it took to join Oakland’s all-female roller derby team.

Just as Rose got to the last few drags of her cancer stick, she heard the sound of a sliding glass door open behind her. Upon turning around, Rose was then swiftly reminded of the newest thing she had learned in her short life — the fact that Mia Dearden was an absolute lightweight.

With all the grace of a baby tyrannosaurus rex learning to walk, Mia floundered onto the balcony and approached her friend. On her face was a confused, distressed expression and in her hand was a leather billfold.

“Rose? Rose! Hi!” said Mia in a voice that sounded like she was a million miles away. “Have you seen my wallet? I can’t… I can’t seem to find it anywhere!”

Rose managed to stifle her laughter. When she had asked Mia to join her on her party-crashing quest, she didn’t expect Mia to be so social. In fact, she had predicted that the socially awkward Speedy would spend most of the night hiding in the corner, refusing to look people in the eye, and not talking to anyone.

To Rose’s own shock, Mia was as lively as could be. Drunk Mia seemed to come out of her shell a lot more than Sober Mia. It seemed that the only thing that stood between Sober Mia and giving a room full of strangers her one-woman musical tribute to Hocus Pocus (in July) were several cups of vodka and red bull. And maybe some edibles.

Nonetheless, Rose was more than willing to lend Drunk Mia a helping hand when she needed it the most. After putting out her cigarette, Rose reached over to her teammate and took the wallet from the archer's grasp.

“Yeah, lemme take that,” Rose said, quickly slipping the billfold into Mia’s coat pocket.

Mia blinked and looked down at her garment like a Golden Retriever who couldn’t reach their toy under the couch.

“Oh, thanks,” the blonde garbled out. She looked back up to Rose with the same pair of big brown puppy dog eyes she always wore. “Y’know, you’re always so nice to me, like… you don’t have to… but you are… thanks.”

Somehow, Mia’s ever romantic profession of gratitude under the moonlight made Rose amused. Instead of thinking about whether or not Sober Mia would say the same thing, Rose simply smiled.

“Hey, don’t mention it,” Rose assured. “If there’s ever a Titan who needs to get good and drunk that isn’t me, then it’s probably you.”

For a moment Mia blinked as she processed the words, then nodded along with a knowing look on her face.

“You know what? Yeah, I probably do,” she agreed without a single doubt. “Have you seen my life, man? It like… sucks. A lot…” She blinked for a few seconds more, then said — “Fuck.”

Before Rose could let out another chuckle, Mia reached forward and placed a hand on her shoulder, something that immediately made Rose tense up.

Her first reaction was to push Mia’s hand off of her with a single finger, as if she were flicking a bug off her coat.

“What did I say about touching me?” Rose reminded, annoyed. Hell, had Mia not been a colleague then Rose would have no qualms about administering an old-fashioned judo flip. Bombshell had learned this the hard way.

Nonetheless, the words seemed to fly into one of Mia’s ears and escape out the other.

“You know, we’re like… a team,” the Archer droned on. She squinted at her friend, as if doing so would somehow help her see through the cloud of cheap liquor in her brain. “Team… Team Speedy! Team Ravager!”

Suddenly, Rose became a lot less bothered with unwanted physical contact and a lot more concerned with the words her teammate was letting out. Drunken confession of appreciation was one thing, potentially letting slip their identities as superheroes was a whole other.

“Okay, maybe it’s time to head home,” Rose suggested, taking Mia by the wrist and slowly guiding her towards the balcony door.

Unfortunately, Mia seemed unwilling to move and remained where she was, as if suddenly her legs had become immovable stone pillars. She was clearly in no mood to both walk and listen to sensible ideas. Frankly, Rose was possibly the last person that one would ever want to hear such things from, so perhaps Drunk Mia was onto something.

“Team Speedvager!” Mia announced in an awestruck, inspired tone. The second she said the portmanteau of her and Rose’s codenames together, her eyes widened in delight, as if she had witnessed the liberation of France, the second coming of Christ, or the announcement of Half-Life 3.

“TEAM SPEEDVAGER! TEAM SPEEDVAGER!” Mia chanted to the world.

Rose only took one look to the lawn below the balcony to see several party-goers looking up towards them in both confusion, annoyance, and amusement. Even the ones who were very much tripping balls had noticed the yelling.

Acting quickly, Rose managed to kneel down and scoop Mia up into an over-the-shoulder carry. It was moments like these that made Rose thankful that Mia was rather short and was able to be flopped around like a blonde sack of potatoes.

“Alright, I guess I’m being the adult tonight,” Rose decided then and there.

Sucking in a breath, Rose walked to the balcony door and made an internal vow to carry Mia back to Titan’s Tower if it was the last thing she did. But before she could leave the area and start her treacherous trek through the Bay Area, she made sure to tell Mia one more thing that she could not allow to be left unsaid.

“Also, if you know what’s good for you, never say ‘Speedvager’ ever again.”

Unsurprisingly, Drunk Mia was still taking in her sudden change of position. The over-the-shoulder carry had the strange side effect of allowing Mia to come face-to-face with a part of Rose that Sober Mia could only dream of getting familiar with.

“Ooooh! Who’s butt is that?” Mia exclaimed in utter joy. “It looks so juicy!”

The fact that Rose didn’t burst out laughing and drop Mia on the balcony was a miracle in itself.

#mia dearden #rose wilson #miarose #ravager #speedy #tt #dc #just gals being pals #and pals being gals

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magdaclaire · 3 years

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don’t ask me

read it on ao3

“What about you, Rhodes? You got a lady back home?”

The question is met with silence as James Rhodes stands in the barrack, just offering a salute and a laugh in response. The asking officer snorts, turning and moving on with his day, but James Rhodes does not move on. He pulls a photograph out of his breast pocket, examining it with eyes that have seen it a thousand times, but still not enough times to get him through the harsh desert without looking at it again. It pulls at his heartstrings the same every single time, making him want to walk back across the sea and wrap his arms around the focal point of the photo and never let him go. His chest aches with missing his best friend, but the look of him still brings a smile to Rhodey’s face.

His best friend, of course, is Anthony Edward Stark.

The picture is one of their most innocuous photographs, just two best friends standing together, you can hardly tell that James Rhodes is ass over tea kettle in love with a boy he met when that boy was fifteen and he was damn near nineteen - he had no business -

“No.” The brokenness of it startles even himself.

He tucks the photo back into his jacket roughly, stands up and leaves Jones and Ortega in the Barracks, finds himself somewhere else to be. He and Tony have never been romantic. He and Tony will never be romantic. He’s Tony’s first friend, and was Tony’s only friend for a long, long time, such a terrifyingly long time, so long that James was scared that he would never be able to leave for the military at all. God, he hates himself every time he thinks about how much he fucking loves Tony. He didn’t love him, not like that, not when they met. He didn’t realise he did for the longest time, and maybe that was a shame. He didn’t realise he was hip deep in love with Tony Stark until the boy was nineteen and a cocaine nightmare that James had to scrape off of the floor. He didn’t pick up the cocaine until James was already signed up to be shipped off, until he was already committed.

He doesn’t know if he’ll ever forgive himself for that.

He knows, logically, that it’s not his fault if Tony goes off the deep end. That Tony is a grown man now and certainly was never James’s responsibility in the first place, not legally nor morally, just emotionally and by love and by family, goddamn it. Tony is family. James’s family is the only family that Tony has, too, because Tony’s dad did a number on him that James can’t undo, but maybe they can help, maybe a three year old’s birthday party, and a five year old that loves to make him come paint with her, and a family is enough. That’s one of the many, many reasons why James can’t afford to jeopardize what they’ve got. He’s the best friend he’s ever had.

He put Tony in rehab before he shipped off. He made Stane promise to keep him in there until he was better. As much as he doesn’t like Obadiah Stane, they’ve always agreed on Tony.

He writes a lot of letters to Tony, to his Mama, to his sisters, to anyone he can think about writing them for. He sends most of them. He sends all of the ones he writes for his Mama, most of the ones he writes for his sisters. He only sends about half the ones he writes for Tony; half of them are written for Tony, his best friend. The other half are written for Tony, the man he’s in love with. Those letters get burned in the barrels that Jones and Ortega light up with some of the other troops when the nights get cold and they have free time and a village close, otherwise they stay tucked in his jacket. Can’t risk anyone reading them.

Can’t risk them getting mixed in with the other mail and actually getting sent. Because he does address them. He does put them in envelopes. It helps, sometimes, to pretend he’ll actually tell Tony someday. To pretend Tony might want that too. He doesn’t realise that he’s wandered until he hears someone calling his name, and then he’s hitting the ground because something is exploding. Gunfire. He doesn’t have a fucking gun with him. He’s going to fucking die, and he’s not going to see Tony again.

“Rhodes, get the fuck back to camp! Head west and stay low. Do not get hit or I swear to God, I will kill you myself. I’ll cover you,” Williams barks at him, the M4 in his hand glinting as he pushes Rhodey against the wall of a building. Cover. Fuck. Okay. Cover. “Don’t go toward town, we’ve got guns in town. Just toward camp. Keep your head on your shoulders, Rhodes. And fucking run.”

So, James runs. He hauls ass more than he has ever fucking hauled ass before in his life, even if they weren’t supposed to be in combat today. Fuck, he wasn’t supposed to see combat today. He runs anyway, runs west, and there’s gunfire above his head and he feels like a fucking coward and he pushes that down because he was told to run. He’s not gonna ruin whatever Williams wants him to be doing because he feels like a goddamn coward. He’s a good soldier. He’s a good soldier. He’s gonna stay alive. He has to. He has to see Tony again. God, Tony. He pushes the thought of Tony out of his head too because he has to, he runs west, and he hits camp.

Jones is dead.

It was a raid, something about how they’re lucky it wasn’t more of them, the way they’ve been goofing off and burning shit and they need to tighten up, but all James can see for a second is the way that he walked away from Jones what seems like minutes ago. He just saw him.

For some reason, he’s a little less scared after that. Scared to die, sure. If he thinks about Tony, thinks about him for even a second, he’ll send himself into that desperate panicky space that he just can’t touch, so he doesn’t. He sends Tony letters, but he doesn’t write the letters to not-Tony anymore. But the thing is, he’s not scared of rising anymore. He’s not scared to be something. Frank Jones, of the the guys he joined up with, one of the guys he met at the fucking registration office, is dead, and he’ll never get to do it. James shuts up and does his job, takes ranks and takes praises and takes it politely and quietly and doesn’t scream when the nightmares come even when Tony comes knocking in his dreams and when it comes his turn to go home, they have to tell him three times before he agrees.

By the end of his first tour, he’s a Master Sergeant. It’s still not where he wants to be.

The entire flight home, he’s trying not to think about Tony. God, Tony. God. He’s flying coach (because he wouldn’t let Tony pay) from London to Boston when it all hits him. God, he almost hadn’t come home. God, he could have died so many times. And he never would have told Tony. God, he almost didn’t come home. And he’s so, so in love with Tony Stark it’s fucking embarrassing and he’s never fucking told him and he’s going to land in Boston in less than an hour and he’s gonna have to look at him after pressing this down for months and it’s gonna be ugly. God, his mama is gonna be there. He’s gotta get home to Tony. To his mom. To Tony. To Tony.

He’s been promising himself that he wasn’t coming home to that boy, but God. James pulls himself together in an airplane bathroom just in time for the seatbelt light to come on. Get home to Tony. No more words unsaid.

He has to get off of the plane in an orderly fashion and find his bag, but then it’s just looking for Tony and what’s gonna be a ridiculous sign.

He’s not wrong.

HONEYBEAR <3

God, if James wasn’t in love with him, he’d fuckin’ kill him.

He’s in army fatigues, and it’s a really, really bad idea, but God help him, he kisses Tony anyway. He almost didn’t come home. He kisses Tony and God help him, Tony kisses him back, Tony drops the sign on the ground and kisses him back. Vaguely, he feels his Mama pat him on the back and hears her say something about welcoming him home, but he’s kissing Tony Stark and he’s not paying his Mama nearly enough of his attention to know what she’s saying. He doesn’t pull away until Tony does, his hands on Tony’s lower back, towering five inches over Tony like he always has (used to be even more, Tony was only 5’4 when he got him, and James has been 6’2 since he was 17), and God, he loves Tony so goddamn much. A cleared throat damn near scares James enough to crush Tony against his chest, but he recognises the voice before he can.

“Guess you don’t have a lady at home, huh, Rhodes?” Ortega asks, throwing a wink his way. James flips him off. Ortega walks away, doesn’t even kick up a fuss about it, and James really thought if anybody saw this, it would be a bigger deal. Instead, Tony

“Come on, Rhodey, lemme take you to dinner. We have reservations,” Tony says, grabbing at Rhodey’s hands. His Mama reminds them there by stepping closer, pulling both of them into a group side-hug.

“I’m gonna let you boys go by yourselves, if that’s alright. A lady can do a lot of things, but third wheel on her son’s long overdue first date? Not something she’s willing to do. Take him to a movie or something afterwards, won’t you, Tony? Must be boring over there with all that sand. You boys have fun,” Mama says, kissing both of them on the head before leaving, taking James’s suitcase with her without a moment of negotiation. James looks at Tony for a moment, their eyes meeting only briefly before they’re both bursting with laughter, leaning against each other in the middle of the airport.

“Wanna come to the apartment to shower and change? I still have lots of your clothes,” Tony says, looking up at him with big brown eyes all shy like James wouldn’t follow him any fucking where, and James kisses him again, real brief this time, and picks up the sign from the floor.

“Lead the way.”

#rhodeytony #ironhusbands #tony stark #james rhodes #mine #this has been on ao3 for a few days #and most people who have gonna read it have already #but it never really got its own post on my blog #so here it is #enjoy!#minor character death cw #military cw #gun cw

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oftenderweapons · 3 years

Text

Apple Of My Pie (6) — Jin

A Small Town Swoons story

Chapter 6.

Pairing: Kim Seokjin x reader (nicknamed Buttercup)

Wordcount: 3.8k

Genre: non-idol!AU, Baker/Café owner!Seokjin, University student!reader Flatmates!AU, Friends To Lovers; angst, very little fluff

Rating: suggested 18+ for future smut and swearing

A/N: Hello my cupcakes! Welcome to the Small Town Swoon Universe! 🥰✨

In this episode: Jin and Buttercup have been apart for a while. Both mourn for their separation, Buttercup nursed by the attentive care of Jeongguk and Yoongi, while Seokjin prefers dwelling on his feelings in solitude. In the deepest darkness, some sense finally sheds a light, thanks to the words of an unexpected ally.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Swearing. Both jin and Buttercup are underfed, which leads to a sense of coldness and numbness, fatigue and haziness that are mentioned in the fic.

Remember to vote for next prompt (check the link in my bio) and in case you need it, here’s my masterlist 💜

If you’d like some company, here is the music companion (Spotify only, sorry 😔)

Enjoy ✨💜

Navi: Chapter 1 — Chapter 2 — Chapter 3 — Chapter 4 — Chapter 5 — Chapter 6 — Chapter 7 (7/7)

He missed you.

He missed you a lot.

He missed you waking up at two am to raid the kitchen. He missed hearing your laugh from across the apartment while you watched something.

He missed hearing you ramble on and on about literature in your own room as you studied your lessons, he missed breakfast together, he missed waking up at two pm after a night shift and having late lunch together after you came back from your lessons. He missed making you hot cocoa, watching films together, having dinner, talking about boring stuff.

He missed you.

He had been missing you for two weeks now, and soon they would become three.

Nineteen days. In a few hours he would have to handle one more Saturday dinner alone, one more Saturday night without watching a film with you on the sofa. And then another Sunday morning when he would cook too much food and end up bringing it to Taehyung.

Nineteen days.

That’s how long you had been missing.

And every time he came back home, one more piece of you disappeared. Your toiletries had vanished on that unfortunate Sunday. That inglorious, tragic Sunday, when he was still too confused to understand the end had started.

On Monday, the first few books were gone; your currently reading novels, usually abandoned on the coffee table, had disappeared.

Next your blanket, the one his granny had gifted you for your first Christmas away from home. That was on Tuesday, with some more books.

The emptiness he had prayed for ever since he had decided he needed to fall out of love with you was slowly conquering the apartment. The same emptiness, once a welcome feeling in his mind, now manifested in his heart as a slow, ruthless strangling, the one where you know exactly what is happening, and you feel every cell of your body oppose, fight for oxygen, like a person clawing at the offender’s fingers tightening around their throat.

He felt like he was drowning, inch by inch, unfathomably.

He rang the door bell.

A disturbingly sweet scent of tuberose met his nostrils. He flinched.

“Hi, come in!”

“We can order in some pizza or I could make pasta. Or risotto.” Jeongguk sat beside you, stealing your book and putting it down. “You need to eat, Sweets.”

You shook your head. “I’m okay, I’m just not in the mood.”

“Just a little, come on. Make me happy.” He begged, looking at you with those eyes that made it impossible to deny him.

“Okay. Just a little, though, I’m really… Not okay.” You admitted, snuggling up next to Bibby, his torso pillowing your head.

He scared you with a sneeze before you both settled down again. The dog had become your shadow, following you everywhere, as if he could sense your deep need for affection and support.

Jeongguk nodded. “Can you handle a baby pizza? We can eat the leftovers tomorrow for breakfast,” he mused, letting you know it was okay even if you didn’t finish your food.

He just wanted you to eat.

You were cold all the time, your teeth always clattering, your body so weak after days of eating the very minimum to stay alive and studying.

In the last few days you had even given up on attending university, your friends and study buddies sending you the recordings of the lessons. One of your teachers had even noticed your absence and Lara had diligently made up an excuse, saying you had caught a bad flu and that you were slowly recovering.

“Lemme call the pizza place.” Jeongguk cupped your cheek, studying your face, so pale, your eyes, so tired.

You nodded.

Jeongguk sat up and called. “Hi, it’s me. Yeah, can I have a baby Margherita in ten? I know, it’s Friday and rush hour, just a baby Margherita… You’re the best. Yes, I’ll bring you candies. Go to work. Yeah, bye.”

You blinked a few times, quite surprised at Jeongguk’s relaxed tone as he talked to the person on the phone.

“It’ll be here soon. Why don’t you rest your eyes a little. You need that, Sweets.” He reminded you.

He could be so apprehensive, so caring and observant.

He seemed to know everything, the same way Jin did. Still, you were far from feeling for Jeongguk the things you felt for Jin. It felt like that path you had walked to Seokjin would never lead you to Jeongguk, though you had considered.

It wasn’t a matter of food, or time, or affection or care. It was something deeper, deeper than attraction and spending time together and laughing at the same jokes.

It was as if your soul didn’t feel at home in his space, like it could never inhabit his body the way it inhabited yours. Or Seokjin’s.

You closed your eyes.

“Good for you.” Jeongguk said, fixing the blanket around you, adding an extra one for your feet, knowing that they always got cold.

“She’s sleeping.”

“Does she sleep a lot?”

“Quite a lot, yes.”

“Did she lose weight?”

“Yes, definitely.”

“Does she eat, even just a little?”

“When I’m around, yes, but I’m not usually home for lunch. I’m pretty sure she eats breakfast and dinner. Very little food, but at least she eats.”

“That’s reassuring.”

“Yoongi, she’s trying.”

You could hear some voices from the kitchen table, but you refused to open your eyes. You could recognise them with your eyes closed anyway.

Spice’s voice appeared. “I bet she’s exhausted. He looked bad too. They’re hurting so bad, both of them.”

“They had chances, Spice. They turned them down. Maybe they’ll learn the lesson.” Yoongi said coldly.

“Not everyone is like us, baby. They’re taking their time.” Spice calmed him down.

“They won’t have forever.” Yoongi objected with a slight growl in his voice.

Jeongguk stared as Spice brought an arm around Yoongi’s shoulders, pulling him into her chest. She knew it was his history making him speak with so much anger and tension. “If it doesn’t happen, then they’re not meant to be.”

Yoongi relaxed a little. “If they aren’t, then I don’t know who is.”

Spice shook her head. “They’ll work it out.”

Jeongguk placed his head against his hands. “She’s just freezing cold, all the time.”

“You mean her body temperature or her mood?” Yoongi questioned.

“Her temperature.”

Yoongi tutted. “Give her more sugars. She needs fruit and honey and chocolate. Keep those on the coffee table so you can keep them in check, see if she eats.”

“Sure thing.”

“Has she seen him?” Spice asked, still holding Yoongi’s hand.

“No. I don’t think so. Lara tells her when he’s at the bakery so she can go home and get what she needs.” Jeongguk replied.

Yoongi breathed heavily. You could tell it was him by the way his exhale was drenched in exasperation. “That man. He will drive me mad. He’s so stupid.”

“He has a girl—”

“Which in my opinion he should have never had.” Yoongi commented.

“It’s his choice, Yoongi. He fucked up. I’m here for her.” Jeongguk objected. “I’m her friend.”

“You had feeli—”

“I had them. In the past. You know how this works, Yoongi. How it works for me. She’s never been it. I’ll know when the right one comes.” Jeongguk stated, as determined as ever.

“Then learn the lesson from that fucker and when she comes, tell her what she means to you.” Yoongi said, squeezing Spice’s hand in his.

“I’ll tell her so much she’ll get tired of it.” Jeongguk affirmed with the solemn tone of promises.

Spice squeezed Yoongi’s hand in return. “We never get tired of hearing that.”

Yoongi’s eyes met those of his lover, friend and partner. “We never do.” He said, like a whispered secret to his beloved.

Jeongguk smiled at the exchange. That was his goal. Finding something like that, like what he saw between his friends, right in that moment.

“Should I wake her?” He asked, musing about your situation.

Yoongi got out of his bubble and replied quickly. “Yes. Try keeping her close to a proper sleeping schedule. Her body is spread thin right now, so she’ll need naps, but don’t let those last too long.” The man instructed. “If it doesn’t get better in two weeks, then we’ll need to get proper help. You know there’s not much I can do since I’m connected to both. I cannot be professional about it.” Yoongi explained. “I have a uni colleague who practices and who could help her, were this to continue.”

“Thank you, Yoongi.”

“All cool, kid. Text me when she’s up. Tell her to call me if you see she’s ready.”

Jeongguk nodded, “I’ll have her call you.”

“Yeah, just don’t force her,” Yoongi replied, standing up and wearing his coat. “Spice and I will be out of town next weekend. Just so you know.”

Jeongguk smiled, “thank you for telling me.”

“Wake her and feed her.” Yoongi said, walking to the door, Spice following him closely. She watched as Yoongi’s eyes looked for your sleeping form. “Tell her we love her a lot. That she needs to be strong and healthy to explore the woods with Joon and to help us with spring pies.” Yoongi shook his head. “Maybe ignore the pies.”

Jeongguk nodded. “Joon will bring her to the cottage soon. I’ll be having a busy week starting Monday.”

“Great. See you, Gukkie.” Yoongi said, finally ready to leave.

From the smell of coffee and leather, you felt what could only be Spice’s hand touching your face. “Stay safe, baby.” She told you, still thinking you were asleep.

Underneath all those layers, Spice was a sweetheart, after all. It made your heart clench.

“Bye Guk.” She said, shortly before you heard the door close.

He sat beside you and Bibby. “Open your eyes, Sweets. You need to eat your dinner.”

You pouted and stretched, sitting up. “I’m going to the cottage?”

“Namjoon will pass by on Sunday to pick you up.” Jeongguk said, incapable of hiding some envy. He wanted to go to the cottage too. It was beautiful to see how much a day can make a difference in the woods in spring.

You nodded, already comforted by the thought of sharing some time with one of the people you respected and trusted the most, in his lovely cottage, among his plants and paintings and books. It was the most healing place in the universe. “Can I have some pizza?” You asked, sniffing at the inviting scent in the air.

Jeongguk smiled at your question, significantly happy with your request. “Of course.”

“How are you? Did you sleep a little?” Grace asked, getting a glass of water and some biscuits for Seokjin.

He smiled at the young woman but sneered at the food, almost hissing. He felt ready to throw up his guts. He felt disgusting.

“Not much.” He said, rubbing his arms. He felt so cold.

Grace shook her head. “You should eat.”

Seokjin looked out of the window, the orange afternoon sun hurting his eyes. Two more hours. Saturday dinner alone. He tried to find the words, the right words.

He realised there weren’t any.

“I miss her, Grace.” Jin placed his elbows on the table and planted his forehead against his palms. “I miss her too much.”

Grace nodded and stood up. She walked to the window and stood there, with her back to Jin. “Everyone. Everyone in this town knows. Everyone.” She paused. Seokjin waited. She didn’t speak with anger or sadness. She simply spoke, like one who knew.

“Everyone knows about you and her, about how perfect you look together. But she didn’t even consider you. You always cared for her, but who cared for you? Who made breakfast and dinner and the laundry and the cleaning for you?” Grace seemed upset now. “She never made a move, though. Everyone knew, but sometimes only one person really, actually knows.” She turned around. She had a small smile on, a bitter one, maybe. “Because you weren’t hers, I made a move. And I never expected you would take me into consideration, all the girls — and the boys — who have tried never succeeded. How would I?” Again she paused. “But I did it. Somehow.”

Seokjin nodded. “You are a great person, Grace. You’re smart, kind, beautiful. And you’re dedicated, and I was attracted to you since the first time I saw you.”

“But I’m not her, am I?” She said, so gentle; the kind of gentleness that you use with strangers, to keep them at a distance.

“You’re not her, and there are pros and cons to this, just like for any other people.” Seokjin replied politely.

Grace nodded as she paced back and forth. She grabbed a biscuit and she ate it unhurriedly, still pacing, chewing it slowly.

“I tried to move on.” Seokjin explained, “but maybe I’m not ready.”

Grace bobbed her head. “Fair. After all I could be only a carer.” She admitted. “I think I took pity on you, but never truly loved you.” Her expression looked sad but honest.

Seokjin pursed his lips. “We both deserve better than dull pity, may it be giving or receiving.”

“I thought pity would suffice. We could be great friends and then grow into something more than that. But some friendships don’t evolve like the one you have with her.” Grace sat down in front of her guest. Her boyfriend. Soon to be her ex.

Their time together was coming to an end, each second inevitable like the ticking of the clock.

“I hope you don’t feel insulted, or disrespected.” Seokjin confessed, his tone of voice extremely apologetic.

“We both got into this with the wrong intentions. I think we both deserve the best and we clearly will not get it from each other. You need her, and I'm just a detour on your way to her—”

“Please, don't think that I didn't care about you.” He said, with so much pain in his voice. He was so disappointed in himself.

“I know you cared. Maybe you still care, but I know you wouldn't be here if she were an option.” Grace said, her voice honest, a bit harsh maybe, but with no suffering or aggression.

“Don't think I chose you because I couldn't have her. Among several options, I still chose you, because you were the one I liked the most, because I could fall in love with you. And I still like you, but I didn't fall. And I'm not sure that will happen.” Seokjin spoke with transparent unequivocality.

“It would be stupid for us to continue down this path. We would just lie to each other, unless we accept that our relationship will be based on fondness and nothing more.” Grace explained clearly.

Seokjin pouted. “We're too young for fondness.”

“We are.” Grace agreed. “But you need to tell her, Jin. You must tell her. You're hurting for a separation you could have absolutely avoided. At least, if you have to suffer, do it for the right reason.” Grace had a clarity in her that Seokjin had come to respect. He knew someone would love it someday. Someone would take care of her and cherish her and adore her and worship her with her gifts and imperfections. Someone could even love the scent of tuberoses that always lingered on her skin.

“I think we're ready to say goodbye.” She mused. “Although I would love it if we could still be friendly around each other. I don't wanna say 'let's stay friends' because that could be hypocritical of me right now, but I think I'd be very happy if we could still say hi and chat at the bakery when I stop by.”

“I think I'd be proud to call you my friend, when you feel ready for that. Still, you don't have to do that. I understand I hurt you—”

“No offense, but you didn't hurt me. I already knew what I was getting myself into. I think I've always known you would never be mine. A part of me was ready for this to happen and I think that's what's keeping this from being hurtful or insulting or whatever. We have been clear from the very start.”

“I wasn't clear about her.” Seokjin's eyes watered. He felt like he didn't deserve Grace's mercy and understanding.

“Anyone and everyone could tell. You were clear with anything but words. Plus I knew, and still I let it happen.” Grace took Seokjin's hand in hers. “It's not your fault. You're not alone.”

He didn't know when it happened but somehow he was crying, weeping like a baby, sobbing and sniffling.

Grace rose and walked to his chair, standing behind him, placing both her hands on his shoulders, rubbing them energetically. “You’re gonna be alright, Jin. Just go and fix all this mess with her. Talk to her please or I swear I'm gonna hate you. Don't make all this pain useless.” The young woman hugged him and kissed his head. “Stop telling yourself you don't deserve her. Stop being paranoid about her turning you down. Have you ever considered her giving you a chance?” She spoke with a soothing tone, something that he knew would make her a great mother someday. He could see himself kicking his own butt and begging Grace to take him back, were he ever to learn how to love her.

However, a part of his brain told him that loving Grace was something he could never learn, just like he never had to learn how to love you.

“You're one smart, beautiful woman, you know?” He asked, patting Grace's hands with his. “I hope you get someone who can love you the way you need.”

Grace nodded. “The same to you, dear. Now go get your lady or I'm going to castrate you.”

He squeaked out a teary laugh before standing up. “Are you okay with me hugging you?”

She smiled and nodded.

The embrace held for maybe half a minute before she whispered 'go, quick', like her gut was telling her something.

Seokjin smiled before winking and running out of the building.

You were grateful for the umbrella. You knew that soon the light drizzle would become a full storm and with all your heart you hoped you had enough time to carry your stuff to Yoongi’s pub, Ginger’s, and save yourself from the rain.

You were eager to get your stuff ready. All you wanted was for it to be Sunday already, for the energy of the woods to restore your soul and offer a safe haven to your mourning body.

You wanted the slightly damp spring days, the blossoms on the trees and the light green new leaves. You longed to see the lawns become once more verdant, filled with daisies and the frolicking of bees and butterflies.

However, for now you were stuck in the cold, humid weather, not a hint of spring in sight.

With a slight pout you entered your building, climbing the stairs in a path you could walk with your eyes closed.

The keys indented your skin uncomfortably, your hold too tight.

You slipped the right one in quickly, trying to make the errand as brief as possible.

Once you entered, you took off your shoes. You didn’t want to stain Seokjin’s floor, especially considering how he always took care of it, spending extra time in treating the hardwood boards with special products to keep them glossy and vibrant in their splendid maroon colour.

You completely avoided looking at the kitchen, walking to your room and finding the last bag of clothes resting on the bed, still made with three-week-old sheets. You wondered whether it was a good idea for you to wash them, but once you were reminded you would be gone for a whole week, maybe more, you shook your head and went on with your tasks, cleaning up your desk once you noticed the dust on it.

Your tiny bookcase was halfway empty, the only things left some old books you read during your first year and tiny trinkets.

A can of cherry coke from your first trip to the lake with the guys; a tattoo Jeongguk had designed for you a long time ago, waiting for you to finally find the guts to get it done; granny’s recipe for her special apple pie; a picture of you and Seokjin at the bakery’s fiftieth anniversary, a small buttercup flower dried and pressed into the framed picture; another photo, this one from your birthday, the guys surrounding you in a group hug, and Seokjin staring from the distance, his eyes glimmering with something your mouth will never speak.

You were slowly spiralling into despair when you heard the door unlock.

Dread grabbed your insides and twisted them tight, your hands unconsciously snatching the bag, switching off the lights before you tried to run out of your room, hoping it was just a projection of your exhausted brain.

It wasn’t.

There, on the entry mat stood Seokjin, drenched head to toe.

You stared at each other for a second.

“Hi.” He said.

He looked a mess. “Are you alright?”

He bent forward, his hands on his knees, his chest heaving with laboured breathing as he shook his head.

He knelt on the floor.

He shook his head some more.

You stood paralysed in front of him.

“I could use a friend.” He whispered, right before you dropped your bag and fell to your knees right in front of him, pressing his face to your chest. “You said you would never leave me alone. You promised.” He sobbed, hugging you to his body. “You promised.” He repeated, your clothes getting wet as they touched his.

“I’m sorry Jinnie. I’m so sorry, honey.” You replied, tearing up yourself. “Come in, let’s get you warm and dry.”

He refused. “Don’t go.”

“I’m not going, Jinnie. Come in.” You spoke softly.

“Swear on your cocoa that you won’t leave.” He required.

“I swear on the cocoa, now please come in, I don’t want you to catch a cold, Jin. Please.”

Reluctantly he followed your lead.

“You should get changed.” You said, cupping his cheek as the two of you stood one in front of the other.

His skin felt too hot.

“I don’t want to get you out of my sight.” He said, hugging you again.

You were both drenched by now. “We both need to get changed.”

He pouted. “You get in the bathroom. I wait outside. I can get changed while you’re in.” He said, sure that you were too smart — and too lazy — to jump out of the window.

“I won’t run.” You said, trying to reassure him.

“What if you change your mind?” He insinuated with an accusing, hurt tone.

You gave up. “Okay, I’ll get changed in the bathroom.” You conceded, grabbing your duffel bag and walking in the room, closing the door behind you.

You changed quickly, trying to show him you were invested in staying as little away from him as possible.

“I’m ready.” You called, waiting to open the door. You didn’t want to see something you weren’t meant to.

“Yes, you can come out.” He said.

As you opened the door, the first thing you noticed was his bare chest, wide, immense before your eyes.

You averted your gaze as he slipped on a sweater. He hugged you again. “I’m cold.” He murmured.

Your heart couldn’t handle that. “Let’s get on the sofa.”

“I don’t have a blanket anymore.” He said, looking at you with eyes so big, so lost and emotional.

You shook your head and entered his bedroom, grabbing his comforter carelessly. “Let’s go.”

He smiled and followed you, sitting down and dragging you onto his lap.

“Seokjin.” You reprimanded, thinking of the last time you had seen him.

“What?” He asked, fixing the covers around the two of you, holding you so tight you almost couldn’t breathe.

“What about Grace.” You said, not even a question, just a distant, unemotional statement.

“No more. I left her, Buttercup.” He said, nuzzling his nose into your hair. “I left her.”

You smelled so good.

You always smelled so good.

He kissed your neck. You tasted good too.

“Jinnie.”

“We’ll talk in the morning. I just need to sleep next to you. Please, Buttercup.” He begged, so tired and so adorably undeniable.

“Let’s sleep then.”

----------------------------------------------

Navi: Chapter 1 — Chapter 2 — Chapter 3 — Chapter 4 — Chapter 5 — Chapter 6 — Chapter 7 (7/7)

#kim seokjin x reader #jin x reader #bangtanhq #thetruthuntoldnet #seokjin fluff #seokjin angst #Baker!seokjin #bts fanfiction #bts blog #Seokjin flatmates!Au #seokjin friends to lovers

37 notes · View notes

mrs-hollandstan · 4 years

Text

Make Me Love You || Frat Boy!Tom [twelve]

Warnings: Smut (18+), male & female receiving oral, Valentine’s Day sex ya know, I guess minor bdsm??, tying up, dom!Tom themes, blindfolding, toy use, alcohol & its use ;) , talk of sex with the roomies, teasing of Harrison & Cole if you blink, language, minor mentions of family issues, more fantasizing of family life

Word Count: 5,977

Author’s Note: Happy Valentine’s Day!! I hope you enjoy. Just let me say that the next few parts may or may not hurt, but I ask you to stay with me cause it is needed haha. Lemme know what you think though. :)

Series Masterlist || Add yourself to one of my taglists here

"Happy Valentine's Day to my absolute favorite women." Phoebe remarks, setting different colored sparkly heart shaped baskets in front of you, Ivey, and Scarlett at the kitchen table. Ivey gasps as you smile and Scarlett coos,

"Aww Phoebs these are so cute." Scarlett remarks. You nod, glancing up at her,

"They are, they're really adorable." You tell her. She smiles,

"Only the best for my loves." She remarks, leaning against your chair with a shrug. You smile, leaning into her. She sighs,

"Any idea what the boys got you girls?" She asks in general to the group. There's a collective shake of the head as you, Ivey, and Scarlett look between each other to see if anyone knows. You smile,

"Tom did demand I buy him new roses if anything ‘cause his died."

"You should try buying him carnations. Those last a lot longer." Ivey pipes up. You shrug, looking over the contents of Phoebe's basket,

"Any idea what we're all doing tonight?" Phoebe poses instead. Scarlett hums,

"Cole's making dinner and dessert and then we're gonna watch cheesy rom coms and make fun of them." She says with a smile. You giggle, looking to Ivey who shrugs,

"The only thing I know is Harrison and I are going to dinner." She remarks. The three of you nod before all eyes land on you. Your cheeks burn, eyes downcast,

"Uhm, I- Tom didn't really... give me much. He just told me to wear... something nice." You mutter,

"He'll probably just take you to dinner-"

"No not... not that kind of nice, uhm, he told me to wear a nice bra and panty set." You add. There's a silent a gasp,

"Ooh shit." Phoebe mumbles. Scarlett snorts,

"Look at you exploring that fuckin typical sex fiend Tom. How has it been?" She asks. You shrug,

"I don't really have much to base him off of. I was with like one guy before him and we were both in high school." You admit, picking at a string on your sweater. She hums,

"But... can he make you cum without touching you? Like, just sex, no clit rubbing?" You nod,

"Yeah, depends on what position he puts me in. He's really good in doggystyle."

"Must be nice. Sometimes Harrison just... forgets." Ivey speaks up. You smile, listening to Scarlett scoff and jokingly brush her hair over her shoulder,

"That's what you get for dating a boy Ivey. At least mine's a man." She boasts. You snort,

"Yeah, your man wore Spongebob boxers until he was nineteen." You tell her. The room breaks out into laughter, Scarlett leaning back in her chair,

"Hey, there's nothing wrong with liking Spongebob into your twenties. That's when you understand most of the jokes anyways." She defends. You giggle as she purses her lips, trying to contain her laughter,

"Besides, he is so fucking good. God that boy is so fucking sexy. His voice afterwards when he knows I still can't breathe-"

"Ew, ew, ew, that's alright, we don't have to. I'm related to that and I do not need to know." You tell her, shivering and moving your hands between you. She laughs, eyes casting up to Phoebe who holds her fingers out at a measurable distance. Scarlett reads her, holding her fingers up with a little added length,

"Balls too."

"Scarlett!" You squeal, your friends bursting out into laughter again. She holds her hands up,

"What?! How is that fair that you can talk your sex life but I can't talk mine?"

"Because yours happens to occur with my older brother and I do not need grimy details about an idiot I grew up with." You screech over the laughter. Once the laughing subsides, Scarlett sighs,

"He is good though." She mutters. You roll your eyes as a knock on the door sounds through the room. You silently thank the gods for whoever is on the other side, face brightening further when the three boys in question walk through the door. Tom rounds the corner in sweats and a tee, hat on backwards as he beelines straight for you, hands shoved in his pockets. You smile, laying your head back against his stomach as he leans in to kiss your cheek,

"Happy first Valentine's babe." He whispers to you. You smile, kissing his cheek back,

"Happy Valentine's Day love." You mutter. He glances up, watching his best friend and Cole retreat to their respective girlfriends. Phoebe drapes her arms around his shoulders,

"So I heard you requested that our sweet Y/N wear her best undies." She tells Tom who smiles, glancing down at you,

"Good thing I don't tell you my secrets darling." He jokes. You giggle and shrug,

"We're a family here. I tell them everything." You tell him. He hums, looking back up to Phoebe,

"Yeah, I got somethin good planned for her. Should be great." Is all he comes up with. Laying your head back against his arm, he nods at her. She nods in return as he purses his lips,

"But uhh, what are you doin?" He asks her. She shrugs,

"Probably sitting around here. Maybe I'll look for a hookup, who knows." She says with a shrug. You giggle as Tom smiles at her,

"Well shit, when you put it like that, there's room on my bed for the both of you." You gasp, reaching up to swat at his chest,

"Tom!" You screech. He chuckles,

"What? She's gonna spend Valentine's Day alone looking for a hookup. I could take you both on." He remarks. You pout as he stares down at you with a cheesy smile. He clicks his tongue,

"I'm kidding love. Damn I thought you'd put up more of a fight." He jokes. Phoebe smiles down at you,

"It's fine Y/N, wouldn't wanna steal your picture perfect moment." She remarks. Tom wraps his arms around you, lifting you and sitting in your spot. He pulls you into his lap, his arms wrapped tight around your waist. He sighs, leaning into your ear,

"Just for that though, you'll have to be punished." He jokes. You smile, leaning your back against his chest, hands placed over his arms.

---

Each of your steps are accentuated by the clicks of the heels you wear as Tom walks you up the stairs to the frat house,

"Ya know, I really, really want our own place so we can do whatever we want." He reminds you. You smile and nod, holding his hand tight,

"Well it's not like I'm quiet if there's people around. At your friend's house back in London I was pretty loud and Cole's friend definitely has neighbors and I wasn't exactly quiet." You remind. He gives a cocky smirk as he glances back at you,

“I like that about you. You don’t hide it like some girls try to.” He tells you. You hum, releasing his hand as he shoulders the front door open. It’s nearly empty, just a few of the boys standing spread through the house. Some greet you, others continue what they’re doing like you aren’t there. Tom leads you through the kitchen first, grabbing some alcohol before he leads you up the stairs and into his room. He sighs as he closes the door and you settle on the bed, laying back and kicking your heels off. You cross your hands over your stomach, watching as Tom walks forward to run the tip of his finger over the hill of one of your breasts,

“I like this dress. It shows off your goodies perfectly.” You smile,

“Thought you just cared what was underneath tonight.” He hums, not answering you at first as he pours some of the bourbon he’d brought into a glass and handing it to you. You sip from it, cringing softly. Tom smiles,

“Well I do, but ‘m just sayin, you’re pretty fuckin sexy in this little dress.” He remarks. You nod, allowing him to crawl over you. You hum as he brushes your hands up above your head, leaning in to kiss your throat,

“You know what though, I think it’ll look better on my floor.” He whispers, reaching up to slide the strap of your dress down your arm, repeating the process with the other as he slides it down your body. When your bra is exposed to him, he lets out another hum, continuing the trail down past your underwear which he blinks down at, dropping your dress on the floor beside him,

"Damn..."

"This set was just bought for this occasion." You tell him with a smile. He eyes the frilly red lace set,

"Its beautiful baby girl. You really know how to spoil me then huh?" He teases. You giggle and nod, eyes following his hand as he reaches for the bottle of bourbon, turning it upside down to drizzle some down the valley of your breasts, quickly leaning in to lap it up as it begins to run. You smile, watching him stand, kicking his shoes off and shimmying from his socks. He sheds his top and pants, watching as you sit up and lean in to kiss across his abdomen. He reaches up to run his fingers through your hair. He gives a sharp tug after a moment, bringing a choked whimper from your throat. He smiled down at you,

"I've got something for you. But you have to be a good girl for me to see it." He purrs. You smile up at him, body coursing in excitement at his tone. He wants to be domineering and you'll let him. You nod, chewing your bottom lip. He gives one curt nod, releasing your hair and walking to his closet. He pulls out a shoebox, placing it on the bed beside you and opening it. Your eyes widen at the contents: silk ties, handcuffs, a few varieties of dildos and vibrators, and nipple clamps,

"The craziest thing in this box is the clamps. But most of it's pretty mild. I just figured I mentioned toys and you didn't say no so maybe I could've bought some and then I had a little extra money. So I kinda went all out. We can try all of them in time but... I only got like three dildos cause I don't really want to use them on you when I've got a perfectly good dick in my pants but... figured maybe we'd see. But if you'd like, we could sample out a vibrator of your choice. And these are definitely being used." He rambles, dragging the ties out. You meet eyes and he gives you a cocky smirk. You cock your head and click your tongue,

"See that's not fair. I wore this for you to dominate me?" You pose, gesturing to the lingerie set you wear. Tom shrugs, looking you over, but he strokes the ties smooth as he does so,

"You did date night a few weeks ago. It's my turn to actually spoil you."

"But I wanna be on top. You always do the work." You pout, shoulders slouching. Tom presses his lips together, staring up at you without blinking for a moment,

"Fine. But I've got conditions. You're to let me tie you up to eat you out and when I'm done I'll let you do the same. But we need to establish a safe word. We aren't gonna be too crazy but," he grabs your hips and leans in to kiss your stomach, "I want us to be safe. If something doesn't feel right, we can use it and we'll stop." You nod, hands rested on his shoulders,

"What about... ooh, what about curtain call?" You pose. One of his eyebrows arches and you purse your lips,

"Ya know... at the end of a performance. Y-you were talking about stage directions the other day. I do listen." You murmur, seeming somewhat embarrassed. Tom chuckles,

"I know you do, I'm just... surprised. Yeah, curtain call is good." He tells you through a chuckle, squeezing your hips. You nod, letting him guide you back to lay on the bed, dragging you up to have you hold the posts of his headboard before he binds a silk tie around your wrists and the post. You watch, leaning up to kiss his stomach again, which moves as he laughs,

"Gonna be a good girl for me darling?" He purrs again, leaning in to kiss along your jaw. You nod,

"Yes sir."

"Now that's just wrong. You don't want me to dominate you, but you're gonna call me sir. Naughty girl." You giggle as he lifts your bottom half from the bed, pulling your panties down and swatting your butt in one sitting. You press your eyes closed for a moment, opening them as he spread your thighs to kneel between. He drags another piece of silk from the nightstand, showing it to you before leaning in to fasten it around your eyes. You gasp,

"Oh come on. That's not fair."

"You blindfolded me the other night. It's my turn. Besides... your orgasm'll be better if you're compromised." He mutters, kissing down your body. He disappears from the bed, his weight around you nonexistent anymore as he toys with your remaining senses. You gasp again, tugging at your restraints when something brushes over your stomach. Tom cackles,

"Those were my boxers by the way. And your body liked that." He purrs once more, leaning in to kiss around your belly button which draws a guttural whine from your throat,

"Tommy... please do something." You cry out. He chuckles again, humming to himself as he rounds the end of the bed, running his hands up your legs from ankle to thigh to spread them,

"What do we say pretty girl? Repeat it."

"Please." You pant, holding the wooden headboard post,

"Good girl." He gently mumbles. Closing your eyes tight, you give a shaky breath, feeling his breath across your hips before he leans in, instantly sucking your clit into his mouth. You cry out arching your back as his hands find purchase on your thighs, holding them apart while he works on you. He hums, your toes curling and you're on the verge of tears with how good it feels. Tom always makes it feel good. Sex is always the best, but the way he uses his mouth- which he hasn't since the night at the club because all of your sex has been too rushed for foreplay- is exceptional. You grasp the restraints, moaning and whimpering as you focus on the tingling and straight pleasure Tom provides, tracing his tongue around your clit and lapping at you in figure eights. You whine as he pulls up,

"Tommy... Tommy, please..." He chuckles,

"Tell me what you want baby girl." He demands. You arch your back,

"Please just don't stop. Want your tongue." You whine. He chuckles again,

"Good thing I hadn't intended on stopping then huh?" He poses, your senses dialed to eleven as he leans in, sucking your clit into his mouth and pumping his fingers inside of you once he slips them inside. Your nails claw at the bedpost, eyes squeezed shut tight beneath your blindfold,

"Fuck Tom." You gasp. He chuckles darkly,

"You like that pretty girl. So wet for me." He mutters, kissing your thigh. You can feel him shift, but think nothing of it as you focus on getting to your first high of the night. Your body craves it, wanting to feel that molten lava take over your body. You hum, gasping and shuddering as a strong vibrating sound rings through the air and cool metal is pressed to your clit. Your body lurches, tugging against the restraints at the new, overwhelming, foreign feeling and the milliseconds of uncertainty as to what it is nearly has you calling out your safe word.. He chuckles again,

"You like that darling?" You nod, panting as you seek out more pleasure from not only his fingers pumping in and out of you, but the bullet vibrator pressed firmly to your clit. You move your hips down into him, letting him slip his fingers out of you and replace it with his tongue. Your back arches again, head buried in the pillows,

"Fuck me Tommy. That feels so good." You moan, feeling your high build further and further,

"Can tell... you're soaked darling." He mutters back. You grasp the ties, toes curling and eyes squeezing shut,

"Fuck, fuck, fuck I'm gonna cum." You squeal. Tom hums, his tongue leaving you before he takes hold of your hips and flips you over onto your knees, twisting your wrists in the ties snugly, but not uncomfortably. He presses his fingers back inside of you, thrusting them quickly as he holds the overpowering vibrator firm to your clit. You whine, leaning down to bury your face in his sultry smelling pillow as he fights to bring you to climax,

"Come on love, cum for me." He directs into your ear. You let out a moan, back arching into his chest as he leans over you, stiff cock jabbing you in the side. Your body convulses after a few more seconds and you squeal, toes curled as you cum finally. You let out a whimper as he works your through it, turning the vibrator off as he draws his fingers out and licks them clean. You hold the post above you tight in your hands,

"Are you... are you gonna untie me?" You ask. He chuckles,

"Eager are we? I don't think I will just yet love. I like you like this." You whimper again as he lays you on your back, pulling the tie on your blindfold lose and tossing it aside,

"I will do that though. You look beautiful all flushed like this." He says with a smile. You return it, leaning your head up to kiss him, tasting yourself on his tongue as he slides it into your mouth. You hum,

"I do quite like the dominating stature you take. It's pretty sexy." He smiles, running his hands up the inside of your thighs,

"That's good. That's kinda... my style of stuff. I like dominating my girls." He admits. You crane your head to watch him sort through the things in front of him. His smile widens,

"You sure liked that vibrator." He remarks. You click your tongue,

"That's like telling me that starving me will result in me wanting to eat. No shit Sherlock." You chide. He chuckles,

"Didn't you though? I mean obviously your body involuntarily likes it but... it's good huh?" You nod, relaxing back against the bed,

"It was good. Intense. I've never used toys before." You admit. He returns your nod, reaching for a condom as he removes the lube in the box and walks to the closet to deposit it back. He hums as he returns, standing beside you with his hands on his hips,

"I'm not ready to untie you love." He remarks. You lick your lips, raising your head,

"Come closer then loser." You bite, watching him walk forward before you lean in to take his cock into your mouth. He hums. You smile around him, shifting until you're laying on your side, bobbing your head softly. You hum as he reaches up to untie you, pulling your legs off the bed and putting you on your knees,

"Hands behind your back darling." You do as you're told, letting him tie your hands behind your back, gathering your hair in his hand,

"You're beautiful baby girl." He purrs. You glance up at him through your lashes, his lips pressing in a tight line as he stares down at you. You hum, moving forward until you're gagging. Tom curses under his breath, holding you far too lightly. You pull back,

"Tommy..."

"What?" He asks, eyes softening at your whine. You pout,

"We established a safe word and we aren't even gonna get our worth out of it." His eyes twinkle as he stares down at you,

"I don't follow darling." He remarks with a lopsided smirk. You click your tongue,

"You wanna be dominating, you gotta gag me." His smile widens as he comes to the realization,

"You want my cock down your throat darling?" He poses softly. You smile and nod, winking up at him,

"You've got me all tied up, why not play with me?" You purr. He chuckles darkly,

"Oh darling, you don't know what you're getting yourself into." He mutters as you take him back into your mouth. He hums, watching you and running his fingers up the side of your face before he gives a solid tug on your neck and you gag. He hisses,

"Fuck darling. You're very good with that pretty little mouth." You hollow your cheeks as he speaks, giggling around him as his knees threaten to give out. He tugs on you harder, hand wrapping in your hair again before he presses, gagging you effectively over and over again. After another moment, he tugs you off of him, breathing hard,

"Alright... fuck... that's enough." He pants, bringing you to your feet and turning you around. Pressing a hand to your back, he bends you over the bed, swatting at your bottom. You squeal, giggling after as he picks at the knots at your back, untying the ties and letting you lay back on the bed, rolling onto your back. He stands between your knees,

"Wanna tie me up now?" He poses. You smile and nod, taking the tie from him and sitting up. He lays back on the bed, letting you move his hands until they're grasping the same post you were. He watches you clamber over him to tie the silk around his wrists, leaning up to kiss your tummy. He hums as you crawl back down, sitting just above his bobbing cock,

"You ever not used a condom with a girl?" You ask him, raising an eyebrow. He smiles, shrugging,

"Maybe one or two." He admits. You click your tongue,

"Such a whore you are Mr. Holland." He chuckles as you lean in to kiss across his chest, rolling your tongue around his nipples. He closes his eyes, grasping at his restraints as you creep down his body. Crouching between his legs, you find the condom and lube amongst the sheets. He sighs as he waits for you to add lube to the tip of the condom after you've opened it and slide it down over him,

"I actually can't wait for the day you let me not use a condom." He remarks. You smile,

"Shoulda said something before I put it on." He raises his head, staring up at you,

"Well fuck then, take it off, what’s one condom?" He practically squeals. You giggle, shaking your head at him,

"Too late." Climbing over him, he watches you turn the lube upside down and drip it over him, setting the bottle aside and settle above him. You reach down, guiding him with two fingers to your entrance before you slide down onto him. He hums, holding the ties in his hands,

"Fuck... that's good." He mutters, eyes closing again as you settle yourself above him, hands on his chest. He presses his lips in a line, raising his head to glance down where you're connected. He sighs,

"Fuck you're good." He adds. You smile, rubbing your hands across his chest before slowly raising your hips and dropping them down again. He hums, holding the restraints around his wrists in a bruising grip. You slowly bounce on top of him, trying to stretch yourself out as he licks his lips and curses under his breath. He watches you reach down once you start to pick up speed, stroking your clit in quick circles, your body quivering from the previous orgasm you'd had. Tom gives a somewhat feminine whine,

"Fuck darling." He tugs at the restraints around his wrist. You tut,

"Don't tell me I'm gonna have to blindfold you for being a bad boy." You tease. He stares up at you with wide, lust blown eyes, laying his head back against his pillow with his eyes never leaving you,

"You're mean." He mutters. You smile down at him, back arching softly as you rub yourself, bursts of pleasure bursting throughout you. You hum, coming down harder around him. After another moment of dull pleasure from Tom, you press a foot to his bed, leaning back on his thighs to bounce softly. He watches, eyes widening again,

"Baby, untie me." He desperately begs. You giggle, pausing as you stare down at him,

"You're such a pussy. I was tied up for like five minutes and you can't even last two." He groans,

"But this is different. I can give you more, come on, untie me." You shake your head, continuing to bounce atop him,

"No way. You stay tied up until I can make you cum." He rotates his wrist in a circle,

"Then c'mon. Hurry it along then darling, I can feel it." He rushes, laying his head back against the pillow below him with a small grunt as you pick up speed. His toes curl, eyes closing as his back arches,

"Fuck..." He groans, holding his ties, focusing on you instead of the bed creaking. He desperately wants to bring his knees up to give him some leverage to thrust up into you, but he can't. You're leaning back on his legs so he just has to enjoy the ride for now. One of your hands comes down between your own legs, rubbing your clit and releasing quiet but high pitched moans. Tom chews his lip, watching you as he chases his high, loving the way your body looks. He whines, tugging at his restraints and he wants nothing more than to reach up and play with your perfect, full, beautiful breasts. His eyes are locked on them, he's captivated by your sheer beauty as your head falls back,

"Fuck Tom... that feels so good." You moan, digging your nails into his thigh. He chuckles,

"Gonna cum before me?" You hum,

"You're hitting the right spot perfectly." You tell him, heart pounding from your chest. Your head falls back again, lips pressed in a tight line as you process the pleasure coursing through your veins. Its molten lava, burning your body. You bite your lip, Tom's eyes wandering up your body. He's nearly there,

"Fuck babe. God I'm so close." He growls. A thought strikes you, a wicked smirk which Tom doesn't catch crossing your face, his eyes closed. But they pop open and he gasps as he feels your hand that's drifted down between his legs to fondle his balls. You laugh wickedly as the headboard jolts and Tom tugs his restraints,

"Babe... ah fuck darling." He spits out, starting to squirm after a moment,

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." He curses, his hips involuntarily bucking up into yours as he struggles to contain himself. He lets out a loud groan as he cums, wrists red and burning as he tugs against his confines,

"Fuck." He grunts, giving one more thrust before he relaxes. You giggle, leaning over him and kissing him softly,

"Good baby?" He nods rather tiredly, glancing up as he feels you picking at the knots in his ties,

"No changing position." You demand. He nods, hands instantly rising to press over your breasts. You lean up just a little, finding the perfect spot to work back against. His hands slide down to your hips and then one slides down between them, pressing on your clit. You gasp, back arching as he circles the bud,

"That's it baby. Cum for me." He mutters, wrapping his free arm around your shoulders as you lay chest to chest against him, goosebumps erupting across your skin as the new angle allows him to press into that pleasure button. As you pick up speed, his fingers circle your clit faster, pushing you closer and closer to your high.

Each move of your hips draws a dull cry from your lips pressed to Tom's shoulder before he presses his feet to the bed, thrusting up into you. You squeal, biting into his shoulder which draws a growl from his own lips. He kisses your cheek, coaxing you along until you shudder, nuzzling your face in his chest and give a lighthearted scream as you cum for the second time. You pause, kissing his chest as his arms bind around you, legs sliding like butter down amongst the sheets as he struggles to breath below you. You hum as you rise slowly, brain clouded in a blissful haze, Tom's hands resting on your thighs as he waits for you to climb from him. You're panting as you do so, collapsing at his side, draping yourself over his arm. You pull the comforter up across your body, holding it in the crooks of your arms while Tom, just as out of breath, peels the condom from himself and tosses it into the bin beside his bed. He hums, placing his hand over your arm as he drapes the blanket across his waist, turning his head to look at you,

"Well shit." He pants out with a cheesy smile. You nod, letting out a small, breathless laugh, snuggling up into him. He runs his fingertips up your arm, tucking his other arm behind his head. You sigh, placing your hand over his chest,

"I think that was our best yet." You in part joke. He nods,

"I feel that." He mutters. Reaching up, he closed his eyes as you brush through his slightly sweat dampened hair. You lean in to kiss the corner of his mouth as his hand rests on your back, smiling and leaning in to kiss him farther after a moment. Your eyes drift to the top of his dresser where half dead roses lie,

“Wow, you weren’t kidding about your roses.” He glances up and chuckles,

“What, you think I’d lie to you about something so serious?” He jokes. You share a giggle as you lay your head against his shoulder, staring up at them for a moment longer. You raise your head again to look down into his face, heart fluttering,

"I love you. You're my everything." You tell him. He smiles, not opening his eyes for a moment. When he does open them, you watch the brown swirl, a golden speck dancing in them,

"I love you too. You're more than anything. I dunno where I'd be without you." He admits. Tracing his collarbone, he twirls a strand of your hair around his finger. Leaning back, you lay across his arm,

"Let's fantasize more. About our future. About us." You request. He hums, staring up at the ceiling as he thinks. You watch his lashes flutter,

"'Right, I want our house to be like... like warm but not like heater or natural heat warm. I want like... oven warm and I want it to smell like baked goods. And I'm," he looks at you then, eyes widening gently in worry, "I'm not like... saying I want you to sit at home and bake. I just want it to smell like baked goods just in general." You nod, staring up at him. He nods in return, glancing up at the ceiling. You hum,

"I always revert back to you with kids. I’ve always wanted to be a mom." He glances down at you again,

"You'd be a real good one, I know that much." He remarks. You smile up at him,

"Is it creepy that I always imagine you as the father of my kids? We've been together like... six months and I’ve already like… planned out their names and thought about what they’ll look like." You tell him. He chuckles and shrugs,

"I don't find it creepy, I think it's cute. You're like the only girl I've ever actually wanted to fantasize about it with." He admits. You hum, rubbing his chest,

"Fine, then I'll tell you what I think of. I think of you coming home from work and being bombarded with like... well I don't know how many but I see you being bombarded by our babies and then you sit at the table with the boys and help them with their homework as your daughter is questioning me about every little thing associated with dinner and helping me do that. She's too young to go to school of course so... she has to be distracted somehow." He nods with a smile,

"And then you teach them how to clean. Like how to do laundry and dishes and vacuum. But our baby girl will be scared of the vacuum for a few years and everytime you're trying to teach them you have to hold her." You add. He chuckles as your eyes sting in unshed tears,

“Very active imagination. That’s cute, I like it.” He remarks, unaware for a moment until he glances down. After another moment, he glances down,

"Hey. What's the matter?" He asks at the look of you, worriedly moving to brush your tears away. You shake your head and sniffle a little,

"Nothing I just... I just didn't get that growing up. I don't want what I had for our kids. This whole split family shit that I went through. I want more for them." You admit. He hums,

"And you'll get there. You're gonna be an amazing mum and hopefully I'm the dad to watch you be that. You're perfect and I couldn't ask for anything better. Our kids are going to be so fucking loved because the love I have for their mum is unreal." He rambles. You smile and nod, pressing your hand over his on your cheek,

"I know. I just... I feel like my parents said the same thing and then they fell out of love and shit. I just don't wanna go through any of that." You mutter. He nods, letting you lay your head over his shoulder,

"What do you dream about when it comes to kids?" You ask, trying to change the subject. He hums,

"Dunno. Uhm, how many kids are we talkin here?" He poses. You shrug,

"I guess if we're being serious, like... three or four." You tell him. He nods,

"I like the idea of being bombarded by little babies. I dunno if I could hold all of them though. But... I like the idea of you being pregnant and giving birth to babies that have your eyes." He jokes, leaning in to poke your nose. You smile,

"I like your eyes though." You murmur. He hums again,

"Well we'll see who our kids side with on that one." You click your tongue,

"Guess so. I like the idea of having little boys that look like me and little girls that look like you though." He purses his lips,

"Little mumma's boys and little daddy's girls. I could fuck with that." He mumbles. You smile, relaxing against him. He runs his fingers up along your spine, your brain going fuzzy as you close your eyes. You sigh, binding your arms around him. He returns the sigh,

"Why don't you get some sleep and dream some more fantasies up for me." You smile, snuggling down into his side,

"I love you." You tell him. He runs his fingers through your hair,

"Love you too darling. Get some rest." With his fingers in your hair and across your back, it isn't hard to fall asleep, your chest pressed to his. Tom glances down at you when he hears your breathing shallow, smiling down at you and pressing a kiss to your forehead,

"And happy first Valentine's my love." He whispers, kissing your temple before his own eyes close and like always with you around, he falls asleep faster than ever. Peacefully.

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mybullshitsensesaretingling · 5 years

Text

Call Ahead Part Four

[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three]

A/N: Lemme just show up with the final part of this that took waaaaaay too long to write. I must have switched how I wanted to finish this off a thousand times, but last night I finally settled on some that might be a little more real and raw that anyone was expecting. But here it is, in all its glory. Hope you guys like it

“Two men are looking for you,” one of the respenconists told you.

“Unless they’re injured, sick, or dying they’re going to have to wait,” you dismissed without looking up from one of your charts.

“I think they might have some sort of head trauma.” You were too stressed to be able to pick up on whether or not she was joking.

Moving your narrowed eyes up to her face, you took a step back so you could see over the front desk of the ER. Two Starfleet uniforms on the other side immediately caught your attention. Jim moved to follow a nurse, a smile on his lips. Leonard backhanded him lightly in the side, laughing at him. You couldn’t help the grin that stretched across your face as you handed your charts off to the respenconist and raced out the door into the waiting room.

“What are you guys doing here?” you asked.

“We came to see you,” Leonard told you cheerfully.

“Also, I think I broke a rib,” Jim said, lifting up his shirt to show you the discolored skin covering his ribcage.

“What?” Leonard leaned forward to see it. “When did that happen?”

“You know yesterday when-”

“Stop talking, both of you,” you said, cutting him off. “And give me a hug.”

Dropping his shirt, Jim rushed forward and pulled you into his arms. He squeezed you, his arms winding around you tighter and tighter, and despite his injury, he lifted you off the ground.

“Are you trying to break my ribs too?” you wheezed, smacking his arm to get him to put you down. He complied with a laugh that quickly turned into a coughing fit. You wrapped an arm around him and lead him into the clinic. “Come on, dumbass. Let’s get you taken care of.”

He grinned, wrapped his arm around your shoulders, and pulled you into his chest so hard that it was hard it was hard to keep walking. He rested his head on top of yours and sighed a theatrical sigh of content. You tried to move away so you could walk up right, but he only pulled you in tighter. When pulling back again still wasn’t enough to get him to release you, you reached up a poked his bruising side. He winced and let you go.

“That’s unethical,” he grimsed.

“You’re right,” you agreed with a nod. “And I probably shouldn’t treat you. Better keep it down to one unethical act per day.” You adjusted your grasp on him and raised your voice to get the attention of a doctor down the hall, “Amy!” She turned and you smiled, “Could you take care of my brother? He broke a rib.”

“Of course.” She walked toward you to take him off your hands.

“Hello, Amy,” Jim grinned.

You leaned forward and muttered, “She’s a lesbian.”

“Really? Are you single? I’ve got a friend. She’s got a thing for doctors,” he told her as she took him into a room.

“The man has no off button,” Leonard chuckled.

You looked up at him. He had stayed a few paces back while you were managing your brother but now he stood right beside you. The corners of his mouth tilted up as he gazed down at you. His eyes began to roam over the features of your face that he hadn’t seen in months, but he quickly looked away and down the hallways.

“You got an office here, Doctor?”

“Did you come all this way just to see my office?” you smirked.

“Among other things.” He looked down at you again, matching your expression.

“Like getting my brother some proper medical treatment?” you asked as you started down the hall towards your office.

“Uh huh. Wait a second!” He stepped quickly to catch up with you. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You glanced up at him with wide eyes and a soft smile. “That I love you.”

“I’m sure it does.” He followed you into the lift. As the doors closed he rolled up on to his toes, bounced once, and rolled back down.

When he went to repeat the motion, you smiled, “I missed you.”

He tried to hide his grin for a moment before he gave into it and wrapped an arm around you. His grip was looser than Jim’s. You stand up straight or walk away if you wanted to. You leaned into him.

“What do you say, we get some pizza for dinner and pig out on the couch?”

You hummed apologetically. “I’m working late tonight.” The door opened and you untangled yourself from him and stepped into the hall.

“I thought you missed me,” he called after you

“Should’ve called ahead.”

“Smartass,” he grumbled.

“You love my smartass,” you smirked, opening a door.

“I do,” he said with a hum as he grabbed you from behind. You wrapped your hands around his forearms and rested your head back against him. “We’re only here for a few days,” he muttered into your ear. “Take some time off.”

“Because you take so much time off?” you asked, turning your head so you could see him.

“I would if you asked.”

“Liar.”

He chuckled and kissed your temple. The laugh had rumbled in his chest and you could feel it against your back. His embrace felt safe. It felt like home. You closed your eyes and let yourself sink into it. But something started to creep up on you from the darkness of your thoughts. Hidden in the safety Leonard brought was the danger of depending on another person. Fears that you had managed to keep at bay for at least a few months now came clawing their way to the back to the surface. Scars from the first place you called home started to itch again.

You detached his arms from you and moved towards your desk.

A stack of PADDs sat on the edge. A sigh left you at the thought of having to complete all the tasks on them before the end of your shift.

“Ya know, starin’ at ‘em won’t make ‘em go away,” Leonard said from behind you, seemingly unphased by the distance you had just forced between the two of you. If you could have brought yourself to look him in the eye, you would have seen that he wasn’t.

“Burst my bubble why don’t you,” you grumbled, picking up the first PADD and dropping into your desk chair. You, somewhat begrudgingly, got to work.

Leonard moved to sit on your desk and watched as you finished the encounter report and reached for the next one.

“You love it here don’t you?” His question made you look up from your work and he continued, “Despite the insane amount of work, how exhausted you are after a long shift,”

“The amount of stuff I pull out of people’s butts,” you added, waving an x-ray at him.

“You wouldn’t want to be anywhere else,” he finished, before taking a closer look at the x-ray and muttering, “Man, I do not miss working ER.”

You turned your head towards the window. “If you had told me when I was nineteen that in twenty years I’d have made it on my own on the west coast, working my dream job, well, I wouldn’t’ve acted surprised because I had a cocky reputation to protect, but I wouldn’t have believed you.”

“But here you are.”

Swiveling in your chair, you rested your forearms on his thighs. “Thanks to you.”

“All I did was help you write a few applications. This,” he gestured at your office, “was all you.”

“You did a lot more than that.” You reached up a hand and rested it on the side of his face, running your thumb across his cheekbone. “You look tired.”

“Working with your brother’ll do that to a guy.”

You chuckled lightly. “I can only imagine.”

“You don’t have to imagine. Ask one of your nurses how they feel working with you. They’ll tell you what it’s like.” The corner of his mouth lifted under your palm.

“Are you saying I’m as bad as my brother?”

“Worse actually.”

“Oh, really?” you laughed as you stood up, keeping your hand on his face.

He nodded and tugged you closer by the waist.

“How have you put up with me for all these years?” you asked, slinging your arms around his neck.

“I’m easily swayed by a pretty face.”

“Is that why you still work with Jim?”

Instead of answering, he leaned forward and kissed you.

“Amy gave me a sticker because I was such a good patent. How come neither of you ever give me- What’s this?”

You pulled back from Leonard to see Jim standing in the doorway with a large sticker stuck to the pad of his thumb. He stared at the two of you from under furrowed, quizitive brows.

“Just talking ‘bout how pretty you are,” you smiled, moving farther away from Leonard.

“That’s what you talk about when you’re making out?” One of his lowered brows quirked up. “Don’t know how I feel about that.”

“We were not making out!” Your voice was uncomfortably high. No matter how old you got you would always be Jim’s baby sister and him your protective big brother. And this would always be embarrassing. It didn’t help that his best friends hand was still pressed into the small of your back.

“Okay,” he shrugged, crossed his arms, and moved out of the doorway. “How long has this been going on?”

Leonard studied his friend, quickly analyzing his posture and expression. “How long have you known this has been going on?”

“Six months.”

“I told you he could taste the fake sugar,” you groaned and rolled your head back.

“You gave him the doughnuts,” Leonard reminded you under his breath.

“It’s been longer than that, hasn’t it?”

You sighed and looked over at Leonard. “Since my undergrad graduation.”

“Yeah, I’d say that’s when it started,” he agreed.

Jim rubbed a hand across his face. “Bones, can I have a moment alone with my sister?”

Leonard looked between the two of you, the tension almost visible, and slid off the desk. “Don’t have to ask me twice.”

The door closed behind him and you fell back into your chair.

“Years. You hid a part of your life, a part that involved my best friend, from me for years.”

“I know. I just-” You bit the inside of your cheek. “I don’t know what to say.”

“I’m sorry.”

Your eyebrows raised.

“I spent our childhood watching you get hurt again and again. I tried to stop it, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t protect you. When you showed up at my door when you were nineteen, battered, bruised, but so hopeful, I thought I could change things. The thought of you getting hurt like that again,” he hesitated. His eyes moved from yours. “It broke me. I tried to shield you from the world. I thought I was protecting you, but instead I became someone you couldn’t talk to.”

“Jim, no. I-” You looked down at your hands, fingers wrapping and unwrapping from each other, tugging and pushing. Anything to not be still. “Maybe that was part of it.” You sighed and leaned back. “It didn’t start out that way. It was just one night. I figured you didn’t need to know that your best friend screwed you little sister. Then it turned into something else. It didn’t make sense and as long as it was just between the two of us, it didn’t have to. Telling you would complicate things. It would make it real, and I guess I wasn’t ready for that. Then six months ago, I,” you took a breath, gathering your strength before you forced the words out. “I told him I loved him, and it turned into something. Something I knew I wanted, but I still couldn’t tell you. He wanted me to so badly, but I just couldn’t get passed this feeling I got in my chest every time I thought about it.”

“Did he say it back?”

“That he loved me?” the laugh the accompanied your words was a hollow one used to cover your discomfort not to show your joy. “Yeah. He did.”

“That’s why he’s been so happy. He’s in love. He loves you.”

It wasn’t a question, but you nodded.

“And you love him.”

Again you nodded.

“You’re dating my best friend and you’re in love. You’re dating Bones. Oh my god he’s so old. But it’s fine because you’re in love and I’m happy for you and-”

“Jim, a breath? Take one.”

This time he nodded, taking a noticeably large breath.

“Are you okay with this?” you asked.

He was quiet, coming to perch where Leonard had been moments ago. His eyes moved across your face, trying to figure out what you weren’t saying. He was choosing every word he was going to say carefully.

“You lied to me for years, so now you owe me one. So you’re gonna listen to me and take my advice,” he told you, but didn’t give you time to respond. “Bones would never hurt you.”

You furrowed your brows. “I know that.”

“I think you need to hear it. He won’t hurt you. It’s okay to let him in. It’s time to stop using me as an excuse to keep this from becoming all that it could be. Let him love you in every way we both know he wants to. Let him hold your hand in public and call you cutesy pet names when were all hanging out. Let him know that you’re scared because you want this and this is something you never thought you would get. Let yourself be happy and safe in this relationship. Because that man has so much love and tenderness for you that it showed in his eyes when he looked at you even when he was trying to hide it. Even when I was deep in denial that my baby sister was involved with my crotchety grandpa of a friend. I wanted to save you from what Mom had, but Bones is not you dad. And he would never hurt you.” Jim rubbed the side of your arm and smiled. “So let him love you and love him back because he needs this too.”

Your face twitched, unsure of what expression to display. His eyes were filled with so much warmth and care in that moment that it was overwhelming, so your eyes dropped and fell on the sticker still attached to his thumb.

“Okay, you big sap.” You peeled the sticker from his thumb and stood up. “I’ll let myself be loved.” You pressed the sticker to his forehead, smoothing your finger across the edges to make sure it stuck and he smiled.

Tags: @abigailredgrave @anbrax5553 @revolutionaryteens

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artificialqueens · 5 years

Text

gold coloured prisms of light, chapter two (branjie) - holtzmanns

(read on ao3) | (tumblr: plastiquetiaras) | word count: 4922

AN: Thank you SO so much for all the sweet feedback on the first chapter! This fic is absolutely becoming one of my favourites to write, and I am so glad that you all are enjoying it so far, it makes me so happy. I made a playlist for this fic too, if music is your thing. Listen here. Writ is the best beta <33

Brock is nineteen and his friend Emily from ballet school is putting her makeup on his face and he’s never been more excited about Halloween in his life.

He writes to Jose on his forearm while Emily dusts blush on his cheeks, hoping that she doesn’t notice.

I’m dressing up in drag for Halloween

Me too!!!

WHAT

YEAH

Show me your look I wanna see

Not yet I’m doing my makeup

Brock remembers Jose mentioning his new job at Mac, seeing the pictures he’s sent of his makeup looks that make him look even more ethereal than he already is. He wishes that Jose could be here now, be the one to do his makeup.

Emily tosses Brock a dress, tells him to try it on and sure, Brock still has a shadow on his face and his jaw is big even under his wig but he looks-

Good.

He could get used to dressing up in drag.

His phone buzzes because Jose’s sent a picture, and Brock gasps because Jose looks like a woman. Granted, Brock’s perception of what women are actually like is a bit warped, having gone to the gay village with his friends to watch drag queens too many a time after reaching the legal drinking age, but Jose looks like one. Better than the ones he’s seen.

Wow

You look amazing

THANKS

Now show me yours

No I don’t look as good as you

Yes you do I bet

So Brock sends one, because he can never really say no to Jose for long.

OMG

You look SO TALL

A whole ass model

Do not

You’re just trying to make me feel better

Lemme do your makeup next time

It tugs on Brock’s heart, because he wishes there was a way that Jose actually could.

Brock is twenty six and on a date with a guy and he’s absolutely bored stiff.

Because the guy is not Jose.

They’d agreed to date around a little bit, to explore a few years back. To see what other guys were like (even though Brock knows Jose is the one), just to be sure, until they’re in the same place.

Besides, they have forever in front of them, right?

But Brock’s never really found any of them interesting, connected with any. He finds more and more that he sleeps with them and is inevitably disappointed, waking up the next morning to doodle on his side until Jose wakes up and replies, too.

He never texts any of the guys back, never goes on a second date. It feels disloyal, somehow, even though he knows that Jose is probably doing the same thing.

He tries not to think about Jose kissing someone else, or sleeping with someone else.

He ends the date without so much as a kiss goodbye, already pulling out a Sharpie from his coat pocket on the walk back to his apartment. He barely gets the cap of the marker off before his phone buzzes.

“There’s a pageant in Georgia that I want you to do.” His drag mom’s voice crackles on the other end of the line, Farrah always wanting to push him, wanting him to try more.

“A plane ticket’s going to be expensive.” Brock bites his lip. He’s been picking up part time jobs during the day to fund his drag, after stopping ballet because his tired and worn body can’t take it anymore, the touring and the dancing that’s been breaking him down.

“We’ll drive down. We have all your drag to take, too. It’ll be good for people on the Southern scene to get a look at you, get you on their radars.”

“Just tell me in advance so I can book time off work.” Brock unlocks his apartment door, letting himself in as he tugs off his jacket, dropping it on the couch.

“In two weeks. So we’ve got to work on your looks and your numbers again.”

Being able to perform in drag feels good to Brock, makes him feel alive. Lights him up on stage the way he’s always wanted ballet to do so, because now he actually gets to wear the hair and outfits that he’s always wanted to and transform and draw all the eyes in the room towards him.

He wants to tell Jose about it, send him more pictures of his drag, but he’s intimidated. Jose still works at Mac and does drag on the side and he looks good, real good, every time he sends a picture and makes Brock zoom in on it to see exactly how he’s done his contour, his cut creases.

Jose’s started drawing drag makeup sketches with coloured markers on his legs and Brock realizes that Jose is his favourite artist, maybe ever.

Brock is in Georgia and the backstage of a pageant reminds him of his ballet days but more fun, because now he gets to dress up all pretty too.

Brock gets his makeup done before everyone else backstage, dusting setting powder on his face and adjusting his wig line while the rest of the girls competing are still outlining their contours.

It’s both a blessing and a curse, being able to do his makeup so fast. On one hand, he knows that he’s finished and doesn’t need to worry about being on time but on the other hand, he ruminates.

He mentally rehearses his talent routine over and over in his mind, trying to get the steps just right, the way that they were with the backup dancers in rehearsal. He can’t have any mistakes, at least, not ones that he can prevent.

Brock has heard of most of the girls competing, seeing quite a few on the pageant circuit a little north. But there’s a handful of queens that he’s never met before, including Alexis Mateo, who’s also ready like Brock and standing with a crowd of dancers, tapping her foot and scowling as she checks the time on her phone.

“José, si no estás listo en los próximos cinco minutos, juro por dios-”

“I’m coming, I’m coming, Mary! Wait up!” Brock is nearly knocked over when a guy bounds past him, yelling excuse me’s as he weaves himself past all of the vanity mirrors and towards Alexis. A backup dancer, Brock guesses, from the way that his outfit matches the rest of them.

But then the guy joins the group, runs a hand through his hair as turns around, shooting one last look at the queens getting ready before turning back to face Alexis and Brock’s heart stops beating right in his chest, his breath hitching as the makeup brush falls from his hand and onto the table.

The eyebrows, the perfect jawline, the features that have been burned into Brock’s memory by now by how often Brock sees him in his mind?

It’s Jose.

“Ready? Let’s practice your walk, since you’re already done.” Farrah’s tugging on Brock’s hand and getting him to stand up and it’s a miracle, really, that his legs are supporting him because Jose is right there, walking out the door with Alexis’ group and every fibre of Brock’s being wants to go after him.

But he also knows that they’re about to start a competition, and Farrah would absolutely kill him if he went after a boy.

Even if that boy is his soulmate.

Brock floats through his numbers in a daze, because nothing seems real and Jose is right there, laughing and dancing and yelling his head off and he’s perfect, just like Brock knew he’d be.

He gets first alternate and he’s not even disappointed like he usually would be, because sure, he wants to win but he’s found his soulmate and as soon as he gets off the stage and takes off his crown and sash and heels, he can go find him, talk to him.

Brock looks around frantically, handing Farrah the flowers he’d been given on stage, because he’s about to drop them and he needs to find Jose , needs to find him now.

Jose’s with Alexis and the rest of her dancers, Red Bull in hand and making silly jokes and Brock is shaking as he walks towards him, and maybe he should have gotten out of drag first-

He grabs for Jose’s arm and it feels like he’s been struck by lightning.

Jose turns around as if he’s been burned, looking him up and down curiously as if trying to place his face (why, why didn’t he get out of drag first) before his mouth drops open, and Brock is nearly knocked over by the weight of Jose in his arms.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god-”

Brock’s never felt this much before, never been convinced that he’s absolutely going to be bowled over until right now, because how are his legs supporting him when Jose is in his arms and burying his face in his chest as if he’ll disappear, they’ll disappear if they let go?

Brock pulls back, draws in a gasp because it’s become hard to breathe, and Alexis is looking at them curiously because both of them look like they’ve seen a ghost.

Jose is perfect, from the way his eyes are wide, flitting along Brock’s face and the way his hand is running through his hair while his other hand is reaching out for Brock and Brock gets it, because he doesn’t want to let go of Jose again.

“Sorry, I’m still in drag, I should have-”

“Let me help you, come with you.”

“Okay.”

They grab Brock’s stuff from his vanity mirror and head for a bathroom because Brock doesn’t want to be around anyone else except for Jose. His hands are shaking as he puts down his makeup bag and makeup remover and Jose grabs the makeup wipe from his hand.

As loud as he had been earlier Jose is gentle now, pulling off Brock’s fake lashes with care and his wig and running his hands through Brock’s curls after his wig cap is off, and Brock feels himself leaning into the touch, still feels like he’s on fire.

As the layers and layers of makeup come off and Brock leaves Brooke behind, Jose’s face is filled with more and more marvel. His eyes map the contours of Brock’s face, his fingers tracing his patterns along Brock’s jaw, his cheekbones, above his eyebrows. As if he’s trying to commit everything to memory.

Jose helps Brock unlace his corset, though it doesn’t help Brock in bringing the air back into his lungs, because he feels like it’s been permanently knocked out of them now. Brock is about to pull on a hoodie, something soft after the hours and hours of restricting drag, before Jose throws his arms around him.

Brock’s had first kisses before. First kiss with a boy. First onstage kiss for ballet. First drunken kiss.

But this one? Blows all of them out of the water.

Jose is energy, pure energy that is feeding Brock’s soul, and he’s making Brock wonder how he’s survived nearly twenty seven years on earth without this. Without Jose, without feeling like he’s whole, because now he truly, truly gets the definition of a soulmate.

No wonder he hasn’t felt something with any other guy. How could he even begin to try, when Jose is entering his heart and fixing everything and making it whole again?

Jose whines into his mouth and Brock gets it, because it’s enough but it’s not, it’s not, he needs more and Jose needs more and he’s waited more than two decades for this and he needs it now.

Brock pulls back from the kiss and Jose’s eyes are wild, his lips swollen and parted and his hands shaking. They’ve talked to each other every day since they were kids and Brock feels like he knows absolutely everything about the man in front of him, but he needs to know more.

Brock is in a hotel room in Georgia and Jose is in his arms.

He doesn’t know how he’s going to go back to Toronto while Jose goes back to Tampa, how he’ll return to his everyday life without Jose there with him. Now that Jose is lying on his chest, fast asleep and mouth slightly parted as his eyes flutter, now that Brock finally, finally feels like he’s complete, he doesn’t want to let him go.

He can’t stop staring at him. Jose, beautiful perfect Jose who is funny and loud and had made Brock smile the entire night more than he has in his entire life. Jose, who is a ball of lightning that ricochets around the room and Brock isn’t able to take his eyes off of him, no matter how hard he tries.

Brock had gotten to kiss every inch of Jose’s skin that he could reach, see goosebumps rise along the areas where he’s written messages to him for what feels like forever.

Jose had taken out a Sharpie from his bag after their second round, when they were both spent but didn’t want to let go of each other, didn’t want to stop holding on, being connected. He’d drawn a heart on his own wrist and both of them had watched as it appeared on Brock’s mere moments later.

Their bodies aren’t quite the same but they complement one another, the drawings showing up on their skin in matching places, mirror images reflecting on each other almost perfectly. They had drawn new designs after every round, traced their hands over each mark in wonder, as if they’d never seen it happen before and hadn’t been writing to each other for nearly their entire lives.

Now here they are, in a hotel bed somewhere in Georgia as the moonlight streams in through the slightly open window, and the slight breeze makes Brock hold Jose just a bit tighter to him. Brock swears that he can feel Jose’s heart, how it beats at the same pace that his own does as he sleeps on top of him. Because they’re linked somehow, the blood that’s running through their veins and keeping them alive beating in sync, the way that the two of them have always been.

Brock calls in sick to work the day that Farrah starts to drive back to Toronto without him, because he can’t leave Jose just yet. Jose argues with the manager of his Mac store over the phone (’I told y’all, I got mononowhatever it is, I ain’t coming in’) and Brock’s eyes trace over his taut form, marvelling at how he had fit so well against his side like a puzzle piece.

He puts his duffle bag in Jose’s car (he’s sent his drag back up to Toronto with Farrah already) and climbs in the passenger seat. They drive to Atlanta because they can, because it’s a new city for both of them and they can make fresh memories there, even if just for a day. The car ride is filled with snacks and stolen kisses and Brock’s hand drawing patterns on Jose’s thigh, nearly making him crash at least twice.

They stop at a diner and share a milkshake like they’re a well worn cliche, trading whispers across the table and Jose’s voice when it’s soft reminds Brock of the way that Jose always writes goodnight on his palm before he falls asleep.

Their sex that night is less frantic, less exploratory, more reaffirming. Brock finds that it’s incredibly easy to figure out how to make Jose come undone and dig his nails into his skin. Maybe it’s because he’s already known all along. Worshipping Jose with his mouth makes him believe in something bigger, something with a higher power upon the universe, more than any visits to church as a child ever did. Because what else would allow Brock to experience this, experience Jose, making him feel like his soul is never going to be the same afterwards ever again?

They order in food to their hotel room and Jose pulls on Brock’s hoodie, and Brock swears that he sees him bury his face in it more than once.

They’re lying in bed when the clock reads 2 a.m., and Jose is tracing patterns along Brock’s ribs. Brock almost expects to see ink marks appear on his skin underneath Jose’s fingertips. Jose looks up at him, under those long lashes like he can’t get enough, like looking away from him for more than a second means that he’s losing out. Brock gets it, because he’s been doing the same thing.

Time seems to pass faster with Jose, as if being in proximity to a soulmate means that every moment is precious, so easily lost.

“What are we gonna do?”

“I dunno.” Brock wishes that he did. That he had an answer for this, that they didn’t live two thousand or so kilometers away from each other.

“Me neither.” Jose grabs onto him ever so slightly tighter.

“We’ll figure it out. It’s not going to be forever.” Brock runs his fingers through Jose’s hair, hears him let out a hum. “We can visit.”

“You better bring your ass to Tampa often. I don’t wanna go back without you.”

“As long as you bring yours to Toronto.”

“That don’t even sound like a real place.” Jose’s eyes are sparkling and it reminds Brock of the night sky.

“They found a monkey in a fur coat in an IKEA once in Toronto, so I’m not really sure that it is.” Brock watches as Jose raises an eyebrow, waits for him to say that he’s joking. Jose scoffs when he doesn’t.

“Canada sounds whack. But it gave me you, so.” Jose leans back into Brock’s side, presses a kiss to his ribs and Brock feels like it puts him back together.

Brock’s on a flight back to Toronto and he’s never felt emptier in his life.

I miss you I miss you I miss you

Jose’s driving back to Tampa so he can’t reply, Brock knows, but he hopes that he sees the words on the back of his hands as they hold the steering wheel.

Brock falls asleep after the flight attendant gives him a diet coke, and he wakes up to stars on his palms and hearts along his wrists.

Going back to work during the day, and back to the drag scene in the Village during the night makes Brock feel empty. How can he clock in for eight hours while trying to pretend to care, when his soulmate is far, far down on the coast? How can he tuck his dick back and pull on hip pads and layers of makeup and a wig that squeezes his head too tight, knowing that Jose won’t be there to help him take it all off?

It makes everything feel worthless.

But a little nagging voice in the back of his head reminds him of what his sisters had said, back when they were young and would weave stories about soulmates and what it meant to fall in love.

People have gone mad for their soulmates. Thrown their whole lives away, only to have everything blow up in their faces. Lost family and friends and money all in pursuit for one person, who may not be able to give them what they need.

Brock knows that him and Jose aren’t like that. They’re not. They’re Brock and Jose, they write messages to each other and maybe, just maybe, it keeps him from drowning.

But he also doesn’t want to rest the responsibility of his happiness solely on Jose.

So Brock gets into drag every night, picking up gigs on Church Street and he keeps on trekking.

Brock is twenty eight and packing for appearances as Miss Continental when Jose’s words blossom on his forearm.

So are you applying for drag race this year or what

Yeah. Again. You?

Brock’s applied once already. Last year, when he’d moved to Nashville and Jose had cheered because he was closer but grumbled because he wasn’t close enough. But now they take turns driving to each other, the ten hour trek not feeling so long to Brock when he knows what’s waiting at the end of it. They take long weekends, holidays, any short stretches of time they have. But it never feels like it’s satisfying enough, like it quenches Brock’s need for Jose to always be within reaching distance.

Yeah filmed an audition tape. Alexis directed it and it’s wild

I wanna see

Show me yours too

Brock’s is boring, pretty much a resume of his drag career with his crowning of Miss Continental as a highlight. But the video that Jose sends him makes him burst out laughing.

He’s his usual perfect hilarious self but cranked up about ten notches, shouting about how he deserves to be on the show and lip syncing with numbers full of death drops that make Brock’s tired knees ache just from watching.

He’s magnetic.

God, they’re gonna love you

What no you think so??? It’s not too crazy????

Oh, it’s crazy alright. But so you

Bitch what’s that supposed to mean

It’s a compliment, you goof

Yours is good too, you professional fish

I don’t know if it’s good enough, though

You’re always good enough

But a month and a half later Brock is the first one to find out that Jose’s made it on season ten of Drag Race after he gets the call, when Jose writes the number 10 with exclamation points purple ink on his palm.

Brock doesn’t get the same call.

He continues his Miss Continental appearances, helps Jose put together outfits for the runways with some of his designer connections. He tries not to be bitter when he can practically feel Jose’s excitement pumping through his own veins.

Jose goes radio silent on social media but his nerves bleed through ink on Brock’s thigh the night before filming starts for episode one.

Oh my god oh my god it’s tomorrow

Brock

I wish you were here

Me too

Brock really, really does.

You’ll do amazing, you’ll show them just how amazing you are

Everyone deserves to see you, be impressed by you

Have you light up their worlds like you light up mine

That’s poetic as shit

I know you’re tearing up over it though

Fuck yeah I am

You’re the worst

That’s a lie you’re the best

Go sleep, you need to be fully rested before tomorrow

A flower appears on Brock’s hipbone before he drifts off to sleep.

Brock is getting into drag at Play Nashville when words start to appear on his forearms and his chest and his ribs and he can tell Jose is upset.

So fucking stupid, I fucked up, Alexis is gonna be so upset shit shit shit

Brock puts his foundation down because Jose needs him more, right now. He knows that Jose’s only his second day into filming and hasn’t wanted to bother him, but now that he’s in trouble Brock is more than willing to be there.

What happened?

I messed up, that’s what

How?

They sending me home first

I’m first out Brock I’m fucking first out

I thought I did well in the lipsync but this other bitch brought money and threw it around stage

Who the fuck does that

Shit

I’m sorry baby, shit

Brock bites his lip. He can only imagine Jose right now, getting out of drag while Brock is getting into it, Sharpie shaking in his hands as he tries to write.

Jose is a star and Brock knows it, and he doesn’t know how Jose ended up in the bottom but he doesn’t want to pry, make things worse. Brock wishes he could be there instead, in LA at whatever studio they’re filming at just to wrap Jose in his arms under the guise of making everything better, while also giving the judges a piece of his mind.

Not that he has the courage to do that, but still.

Brock doesn’t need to watch the episode to know that Jose deserves better than this. But he knows Jose, knows how good he is at making everyone turn their eyes towards him, command them to pay attention.

Brock knows, he just knows, that Jose is still going to be successful. Maybe they’ll even bring him back for another season.

He draws out plans on his leg for what they’ll do when Jose comes to visit him next, then writes a story about how Jose is going to be a bigger star than anyone on his season. Jose scoffs and writes little annotations and jokes around his words, but Brock somehow can already feel the way the burden is lifting from his chest.

Brock is twenty-nine and his soulmate has just gone and broken the internet.

It seems that Brock can’t go to a gig, can’t scroll through Instagram without seeing ‘Miss Vanjie’ memes everywhere. Jose’s face all done up in drag, strolling backwards and making the judges crack up and absolutely everyone around him is repeating the words over and over again.

Jose is as befuddled as he is after the episode airs, and it feels like the universe as they know it is beginning to explode.

I swear my brain wasn’t even working I was just walking backwards and acting a damn fool not even knowing what was leaving my mouth

Didn’t even properly remember till watching this

And now you’re a meme

Fuck

I think Kathy Griffin tweeted about you

Who tf is that

Apparently I need to get a manager and an agent now

Wow

Alexis said so

People be calling left and right

I’m so proud of you

I didn’t even do anything I just said my name cause I forgot every other word that exists

And everyone absolutely loves it

Jose starts getting booked first all around the country, and then all around the world, and they can’t drive to visit each other anymore because Jose is always on the road but he always makes sure to write I love you under Brock’s ribs every night.

Brock gets the call for season eleven of Drag Race at 2 in the afternoon and he nearly falls off his couch and brings Henry and Apollo down with him.

They’re making him sign an NDA but he’s read it over, and no one’s mentioned soulmates and Brock needs to find a Sharpie or pen, damnit, and why does his living room suddenly seem devoid of them?

He stubs his toe on the kitchen counter when he finds one on the table, swearing under his breath as he pops the cap but then words are showing up on the back of his hand.

BROCK BROCK BROCK

THEY CALLED ME BACK

THEY WANT ME FOR SEASON ELEVEN

Brock wants to pick up Henry and dance around his kitchen because he’s going to be on season eleven of Drag Race and now Jose is going to be with him.

I JUST HUNG UP THE PHONE TOO

WHAT!!!

You’re not playing are you

Tell me you’re not playing

NO THEY REALLY CALLED ME

WE’RE GOING TO BE ON SEASON ELEVEN TOGETHER?????

oh my GOD

Facetime me facetime me

Jose picks up while he’s walking through an airport terminal with his manager, Jason, and fuck NDAs because Jose is being loud, practically screaming at the top of his lungs and Brock feels like he’s never ever going to stop smiling again.

“You did it. You’re going back.” Brock knew that Jose was meant to be a star, back when they were kids and Jose would tell him stories about how his abuela had thought the same thing. And now Jose’s going to do it twice over, after having done it on season ten already.

“I’m going- bitch, you fucking made the season!” Jose spins around and Jason’s running behind him, telling him tokeep his voice down but Jose doesn’t seem to care and Brock doesn’t either, really. “They really loved your Canadian ass this time around, huh?”

“Seems so.” It’s not quite sinking in for Brock just yet, the fact that in a handful of weeks he’s going to fly down to LA and film Drag Race and oh boy, he has so many runway looks that he has to put together before that and practically no time to do so-

“Hey. You. Don’t lose your shit on me.” Jose’s looking at him with that all knowing expression, because he always has an inkling of when Brock’s brain starts to get the better of him. “You made it. The hard part’s done and now the journey’s just beginning, baby.”

Brock smiles despite himself. He’s done it, he’s done it, and now he’s going to be there with Jose and have him to lean on and they can write to each other constantly and-

“Just don’t get out first like I did.” Jose snorts. It’s an old wound now, one that’s scabbed over and healed by the endless success that Jose’s been experiencing in the past year, much more so than quite a few girls from his season.

Jose really can do anything, in Brock’s eyes, his magnetic force of a man that Brock first saw command a room but now is commanding the entire world. Brock would say that he’s surprised by Jose being selected for season eleven again but he’s not, not at all, because who wouldn’t want him back?

And now Brock gets to go with him, too.

#rpdr fanfiction #branjie #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #canon compliant #soulmate au #holtzmanns #gold coloured prisms of light

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playscard · 4 years

Text

if you’ve seen the movie or read my docs / the file page on my blog you’ll see that liz’s full legal name is madeline elizabeth sloane.

but fox! you might say. you call her liz! so does the movie! why?

lemme tell you.

in the original script it’s mentioned that liz’s father was abusive to both her and her mother and that they left sometime after she turned fourteen ( she was fourteen the first time she stood up to him ).

the long and the short of it is that her parents called her madeline / diminutives of the name. her father typically only referred to her as madeline ( if he wasn’t calling her a horrible name ) while her mother, a lot more affectionately, called her maddie or mads.

after they left her father, liz would Rarely if Ever respond to her full first name, introducing herself to almost everyone as maddie right off the bat. when she began university, she started going by her middle name, but it wasn’t until her mother died when she was eighteen, almost nineteen, that she had her name legally changed from madeline elizabeth kent ( her father’s surname ) to madeline elizabeth sloane ( her mother’s surname ).

she would’ve done it sooner, but she didn’t have the means.

why not just change her name completely? why not do away with madeline completely? good question!

while she hates being called madeline and much prefers to be called elizabeth or liz, and will introduce herself as such, her name is the last thing that she has to remind herself of her mother. madeline was the name that her mother chose, a name her mother loved, and liz really, really did love her mother and appreciated everything she did.

#〈 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍 // you are substance and blood 〉#abuse /#abuse mention /#i love!! liz sloane !!

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breanime · 5 years

Text

Sober

I tried to do a lil bit of angst here... This is technically not a songfic, but it was inspired by “Drunk Me”, my new favorite song (he didn’t have to GO AWF like that, but he did) Give it a listen: Drunk Me

WARNINGS: mentions of excessive alcohol use

*gif not mine*

It had been five months, three weeks, and nineteen days since you and Billy had broken up. It’d been only two months since he’d last seen you and two months since he’d had touched a drop of liquor. There was no point: alcohol only made him miss you more and the hangover afterwards wasn’t nearly as painful as waking up every morning without you. So, he just stayed sober.

The two of you had met at a bar. Billy had wanted you immediately, and he wasted no time getting you in bed. The thing was, though, that while the sex was good—fantastic, even—Billy found himself falling for you, and quickly. But his M.O was to love ‘em and leave ‘em, and he had no idea what to do with his feelings for you. So he fell back on old habits: he started showing up to dates late, not returning calls, and one awful night introducing you as “a friend from out of town” to a colleague. That had been the last straw, and you broke up with him that night. A week later, Billy had found you in a bar, practically on another man’s lap and that…had broken him.

“When you gonna get rid of all of this?” Frank was standing in Billy’s kitchen, eyeing the collection of full, untouched bottles neatly lined up around the wall.

Billy was sprawled out on the couch with his arm over his eyes. He didn’t need to see to know what Frank was referring to. “I need them,” he answered.

“Thought you stopped drinking, Bill,” Curtis said, sitting on the arm of the couch.

“I did.”

“So what do you need all this for?” Frank asked, gesturing to the liquor.

Billy sighed as he sat up. “A reminder.” He didn’t miss the look Frank and Curtis shared. He sighed again. “Look, I keep them here because every time I drink, I call Y/N, and every time I call Y/N… it doesn’t end the way I want.”

“Have you tried talking to her since…?” Curtis began.

Billy flopped back onto the couch. “Since the last time? Hell no.” He had called you two months ago, drunk off his ass and desperate. It had become a ritual for Billy: drink until he couldn’t see straight, then drink a little more, and then call you up. You answered every time, and even though your encounters weren’t nearly as intimate as they had been, and you would leave him alone, sheets and head a mess every time, at least it was something. The last time was the worst, though. He’d found the courage and the words he’d said to you at the bottom of a hundred-proof bottle, like he always did. Baby, can you come over? And you had. You spent the night in his arms, and he tried to put all of his regret and sorrow and adoration into every touch. Billy could still feel your kiss on his lips, soft and perfect and all he ever wanted…then he woke up alone. The hangover had been vicious, but nowhere near as harsh as the realization that you were lost to him. So he had stopped drinking, because he’d found himself almost paralyzed with agony the morning after. The hangovers were nothing compared to the hangover you left in his heart. It was hard enough to stomach the hurt sober, but the drunk version of Billy, the one who couldn’t sleep without you, who punched the wall in frustration when you left him until his knuckles were caked in blood, that Billy simply could not get over you.

“How bout we go out,” Frank suggested, “you don’t have to drink or anything, we’ll just hang out, you, me, and Curt.”

Billy sighed once again. “My heart’s not in it, Frankie,” he said.

“You could meet a new girl,” Curtis added.

“I don’t want to meet a new girl,” Billy snapped, sitting up again, “Jesus, Curt, I want her! I just want to go home with her, I want her back, in my arms, I want her with me, I want…” He sighed, the fight leaving him just as quick as it came. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair. “I just want to get over her,” he said, voice almost a whisper.

Curtis sat next to him on the couch and put a hand on Billy’s shoulder. It almost made him want to cry. “I know, Bill,” he said softly, “I know.”

“She used to say I drank too much,” Billy almost laughed at the irony, “and now look at me: I got my shit together and she’s still gone.” He put his head in his hands. “She ain’t never coming back.” He didn’t look up when he felt Frank sit down on the other side of him. “Fuck being sober.”

“You want a drink, man?” Frank asked carefully.

Billy shook his head, straightening up again. “Naw.” He glanced over at the bottles on the shelf. Salt on the wound. “It’s worse when I drink,” he explained, “Fuck,” he exhaled, “I’ve been shot and stabbed and beat half to death, but man… This kind of pain,” he felt his eyes sting, but he refused to allow himself the relief of crying, “It’s something else. It hurts worse than anything I’ve ever felt…It ain’t worth another drink.”

“What can we do?” Frank asked, and Billy could hear the echoes of his own pain Frank’s voice.

Billy shrugged. “Nothing. This isn’t your problem to fix, Frankie.”

“So, you fix it,” Curtis said.

Billy looked over at him with a glare. “That’s easy for you to say.”

“The way I see it,” Curtis went on, “you have two choices here: you could keep on going the way you’ve been now, half-living and miserable, or,” he put a finger up, “you could smash every last one of those bottles, stop wallowing in your own pity and go lay it all on the line with Y/N.” Curtis smiled gently at his friend. “You think a man who lost a leg can’t recognize a pity-party? I know pain, Bill, I know what it’s like to want to rewind time, to wish for a different outcome. So does Frank. But we both crawled out from rock bottom, and you can too.”

“And even if she doesn’t come back,” Frank added, “you have us, Bill, and you always will.”

Billy wiped at his eyes and nodded. “Okay,” he said, “okay…” He felt Curtis squeeze his shoulder and closed his eyes, the support crashing over him in an awesome wave. He opened his eyes and looked at his friends. “Let’s start with the bottles.”

*************************************************************************************

How was my first shot at a little angst? Also, please feel free to comment, like, and reblog! I kind of have an idea for a sequel to this if anyone is interested in that, lemme know!

Thanks for reading!

#billy russo x reader #billy russo imagine #the punisher

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eightmakar · 5 years

Text

Rule Breaker | Two | S.M.

A Baseball!Shawn AU

Previous Parts in my Masterlist

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: making out, cursing

Author’s Note: Send me an ask to be added to the tag list! Send me any baseball questions! Thanks to @heavenly---holland for the moodboard and @the-claire-bitch-project for being my personal Wikipedia!

Tessa bounded into the kitchen from the garage, grocery bags in hand.

“Tess!” her mom gasped.

“Mom!” she shouted back. “Iinvitedaboyoverandineedyourhelptogetready!”

Tessa’s mom looked at her blankly as Coach Hale walked in behind her.

“Tess invited a boy over for dinner tonight,” Coach translated. “Seems like a good kid.”

“Oh?” her mom asked. “Well, alright! It’s a good thing I cleaned today! What are we making?”

Tessa put her grocery bags down on the counter with her dad’s bags. “Burgers and bratwursts. I’m picking him up at six o’clock. He’s staying with the Millers just down the street, so I’m gonna walk over there,” she said. She began to unload the grocery bags, gently placing the hotdog and hamburger buns in the bread box next to the refrigerator, then proceeded to take the vegetables out and put them away. Her hands were shaking and she was more nervous than she ever thought she would be. She shut the refrigerator door after putting the veggies in, then pressed her head against the the door.

“What’s up, Coach?” Tessa’s mom asked. She came over and put her hand on Tessa’s back, rubbing it gently.

“I’m so, I don’t know, nervous,” Tessa whispered. “It’s stupid, he’s just another person like me.”

“What’s he look like?” her mom asked.

“God, Mom, he’s like, the most perfect looking person I’ve ever laid my eyes on. He’s really tall and pale and has these brown curls and God, he has these eyes, Mom, they’re just, just, wow,” Tessa gushed.

Coach Hale chuckled. “Well, damn, Tess, the way you’re talking about him makes me think we should gone a little more fancy than burgers!”

Tessa looked at her dad in panic. “What?” she demanded.

“I’m kidding, Tess! Just messing with you, hun.” Tessa’s mom playfully smacked her husband’s arm.

“Dad!” Tessa groaned. “I’m really stressing out about this!”

“I know you are, Coach, I’m just trying to help you relax! Mendes is a good guy, so I’m sure it’ll be fine!”

“How do you know he’s a good guy, Dad?” Tessa asked.

“Because I personally recruited him, Tess. I’d heard some talk about him from some coaching circles, so I checked him out. I talked to his coaches and they all said he’s a stellar guy. He’s young, turned eighteen just before his freshman year, so he’s nineteen now, and was a captain this season. All his guys love him, Tess, and when I say love I mean they love him. The coaches love him, too. He’s a very personable guy, really kind and caring, works really hard, and he always wants to improve. His coaches up at Toronto raved about him. They wanted me to make sure I gave him the best shot at a pro career as I could because if anyone deserves it, it’s him.”

Tessa fought back a smile. Her dad really seemed to like Shawn, which naturally make her like him more.

“You’re not bullshitting me, huh?” she asked slyly.

“I don’t bullshit my assistants, Coach. I tell it to them straight.” Coach Hale smiled at his daughter.

Tessa grinned back. “Thanks, Dad.”

“I’ve got your back, Tess. Now, are you gonna help me with these burgers or do we have to lie to Mendes and tell him you made this all yourself?” Coach Hale held the ground beef out to Tessa.

She took the package from him and ripped it open. She felt nervous still, desperately wanting to make a good impression on Shawn, desperately hoping this would be enough.

Tessa straightened her navy blue shirt and took a deep breath. She stood outside Shawn’s host home. She checked her watch. Six o’clock on the dot. She took another breath before lifting her arm slowly and knocking on the door three times. A few painfully long moments later, Mrs. Miller opened the door.

Mrs. Miller was a good friend of her mom’s. She ran the concessions stand at the Whitecaps’ games. She smiled brightly.

“Hi, Tessa!” she greeted. “You’re here for Shawn, right?”

Tessa felt her hands begin to shake. She clasped them together behind her back. What had Shawn told them?

“Yes I am,” she said cheerily.

Mrs. Miller opened her mouth to speak before a loud thud came from behind the door. Tessa peered around to see Shawn sitting on the ground, having just slipped down the stairs. Tessa laughed loudly at the sight and Mrs. Miller joined her.

Shawn’s cheeks flushed as he stood up, running his tattooed hand through his chocolate curls to fix them. He wore a fancy watch, Tessa noticed, along with a ring and several bracelets. She made a mental note to ask him about it later.

“Well, hey, Tessa,” Shawn said awkwardly. “What a way to make an entrance, right?”

Tessa shrugged. “I didn’t realize you were falling over yourself to have dinner with me.”

Shawn half-smiled. “Lemme get my shoes,” he said, then disappeared.

Mrs. Miller looked expectantly at Tessa. “So, is this a date, Tessa?”

Tessa’s cheeks got hot. She nervously curled a finger around a strand of hair at her neck. “Um,” she said, then trailed off as Shawn came back into sight.

“It’s not a date,” Shawn said, winking at Tessa without Mrs. Miller seeing. “It’s a newcomer’s dinner hosted by the Hale’s.”

“Oh!” Mrs. Miller said, disappointment in her voice. “Well, have fun!”

“We will!” Tessa said.

Shawn said goodbye to his host mom, then exited the house. Mrs. Miller waved, then closed the door behind the two of them.

Tessa and Shawn began to walk side-by-side towards Tessa’s house. Their shoulders bumped into each other occasionally.

“Thanks for that,” she said, motioning back towards the Miller’s.

Shawn looked at her and slowed his pace. “Oh, yeah, no problem,” he said, trying to be nonchalant.

“I, um,” Tessa bit her lip, “I do, uh, like, want this to be, um, like, a date.”

Shawn stopped walking abruptly and Tessa’s heart dropped. He didn’t want this to be a date too.

He looked down at her. Tessa wasn’t short, far from at 5-foot 10-inches, but Shawn made her feel small and short as he gazed down at her with those eyes. In the summer sunlight, they looked a bright green.

“I do too, Tessa,” he said softly. “I just didn’t think it was her business if this was a date or not.”

Tessa felt like she was on cloud nine. Her stomach flipped and her hands went cold. Her freezing right hand came back up to her strand of hair to rid herself of some of her nervous energy.

Shawn caught her hand in his left hand, the non-tattooed one. He held it in his palm, just looking at her delicate fingers. His hands dwarfed her own. She wondered what he was thinking about.

“This is all quite romantic,” she said as softly as he had spoken. “But my house is right there and my dad will come out here and embarrass us.”

Shawn laughed. “I believe it,” he said.

Tessa gave him a look before continuing towards her house. Shawn caught up with her in a few long strides, rushing to open her front door for her.

“How chivalrous,” Tessa teased, rolling her eyes.

“I do what I can,” Shawn smirked back.

Tessa tossed her hair to the side dramatically as she walked through the door, Shawn hot on her heels.

“We’re here!” Tessa called to her parents, leading Shawn towards the kitchen. They entered and Tessa’s mom smiled widely at Shawn.

“Welcome welcome!” She chirped, walking over to Shawn and hugging him. “We haven’t met yet, but I’m Tessa’s mom.”

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Hale,” Shawn said, hugging her back.

“All the guys call me Cora,” she said.

“Mom is one of the big dogs for the Caps,” Tessa explained. “She helps run things, so she gets to know the guys.”

“Oh, excellent!” Shawn said. He stood back up to his full height and buried his hands in the back pockets of his black skinny jeans. He quickly removed them again and offered it to Tessa’s dad. “Coach, good to see you.”

Coach Hale shook it. “You too, Mendes.”

“I may have told Mrs. Miller that this is a newcomer’s dinner as a cover for Tessa,” Shawn added.

Cora laughed. “What did she ask?”

“Mom,” Tessa sighed, exasperated. “You know what she asked.” She turned to Shawn. “She’s a gossip. She means well, she really does, she just … needs to be in everyone’s business.”

Cora and Coach Hale nodded in agreement. “She’s nosy,” Cora said.

Tessa turned to her parents. “She asked if this was a date, and Shawn thankfully stepped in and saved the day so the whole team wouldn’t know.”

“Young would be furious,” Coach Hale said with another nod. “Poor kid’s ego would be even more bruised.”

“His face will be bruised if he says anything,” Tessa retorted. She frankly didn’t care what Kyle thought about her and Shawn having a date.

Tessa realized Shawn was silent. She looked at him and he looked a little shocked, a little taken aback. She hooked her arm in his and explained, “We talk about everything in this family. We all know what’s up and we’re very close. My brother lives in Los Angeles, so it’s just us three when I’m home from school.”

“Oh, I love your relationship.” Shawn motioned to the Hales. “It reminds me of my family, and I just wasn’t expecting you to be so forward. It’s great!” Shawn paused and cleared his throat, looking like he wanted to say something else.

“And?” Tessa stared at him.

“Um,” Shawn looked down at his feet, “if, uh, Kyle said anything, um, I’d deck him too.”

Tessa laughed. “Don’t be so shy about it, Shawn, we’d all back you up if you did.”

“Listen, Mendes,” Coach Hale said, crossing his arms. “If you decked Young, I’d give you a reward and kick him off the team.”

“Is he really that bad?” Shawn asked.

“Yes,” Tessa, Cora, and Coach Hale said in unison.

Shawn stepped back. “Wow,” he said with a chuckle.

“He harassed me all last season about going on a date with him,” Tessa said.

“And I tried to not allow him back this season,” Coach Hale added. “But apparently everyone else loved him and didn’t believe me or Tess.”

Shawn was speechless.

“I know, it’s messed up.” Tessa turned to Shawn. “But we can’t do anything else about it, so we just deal with him and if he messes with me anymore, I’ll deck him. I’m tired of talking about Kyle, can we eat?”

Tessa’s dad laughed. “That’s my girl. Mendes, you like burgers? Bratwursts?”

Shawn looked a little dazed from the conversation. “Uh, yeah, uh, yes sir.”

“Great! Dig in, then!” he chirped happily.

Shawn stood frozen for a moment before Tessa tugged gently on his arm. “I promise we didn’t poison it, c’mon,” she said softly. Tessa led him to the food, handing him a paper plate.

“We broke out the fine china for you, Mendes,” Coach Hale laughed, referring to the plate in Shawn’s hand.

Shawn looked down at his hand, then laughed. It sounded a little forced, and Tessa gave him a look. Was he nervous?

“Thanks, Coach,” he said. He began to craft his burger, grabbing a bun and gently prying it open. Tessa swore his hands were shaking.

“God, I’m starving,” Tessa said, trying to lighten Shawn’s mood as he put his burger together.

“I could eat every single one of these burgers,” Shawn said quietly. “Literally, every single one of them.”

Tessa laughed, following him to the table. “Then let’s eat, Bubs.”

Shawn’s face flushed at the nickname. He stood awkwardly at the table, mouth open, unsure where to sit.

Tessa sat down in her spot, then patted the spot next to her, the one facing the kitchen. “Right here, Shawn. It’s Nathan’s spot, but he’s in L.A., so you’re good.”

“Thanks, Tess,” he replied.

Cora and Coach Hale both snapped their heads towards their daughter. They were the only ones who called her ‘Tess,’ and they knew it. In tandem, they cocked their heads at her. She widened her eyes back at them, trying to tell them to cut it out only with her look. They got the point, picking up their plates and joining Tessa and Shawn at the table to enjoy their dinner.

“Is this you?” Shawn asked, pointing at a picture on the mantle.

Tessa walked into the living room, holding a two cups of ice water. She held one out to Shawn, then examined the picture he was pointing at.

“Yeah,” she said with a small laugh. “That’s me.”

“Did you play?” he asked. The picture was of her holding a bat at home plate.

“I used to take BP during breaks with the Whitecaps when I was little. The pitchers would toss me the ball, I’d hit it and run the bases. They’d all cheer me on, and when I’d touch home, they’d run at me and lift me up like I’d won them the World Series.” Tessa smiled at the memory, hearing the Caps cheer her name from the past.

“But did you play?” he asked again. He took a sip of his water, looking at her expectantly.

“Nah,” she said. “I didn’t. I couldn’t. I wanted to play baseball, not softball or t-ball. The local parks and rec wouldn’t let me. Because I ‘was a girl.’”

“That’s bullshit,” Shawn said plainly. “They knew you were better than any of the boys and they would’ve looked bad against you.”

Tessa shrugged. “You’re not wrong, Mendes,” she agreed. “But they still wouldn’t let me play. I would’ve been a killer shortstop, though.”

“Oh yeah?” Shawn smiled.

“Oh yeah,” Tessa replied, confidently crossing her arms. “It’s a good thing they didn’t let me play, really, because I would’ve crushed every single one of those guys.”

“Oh yeah,” Shawn nodded. He gazed at Tessa, then started laughing. Tessa joined him, giggling at the way he laughed and relishing in the way she was able to make him laugh.

Tessa looked back at Shawn as their laughter slowed to a stop. He really was one of the most beautiful people she’d ever seen.

“Do you, uh, wanna see my, um, my bedroom?” Tessa asked shyly.

Shawn licked his lips widened his eyes. “Aren’t your parents right next door to your room?”

“Oh, no, they went downstairs. That’s Dad’s ‘Man Cave’ down there. His stuff from when he played is all down there. All Mom’s scorebooks from Dad’s games are down there, too. And, of course, a big ass TV, a pool table, and all that jazz. He even has a little homebrew area down there.” Tessa motioned towards the basement door.

“Oh, shit, that’s cool,” he replied. He gnawed nervously on the inside of his cheek, shifting on his feet.

“C’mon, let’s go upstairs,” Tessa said. She reached over and took his left hand in her right, tugging him behind her as she walked towards the staircase. Shawn followed her, looking around the Hale’s hallways as they went up to Tessa’s room. Tessa turned to look at him as they walked down the upstairs hallway. He was looking around at the photos, taking in every picture of Tessa and her brother, of Tessa and her dad, of Nathan and their mom, of the four of them together. He smiled sadly looking at a picture of the Hale’s in front of Fenway Park.

“You okay?” Tessa asked, stopping.

“Yeah,” Shawn replied, “yeah, I’m good. Just miss my family, that’s all.”

“Do you have any siblings?”

“Yeah, I have a sister, Aaliyah. She’s a good kid, works really hard. We’re pretty close.”

“Me and Nate are pretty close, too,” Tessa said. “Having him across the country is really hard. We don’t see him nearly as much as we want to, but he’s doing really well out there.”

“But it still is hard to be away, right? Seeing him be successful out there makes it worse sometimes, right?” Shawn squeezed her hand.

“Exactly,” Tessa agreed. “I’m so happy for Nate, I just wish he was closer.”

“I feel like I’m missing out sometimes,” Shawn added. “I live just outside of Toronto, so my family came to as many games as they could, but I wish she could be in college with me, you know?”

Tessa nodded. She knew exactly.

“Sorry,” Shawn apologized.

Tessa narrowed her eyes at him. “What for?”

“I didn’t mean to get all sappy and nostalgic there,” he chuckled.

“How dare you show emotion in this house,” Tessa teased. “Men can’t have emotions, it’s against the Bro Code, Shawn.”

He slid his hand out of hers and put them up. “You got me there, Coach.”

Tessa laughed, then continued walking to her room. She opened the door and flicked on the light. She made her bed when she changed clothes before dinner, and she silently thanked herself for having such foresight.

“Well, this is it,” she said, turning around in the middle of the room to face Shawn. She shoved her hands in her back pockets and pressed her lips together as she watched Shawn take in her childhood bedroom.

His eyes darted around the room. They landed first on her framed picture of Fenway, then traveled over to her collage of pictures of her and her friends. He walked over to her wall to get a closer look.

“Did you take all of these?” he asked.

“I took a lot of them. I love taking pictures of my friends.” Tessa rocked back and forth on her feet.

“That’s so cute,” Shawn said, mostly under his breath. Tessa blushed. “And of course, you have Fenway,” he added louder.

“Of course,” she said, smiling a little to herself.

“Dare I ask, but are you, a, uh . . .” he trailed off.

“A Sox fan?” she finished, raising her eyebrows. He nodded, so she continued. “Not really, to be honest. I really just love baseball, so I’m not picky about who I watch. I tend to follow specific players and not whole teams. I love Fenway, I think it’s so beautiful, but I’m not a Sox fan.”

“Who are your favorites?” Shawn asked, but didn’t turn around.

“Max Scherzer from the Nats, Dansby Swanson from the Braves, and Aaron Judge from the Yankees, just to name a few.”

“Didn’t Judge play for the Whitecaps?”

“I’m impressed,” Tessa said with a small smile that Shawn couldn’t see. His back was turned to her as he admired her walls. “He did, Aaron was like, my first baseball crush. He played here in 2012, which was the summer before my freshman year of high school. God, I would’ve killed to have been just a few years older for him.”

Shawn laughed loudly and turned to face her. “I was definitely not expecting you to say that.”

“What can I say? I’m full of surprises, Bubs.”

He completed his tour around her room, then flopped down on Tessa’s bed. “Where did that name come from?” he asked, putting his hands behind his head and sinking into the pillows.

Tessa shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I just thought it fit you. You seem like a Bubs to me.”

“You should write that as my name in your notebook now.”

“I’ll have your name changed on the roster. Shawn ‘Bubs’ Mendes.”

Shawn laughed. “I can hear the crowds chanting it now.”

“The guys would never let you hear the end of it.” Tessa laid down next to him on her Queen-sized bed, sinking into her favorite pillow comfortably.

Shawn rolled on his side, cupping his cheek with his hand and propping his head up on his elbow. He gazed at her sweetly. “You think I care?”

“Well, I don’t know,” Tessa said. She stared at Shawn’s eyes. In the dark of her room, they looked a lovely chocolate brown that matched nicely with his curly hair. “How fragile is your masculinity?”

“I have both a bird and a flower tattooed on my body, Tess. I have my ears pierced. So do you really think I care?”

Tessa turned her head to look at him. “Both ears?”

“Both ears. I like to wear earrings when I’m home.”

“Don’t you know having a p--”

“I’ve heard all the jokes, Tessa, and it doesn’t matter which ear is pierced.”

Tessa blushed. “I know it doesn’t matter, and I’m glad you tell people the same thing.”

Shawn licked his lips. “I think I look hot with an earring, personally.”

“I’d like to see that one day. Where is your flower tattoo?” She could clearly see the bird on his hand, of course.

“C’mere,” he said. He rolled on his back, then pulled her into his lap so she straddled his thighs. She squeaked, not expecting the contact or the position.

“Shawn . . .”

“It’s in an awkward place,” he explained. He sat up enough to reach behind his neck and tug his t-shirt off. Tessa felt like she was going to throw up. Her hands went cold again.

Shawn laid his v-neck next to the two of them on the bed. He put his right arm above his head, revealing a lightbulb encasing blue flowers.

“They’re lilies and orchids, my mom’s favorite,” he whispered.

Tessa did her best to not think about the fact that she was straddling his thighs or that he was shirtless or how fine his body was. She let her hand come up to his arm and trace over the tattoo. “It’s beautifully done,” she whispered back. “And so is the bird.”

“It’s a swallow,” he said, tragically putting his arm down to show her his right hand. “They’re famous for being travelers, but always coming back home no matter how far they travel. I thought it was really cool, especially with the amount of travel I do to play ball.”

Tessa reached down to trace the intricate swallow on his hand. A ring with two feathers decorated his ring finger on the same hand. She pressed their palms together so she could hold his hand up and look at it. “What about the ring?”

He gazed lazily up at her, a haze in his eyes. “I got it at a baseball tournament in Japan. I think jewelry has a lot of luck in it. You know baseball players, we’re superstitious as hell.”

Tessa intertwined the fingers of her left hand with Shawn’s right. “You’re talking to the Queen of Superstitions, Bubs.”

“What are you superstitious about?” he asked. He grabbed her other hand and intertwined their remaining fingers together.

“Well, there’s a legend that says its bad luck to kiss a boy on your bed before you’re dating or married or something like that,” she teased. She could see Shawn staring at her lips as she spoke about kissing.

“I take it that’s not one of yours?” he asked, licking his lips while he still stared at hers.

“You take it or you hope it?” Tessa whispered, leaning down to lay her chest against Shawn’s.

Their noses bumped into each other and Tessa could feel Shawn’s breath against her lips. Tessa remembered the way Shawn’s eyes looked in the afternoon sunlight when they’d walked to her house earlier; the color now was somewhere in between that bright green and the sweet chocolate she’d seen moments before.

“Both,” Shawn whispered, before lifting his head up just enough to connect their lips.

Tessa exploded. She closed her eyes and released his hands, dragging them slowly up his sides until they came to rest on his neck. She relished in the way his lips felt gently sliding against hers.

Shawn wrapped his arms around Tessa’s back, tugging her ever closer into his chest. The tip of his tongue traced her bottom lip delicately. Tessa eagerly opened her mouth against Shawn’s and he sucked her bottom lip into his mouth. She groaned and tugged her head back, but Shawn caught her lip in between his teeth and lightly clung onto it for an extra moment before letting it go.

“Shit,” she grumbled.

“Fuck,” he grumbled back.

Tessa kissed the corner of his mouth, then his chin, then down his jawline towards his ear, then down his neck. She placed hot, open-mouthed kisses across the lean, taut muscles, applying a little suction in a few areas until Shawn let out a soft moan in one area.

“Fuck, that’s hot,” he groaned.

“Fuck, you’re hot,” Tessa mumbled into his skin. She sank her teeth into his neck, the same area she’d just kissed, and pulled on it a little, wrapping her lips around it and sucking harshly. Shawn whined low in his chest. She released him and proudly examined the angry red mark she’d left before soothing it over with her tongue and kissing it daintily.

His hands scrambled to grip her thighs as she kissed down his neck to his collarbones. He gripped her tightly, almost begging her to come back and kiss his lips again with his grasp.

“Why don’t you have any tattoos on your chest?” she asked, innocently making eye contact with him while her lips hovered over his sternum.

“Haven’t found the right thing to put there yet,” he replied, a little out of breath.

Tessa kissed all over his chest, leaving a few red marks in her wake, until she made her way back up to the first mark she’d left on his neck. She left her bottom lip drag over the red mark, placing a kiss on it before she bit down and sucked in the exact spot.

“Fuck, you tryna mark me up, Coach?” Shawn chuckled.

Tessa licked her mark on him and bit down on him a third time. “So what if I am, Mendes?” Tessa purred.

“I am one hundred percent okay with that,” he said quickly. “One hundred percent.”

Tessa laughed musically and kissed Shawn’s lips. She sighed into them, feeling like she belonged there, body pressed into Shawn’s, body heat leaking into each other.

Shawn’s hands slid from her thighs to her ass, smoothly slipping into the back pockets of her skinny jeans. He squeezed her ass and she squeaked into his mouth. Shawn pulled her up slightly, disconnecting his lips from hers. He trailed one hand up to cup her cheek, staring up at her lovingly.

“God, you’re beautiful, Tess,” he whispered. He traced her cheekbone with his thumb.

“You’re not too shabby yourself, Shawn,” Tessa whispered back. She smiled down at him, at his stupid perfect face, trying to memorize every detail.

He leaned up and kissed her collarbones, like she did to him. She felt a sharp pinch as Shawn returned the hickey she’d given him. She giggled, knowing she’d have a mark, that people would ask about the bruise on her collarbone later, already trying to prepare some sassy remark to shoot back at them.

Shawn’s lips on her neck and his hands squeezing her ass reminded her that she didn’t need to come up with a sassy remark. She was with Shawn, staring down at that beautiful face as he kissed her neck. Tessa could stay and kiss him every day, every night for the rest of her life and be content. She felt warm and at home with Shawn.

Tessa woke up in the morning feeling deliciously warm. Her bed still smelled like Shawn, and she decided she’d steal his cologne before he went back to school.

She smiled as she thought about straddling Shawn, kissing him, how warm he was against her. She remembered how warm her bed still was when she came back from walking him to the Miller’s. She blushed at the memory of the way he’d kissed her outside of the Miller’s house, grabbing her ass lightly, then winking at her as they both saw Mrs. Miller in front of the window.

Tessa leaned over to grab her phone from her bedside table. She saw a text from Shawn and she smiled.

Shawn: morning beautiful!

Tessa: mornin bubs x

Shawn: you left quite the mark on my neck

Tessa: right back atcha ;)

Shawn: kyle’s gonna have a fit

Tessa: fuck him

Shawn: no thanks

Tessa: smartass

Shawn: :))) see you at practice coach x

Tessa rolled out of bed. She walked to the bathroom to wash her face and brush her teeth. She yawned at herself in the mirror, flicking the light on as she passed the switch. Her eyes widened as they came to rest on a large purple bruise on her right collarbone. Well, fuck, she thought.

She decided it would be best to not hide it. She slipped a sports bra on, then her favorite Whitecaps tank top. The hickey stood out against her pale skin and she shrugged at it as she pulled her long, pencil-straight hair into a ponytail.

Tessa padded downstairs. Her mom sat on the couch, curled up with a cup of coffee in a Whitecaps mug.

“Morning!” Cora said cheerily.

“Morning,” Tessa replied.

“Nice bruise there,” her mom said. She put her coffee down on the coffee table, stood up, and walked over to Tessa.

“Yeah, you should see the other guy,” Tessa joked.

“Did you have fun at least?” Cora asked, tracing Tessa’s hickey.

“Mom, you saw how gorgeous he is. What do you think?”

“That’s my girl.” Tessa’s mom patted her on the shoulder with a smile. “Coffee’s in the pot.”

Coach Hale clambered down the stairs. “Did I hear coffee?” he asked.

Tessa beat him to the coffee pot. She grabbed her favorite mug, her baseball mug, out of the cabinet, along with her dad’s mug. He still used the “Best Dad” mug she and Nate had made for him when they were little.

She poured each of them a mug, turning around to hand her dad his coffee. “Morning, Dad,” she said with a smile.

He took the mug with a grin at Tessa. “Mendes do that?” he asked, referring to her bruise.

“Yep.”

He nodded. “Nice,” Coach Hale said, high-fiving his daughter. “He’s a good one.”

“I know, Dad,” Tessa said with a smile. “I know.”

@astrospideys @gottaletgopete @spiderboytotherescue@elentiya02 @musiclover1263 @illuminateshawn@flickershawn @hollandbaby@hollandroos @smallerinfinities @harryandmolly @parkerpuff@keepingupwiththeparkers @tomhollandeu@dtftomholland @checkthisoutmaybeifyouwanna @shawnm521@ilovejackavery @littlemissbaksi @accalialionheart @ashwarren32@onmyshawn@sippingchai @wanderingmendes @sbawnmendes @accioarmenian @sayingloveat2am @mendesmusical

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes au #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes imagines #baseball!shawn #rule breaker

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starswornoaths · 5 years

Note

Top 5 favourite MSQ events.

@lightsmercy I sat on this one for a while, in part because I sort of had to mentally sift through them for the ones that I really liked/liked the way they surprised me, but mostly because I had to track down their quest names (and lemme tell you how hard it is to just look up “that one quest where that thing happened” and get what I need ;_; but thank you so much for your patience!!!) I’m going to stick to ARR quests for the sake of my own sanity (otherwise this list would be impossible to make. There’s too many, dammit) and I’ll be listing them from 5 to 1, with 1 being the one I liked the most (or in this case, “like” is more “it shocked me in a way I wasn’t prepared for but made sense in the narrative so I liked it, even if it destroyed me”) (also under the cut bc I got real rambly about it. I just like talking about literary themes/foreshadowing/symbolism in game stories, sorry ;_; HERE WE GO!!!)

5. “Escape from Castrum Centri” This one…hoo boy. The entire quest arc leading up to this is amazing, for the record (I’m also a sucker for rescue missions and the planning thereof, but I always have been,) so I was hyped as we were led up to this quest. The whole breakout of the scions was fun, but man the whole while the Scions and myself were just going around like, “but Thancred??? Where is Thancred???” and it solidified that though they give him endless amounts of shit, the second the chips are down they’re all there for each other- you know, like a family or something, and then when we saw he was possessed by Lahabrea, and that that was what had led to them being captured, even! MY HEART!!! (Also I would like to submit a formal complain to SE for making Minfilia sad enough to cry out to her possessed father figure. Why would you do that to her. How dare you, SE. She didn’t deserve that.) Thancred’s possession didn’t feel like it came out of left field, either, something that I loved: there was a lot of foreshadowing that he was going to burn himself out in a very dangerous way even as far back as our fight with Ifrit, and even his optional dialogue if you speak to him was just him not coping with anything. It still surprised me, but not in a way that made me feel like the rug was pulled out from under me in a bad way, and I love those kinds of surprises in stories.

4. “Yugiri’s Game” This one caught me off guard (and solidified that these kids were unofficially adopted by the Scions, too and were adored and doted on at every turn,) because Yugiri had managed to teach these little kids, who had only just recently escaped their war-torn home, the basics of being a shinobi while masking it as just a game of hide-and-seek. She was teaching them how to keep silent and hidden in the event of the Garleans finding them. Having such an innocent children’s game turned into a method of teaching survival was as clever as it was heart breaking, knowing that it was a necessity, that the kids knew why they were taught this way, and that the kids were still optimistic and cheerful in spite of that knowledge. The Doman Adventurer’s Guild is run by some wonderful kiddos, and this was a wonderful way to show that.

3. “Blood for Blood” helped cement that though Haurchefant, while the staunchest ally for building relations between Ishgardians and the outside world, he was not the only one that was willing to accept the aid of an outsider when they know their own people are failing them. Really, much of the Ishgardian quests within ARR did a beautiful job of leading up to Heavensward in that it showed that thought the government was rigidly against working with the outside world, its citizens- especially the working ones who just wanted to get by and not get into the political bullshit- were more than eager to work with those outside of Ishgard, though it also did an equally amazing job of showing how scared the population was of the Holy See and its Inquisitors- with their unilateral (and as is exposed with this questline, frighteningly unchecked validity of its own) authority, they can accuse anyone who disagrees of heresy, and their trial is literally a fucking witch trial. There’s no winning in such a trial: either you die and you’re proven innocent, or you refuse, in which case they kill you. These quests really solidified for me that going into Heavensward, we were going to have to save the Ishgardian people from it’s own government just as much as we would have to save them from the dragons.

2. “Recruiting the Realm” was…eye opening. It did a wonderful job of really cementing the world’s view of the Scions, the Leveilleur name, and what everyone really thought of Alphinaud’s altruistic but ultimately doomed endeavor. The moment it was revealed that not only did Alphinaud obtain funding from the Syndicate, but that he was utterly disinterested in neither disclosing that to us, nor entertaining our concerns about it, it confirmed two things for me: 1) that though he (and really, at that point everyone that was a major NPC in a political position) genuinely cared for us and considered us a friend, we were, before anything else, the Weapon of Light (yes, Weapon, but I’d be here all day dissecting my thoughts on that and why I come to that conclusion) and weapons aren’t exactly asked for their opinions on the wars in which they are used, and 2) that A Realm Reborn was only going to end in betrayal and tragedy because all of the players involved thought they knew better when they didn’t.

1. “All Good Things”

Look. I’ve rambled at this point for several paragraphs more than anyone likely ever wanted me to, but holy shit I can’t articulate how much this gutted me- and how I liked the way in which it gutted me without writing a thesis on it so I’m sorry again in advance but from a writing perspective I love this quest so goddamn much.

Because it could have been easier for them to just have us ring up Minfilia following our success and have the attack on the Waking Sands already happening. It would have been easier to instill a sense of urgency and “Holy fucking shit we need to go now” to get us to the Waking Sands quicker, only to find the scene that we did. That would have been the expected trope: I mean, really, how many times has that sort of thing happened in video game stories before?

But they completely subvert that by having you report in to Minfilia as usual, and she’s always so bright and cheery and relieved that you’re okay, and her dialogue was just…in hindsight, it was fucking artful.

“Pray return to the Waking Sands, where you shall receive a hero’s welcome!”

And you have a moment, where you first get to the Waking Sands, where you realize that Tataru isn’t in her usual spot on the stool at the table by the door. And you think, “oh, that’s to be expected, she’s probably with the others downstairs waiting for me!” So you go down the steps and through the door like every other time before. You expect it to be warmly lit and densely populated. You expect everyone there cheering and glad that you’re alright.

You load in, and then your stomach drops.

The lights are off, the vases that were otherwise just background pieces to fill space are knocked over and askew, and there are dead bodies in front of you- one of which is in a Garlean uniform.

I can’t properly articulate the way I felt cold when my brain caught up with what I was looking at. And I saw that the quest marker was pointing to Minfilia’s chamber, but I didn’t go down that way. I turned left first.

More bodies. Bodies of many of the NPCs that had always been there. Characters that had dialogue that updated with your quests, characters that were working on their own accomplishments and goals alongside you, characters that cheered you on as you went about your duties. Dead.

I couldn’t remember any of their names. I couldn’t remember any of their dialogue that stood out to me at the time. I even cried over the lalafell mender that usually stood on top of the boxes in there, because I couldn’t find him, either.

Then I went to the Antecedent’s chambers and…hoo boy that Echo. That Echo. There’s a whole new type of helplessness when you’re watching a recording of a tragedy, personal or not, where you just wish you could reach out and just make it stop, but you can’t. You just watch in horror as people are gunned down, or stabbed, or taken away. You watch as Minfilia, at the ripe old age of fucking nineteen, doesn’t flinch when Livia fires a shot near her face, tries to negotiate sparing the lives of those she’s responsible for. You watch as Livia shows the levels of cruelty to which she will sink in the way that she not only denies that negotiation, but just kills a few more people- one of her own included- just because they annoyed her.

And then you watch poor little Noraxia, who had only ever done their best, die because you couldn’t save them, either.

The quests that follow are ones of grief, ones of mourning. Ones of a lost person meant to carry the weight of all the hopes and dreams of the dead with them as they tried to rescue those that were not yet lost, but this quest…this quest continues to hit in that specific wound for the Warrior of Light: the further into the game and expansions that you go, even and especially recent content, you’re reminded that though woe betide those who stand against the Warrior of Light, those who stand with them are no safer.

#lightsmercy #thank you for the ask!#I'm sorry that got so wordy #I just...#*clenches fist*#I just fucking love talking about this shit #anyway ARR had quests that were completely amazing and award worthy and I'll die on that hill too #top 5 asks #ffxiv asks #seriously I could write entire novels about the story and how both it affects the MC and how the MC affects it #I mostly just don't for fear of boring people tbh

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theprodigypenguin · 5 years

Note

would it be alright to ask what your tattoos look like and what inspired you to get them? i love tattoos and i love seeing other people talk about theirs~

Of course you can ask. I do have to warn that my story might be a bit triggering, so if scars or talk of past self harm triggers anyone please don’t read on:

I have three tattoos right now, my first tattoo is a memorial tattoo for my cat, a little clover but I’m not gonna add a picture because it was the first tattoo I ever got and the idiot who did it was HIGH when he did it, so it’s ugly and I intend to get it covered up with something better. I can show my other two though because they’re much nicer and I actually went to a tattoo parlor for them:

I got the one on the right May 2018 and the one on the left May of this year, both of them were birthday presents from me to myself because I deserved them thank you very much. The one on the left is incomplete, I need to go back and have the rest of my arm filled in with other designs and shading. The quote is “I am blooming from the wound where I once bled,” and backed by a peony, my favorite flower, and oak leaves, which signify strength. I’ve been wanting this quote tattooed since I was thirteen, but didn’t get it until I was twenty-two, I spend a lot of time planning tattoos, all of them have a lot of meaning to me.

My clover tattoo, though cheesy since it’s for my cat, holds a lot of meaning, because my cat was my emotional support animal at a very important time of my life, when I was extremely depressed and hating everything about myself. She helped me see the joys in life, but she got hit by a car when I left a toxic living environment and couldn’t bring her with me because my grandma wouldn’t let me. She missed me so spent less time inside, and eventually got hit by a car.

My stay tattoo, you can probably find the meaning of that. When I was nineteen I tried for the fourth time to off myself, which is the most delicate way I can tell you what happened. When I turned twenty-one I decided I needed a reminder for myself to stay, and though it’s just one word it means so much to me. Stay alive, Stay strong, Stay hopeful, Stay bold, Stay kind, Stay confident. Every time I look at it my heart soars with emotion because I remember all the reasons not that I should stay, but that I WANT to Stay. I love being alive, but sometimes I forget that, and this tattoo reminds me. Some people might think being on my arm and so obvious might be a problem, but they don’t get it. I NEED it on my arm, I need to see it every day when I wake up when I’m getting ready for work, when I wash my hands and when I’m paying for groceries. This tattoo gives me so much strength.

The colored tattoo is the biggest one I have so far, and as stated I want to make it bigger until my entire arm is covered in swirls and patterns and leaves and flowers and shading. I kind of want to continue adding onto it until it’s up to my shoulder. I have scars, that should be obvious at this point, and during my years of research I found that the organic twists and curls of flowers and leaves are the best design to use as a cover up for scars, and lemme tell you my tattoo artist was ECSTATIC to work on it, he even cancelled another appointment to finish this one for me and that meant so much to me. The quote is what matters the most to me. “I am blooming from the wound where I once bled,” I have a peony and oak leaves blooming from the scars that I made on my own body, I wanted to see something beautiful that I could be proud of whenever I looked down, and after so long wanting to hide with long sleeves, ashamed of a pain I couldn’t control, ashamed where I shouldn’t have been ashamed, because while I did make a mistake by starting a spiral of self destruction that almost killed me four separate times, it wasn’t my own actions that lead me to feeling so absolutely helpless and in pain, it makes me feel so liberated feeling brave enough to walk around wearing short sleeves. I want both of my arms covered, I want my thighs covered in tattoos, so I can wear short sleeves and shorts and see that beauty really does come from pain.

Thank you for asking, I’m happy to show them off because they’re beautiful and make me SO happy and proud.

#tattoos #talk of self harm #survival

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harmony283 · 5 years

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[DGM] Rain and Cigarette Smoke

Yet another prompt (kind of) suggested by @a1y-puff though this one I can already tell may become a much longer thing. Definitely a modern day!AU, but we'll see where it goes from there.

EDIT: Now on Ao3 because tumblr's formatting kept messing up. There is now also an extra scene at the end :>

[DGM]Rain and Cigarette Smoke

“Y'know brat this isn't exactly a habit I wanted you to pick up.” Cross muttered as he eyed a soaking wet Allen trying to slink back into the house at who-the-fuck-knows o'clock. All he knew was it was late, he had a box of empty cigarettes in his top drawer (shoved underneath the wad of old receipts that he never looked at), and now here was Allen standing there looking sheepish but also defiant.

Cross Marian knew he failed at a lot of things in life--parenting being one of them. He had a list of faults he kept track of in a small leather bound notebook hidden in his bathroom drawer along with the spare toothbrushes. Maybe Mana could forgive him for some of his transgressions, but this? “I'll give you points for trying to be sneaky about it. But go get changed. Then come back here. We need to talk.”

Allen opened his mouth, probably to complain loudly, but thought better of it. Maybe he was cold, he was certainly wet enough for it. How long had he been out? It had been raining for the last three hours, why hadn't he at least hid under a damn tree? Or an overhang? His shoes squeaked against the tiled flooring of their entryway in the way they only could if they were completely drenched. Damn. “Shoes off.” He snapped before Allen reached the carpeting, “Fuck, kid. You know better.”

On second thought he probably shouldn't have scolded him. At the very least even he knew he probably deserved to get those shoes thrown at his head for it. He would have done the same damn thing if he was Allen's age.

***

An odd fifteen or twenty minutes later Cross was sitting across from a much warmer looking Allen at the kitchen table. He'd thrown on a loose fluffy sweater and some navy blue sweat pants with bright pink polkadots on them that Chomesuke got him as a gift last year. Even his feet were covered with fluffy comfy looking socks that looked like they had pandas on them. Point was, he was much warmer than when he came in and he definitely looked more like the brat he knew.

Which was why they were fucking talking about this to begin with, because Allen didn't smoke, at least not until today. Cross would have noticed if he had. Though that wasn't all. “I know I only had two left.” Cross decided to start with after Allen started fidgeting across from him, “You took both. I assume you gave the other one to whoever you were with?”

Allen stared resolutely down at the table, but at least managed to nod his head. Well shit.

Cross sighed heavily, “Alright. I know you're nineteen now,” So at least he could legally buy cigarettes if necessary, “But who did you give it to?” Allen tended to hang out with an older crowd but he did have a few friends who hovered around a year or two younger than him. If he'd been coerced into bringing the extra cigarette for them to try--

“--No.” Cross cued back into the conversation. Allen was fidgeting even more but he was looking at him now, “It wasn't. A-Anyone younger than me.” Ah. Well, at least the kid knew him well enough to know that was his first concern, “And I know. I shouldn't have. Wasn't planning on it, but they didn't have their wallet and we were running late so I just--grabbed it.”

“And put the damn box back.”

“I was hoping you'd be too drunk to notice.” Even Allen cringed at how bad that probably sounded, “Maybe sleep in late, run to work a-and I'd have enough time to replace them. I know where you get them and--”

“You could just say you're picking them up for me.” Cross pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned. For once he was glad he hadn't drunk so much. The business meeting hadn't called for it, but regardless, “Do I need to be asking how often you've done this?” It couldn't have been long, after all the place he used still checked for IDs, and he’d been in there often enough with Allen that they all knew he was underage up until his birthday, which had only been, what, 2 months ago?

Immediately Allen was shaking his head, “I haven't--no. Just this once.” Well at least the kid was honest, even though he still hadn't answered him.

“Okay. I'll give you a benefit of a doubt.” He leaned forward, propping his chin on one hand and eyeing Allen here, “But who did you give it to?” Who in his group of friends smoked? Or rather who in his group of friends smoked and would have forgotten their own? Immediately he knew Lavi sometimes smoked because he'd had one too many awkward conversations with him while waiting for his old man. But he already knew from Bookman that Lavi was out of town, or had been for the last three days. That and for all that Lavi played the idiot, he didn't forget things.

It couldn't be Lenalee either. Not only did she not smoke, but Komui would probably cry if she started. Yes, she was Allen's ride the majority of the time but she never even seemed curious about it. Plus Komui would probably scream and cry and ban Allen from ever seeing Lenalee again if he'd asked for a ride this late.

So then--

Oh.

Allen was staring at the table again as Cross hummed long and low, “Tiedoll's brat?” He asked, “Which one?” Though the answer was obvious. It baffled him how Allen and Kanda had ever even become friends to begin with. In the beginning he knew they hadn't been. Their fights had resulted in several heated conversations, not to mention bloody noses on both their parts to the point Cross had been legitimately worried Allen was going to snap and he'd have to deal with the repercussions of hiding a dead body. Or. Okay, so the kid couldn't technically die like a normal person so he'd have to make up a convincing enough cover story along with having to explain a series of really shitty background events that Allen really shouldn't know a damn thing about--

Oh. Fuck it, he was getting off track. Point was somehow over the years that? Had turned into a grudging form of friendship and now apparently that included midnight car rides and sharing smokes. Cross snorted and Allen cringed, “I'd ask but lemme guess. Repayment?” Or something like it. Allen sagged and nodded his head, “You probably found out he probably had some stashed in his glove compartment, yeah?”

Oddly, Allen didn't answer him that time. Not even with a nod or a scowl. Cross squinted and looked at him closer.

Wait.

He'd been soaking wet when he got home. If they'd just smoked why hadn't they stayed in the car? Or if Kanda was really just dropping him off why didn't he drop him off somewhere dry? Unless he refused to pick him back up and made Allen walk home--

Something didn't add up.

“Oi, kid,” Immediately Allen straightened up, “Where did you two go?”

**FLASHBACK TIME**

It went the way typical 11 o'clock phone calls went, in retrospect. Kanda wasn't quite sure why he expected it to go any differently, just that the brat was as elusive as ever saying Please, I just need a drop off. Like it was the most natural thing to ask someone this late at night. He'd never say it, but just like every other time a late night call was made --he got worried.

He would have been just as worried if it was Lenalee calling, granted Komui wouldn't dare let her step foot outside past eleven unless he knew exactly where she was going and when she'd be back, and honestly Kanda highly doubted Allen wanted his guardian to know either of these things. So the fact that he was his first choice to ask? Kanda wouldn't say no. Even if, yes, okay he was a little bit mean to ask for compensation. The front might not Matter in a few hours depending on what kind of shit Allen was getting into, but still. He would never just give him a ride out of the goodness of his heart.

That and it proved Cross had been gone for the night if Allen could easily sneak in like that and steal the last--two?--cigarettes. “I didn't know you smoked.” Kanda muttered when Allen stealthily (and unnecessarily) opened the passenger side door. He was wearing his typical black hoodie with some obscure death metal band logo on it that Kanda probably heard at some point when he let Allen choose what songs to listen to, with a jean jacket over that and black ripped jeans. He half expected boots to finish off the look--but no. He wore the same old red converse shoes he always wore, which didn't do much good in this downpour. In fact Allen was already shaking, which reminded Kanda it was still fucking February--he was shocked it wasn't snowing.

But. Right. Allen was talking now, or rather blabbering on something about--"I don't but he had two and he'll notice if there's one left. Do you have a lighter?”

Kanda rolled his eyes and revved the engine, “I do but not here. Let's get there first. I'll smoke while I wait. Where are we going anyway?” He pulled away from the curb and slowly made his way out of Allen's neighborhood. Not that he got very far after all--he needed to know which way to turn.

“Left.” Allen answered almost immediately, pointing a little sluggishly with his left hand while the right cradled the two cigarettes like they were made of gold.

Kanda raised an eyebrow at that, “And then?”

“I'll give them as we get there.” Allen huffed and turned to look out the window. Well damn that wasn't sketchy at all in the slightest.

“Oi, you're not Google Maps. You're going to get one turn wrong then we'll be stuck.” Kanda refused to turn left, he highly doubted anyone would honk at him this late anyway. “Just tell me what this place is called. I probably know how to get there.”

“How is that any better than just trusting me?” Allen snapped, but didn't even bother to do much more than glare at his reflection in the window. Yeah. Not sketchy in the slightest.

“Then I can turn us around and drop you back off. If you can't tell me where we're going then maybe you shouldn't be going there.” Oh. Fucking. Goddammit. He sounded like Tiedoll.

Even Allen was staring at him. Like, actually staring at him, not just his reflection. Then, with very little fanfare, he swallowed and asked, “So you know the McKenzie Fairfield building?”

“The old condemned recreational center they shut down almost ten years ago because of that shooting--?” Oh. Kanda didn't like where this was going. “Why there? Fuck no. That place is--” He didn't want to say haunted but just three years ago they'd found a dead body in one of the offices on the third floor! Ruled an accident, but why would anyone break into a place like that only to poke around in a damn office? Not to mention the cause of death was never outright confirmed--

“If you say haunted then I'll say you're a pansy.” Allen snorted, “Besides. I'm just picking up something--by the outside pool. You can literally park your car in the back lot and see me walk there and back. I just need to jump over a few fences.” Most of the main building had long since been boarded up, or at least City officials had tried. It was deemed structurally unsafe so demolition was repeatedly shoved back, making the place an excellent area for either god awful pranks or for some rather unsavory people to meet up.

Fuck. Did Kanda really have a reason to be worried? “Shit. I should've brought Mugen.”

Allen rolled his eyes here, “The fact you still keep calling it that has me worried. We're not in some anime where calling your attacks and naming your weapons is a thing.” But they'd argued about it before so Allen knew Kanda didn't give a shit about his opinion. His sword would still be named Mugen and he would still wish he'd have it even if it probably wouldn't do any good. “Like I said. I'm just grabbing something. In and out.” Allen repeated, “You can sit in your car and smoke and watch me.”

“Then you'll light one up after to calm yourself down?” Kanda asked as he grudgingly turned left, “Tch, fine. This better be quick.”

***

Unfortunately it was. Left, two rights, a long trek down a tiny back road because the main exit had long been blocked off, a U-turn, 3 more lefts, then they were there in the back of the building, where the parking lot was only just now acquiring cracks in it. There weren't any other cars here that Kanda could see, but then again usually no one drove and parked here. Either they walked or got dropped off, which in hindsight was probably why Allen said what he did.

So really the fact Kanda was staying and parking in such an obvious spot could be seen as his own damned fault, but Allen was right. From here he could see the chained fence surrounding the pool from there, then the outer, taller, link fence surrounding the nearby track. Literally he really did just have to jump over them.

“See?” Allen motioned to the fences, “I told you. Now. You said you had a lighter?”

Oh. Right. Kanda nodded to the glove compartment, “Yeah. Open it and pass it to me?” He could tell any minute now that Allen would notice, so he watched as he opened said compartment and shuffled around to look for--

The hot pink lighter. And the mostly full pack of cigarettes.

Allen stared at the pack like he couldn't believe what he was seeing. Like it really was so unusual for him to ask for a cigarette when he had a whole pack full. Okay, yes, actually that was kind of bad. Or overly devious. Or maybe just an excuse. “What?” Kanda finally asked when Allen dumbly turned his gaze to him, “I always have extra.”

“So I didn't need to grab Cross's.” Allen kept staring at him, “You didn't need compensation.” He could see the gears turning and waited, just to see what Allen would come up with. And after the longest five minutes of Kanda's life--he did. “So. Wait. You would have driven me anyway?”

Kanda shrugged one shoulder and held his hand out for the lighter, “Is it that weird?”

Allen tossed the lighter at him and muttered, “Well yeah. For you. It's not like you to be--” He faltered here for half a second, voice lowering as he almost whispered, “worried.” Like he couldn't believe that either.

Really. “I've been your late night ride for how long now?” Kanda asked, flicking the lighter just so he'd give his hands something to do, “Is it that surprising? Now go get whatever it is you came for. I'll light up when I see you come back.” Just in case. After all if Allen got stuck or cornered or needed help he wanted his hands free.

But Allen was still staring at him dumbly like he couldn't quite process the words, and it was only the sound of the rain suddenly down pouring that he realized right, he didn't come here to just sit in an abandoned parking lot.

This was either the start to a slasher film or some shitty romcom. Either way Allen was shoving his way out of the car as graceful as a two day old llama learning how to walk and getting fucking drenched.

It would have been hilarious watching him bolt across the parking lot and scramble over the first fence. Except he had no trouble with that, Kanda knew Allen was at least a little athletic given how often they'd been thrown together before, or how often Allen would rough house with either Lavi or Daisya or, hell, get his butt kicked by Lenalee--Or even himself, when Kanda decided to join in and stop being careful.

He was still nervous, though. The rain seemed to be getting harder, coming down in torrential sheets not just heavy droplets and while it wasn't warm enough for thunder he could feel static in the air. Something wasn't right here, as Allen leapt over the second fence. Hell, had he even said what he came here to grab? Was it something he forgot? Did he come here by himself before? Fuck, Kanda started tapping a finger against his thigh out of tempo with the rain just to keep himself focused.

Allen disappeared for half a second under a rusted unused awning meant to probably cover pool equipment and Kanda nearly shoved his way out of the car. But then Allen was back, scrambling over the first fence, then second, with nothing super noticeable or different on him. No ominous bulky bags or backpacks, no plastic baggies filled with mysterious substances--

Oh. Fuck it. Allen wasn't some drug addict! Yes maybe Cross knew some sketchy as fuck people at some point, but Tiedoll had always said he'd apparently shed that persona when he got Allen. Maybe Kanda was just paranoid, a fact driven home when he nearly jumped out of his skin when Allen scrambled to open the passenger side door with saturated fingertips. “Fuck.” He breathed just as Allen cheered--

“Got it!”

“Got what?” kanda belatedly realized he hadn't even lit up yet. Not that he would have been able to with how nervous he'd been. That and--"Fuck, you're getting the seat wet!”

Immediately Allen was scowling at him, “Like I knew it was supposed to rain this hard!” The rain thundered against the roof of the car almost in retaliation, “But anyway. I got it. We can go now.” His grey eyes flickered uneasily to the front before he grabbed at the lighter--and finally noticed Kanda hadn't lit up. “Oh. Uh. Here.” He flicked the lighter and they both watched the flame dance before Kanda held the cigarette out to be lit.

“I'm not rolling the window down in this.” He muttered as he sat back and took a puff, though that reminded him, “You said you'd light one up too. Still going to?” Or at least his hands seemed to be shaking enough for it, “One won't kill you. You'll smell like smoke anyway.”

Allen still seemed oddly speechless by that, or maybe he was letting himself relax after--after whatever the hell just happened. Maybe he was just cold and warming up? Kanda revved the engine and Allen nearly dropped the lighter. “Sorry!” He yelped, but at least he'd closed it.

“Try not to set yourself on fire.” Kanda snorted as Allen fumbled, “And if you really don't want to smoke? Don't I can hide it in my box.” Because for all he knew Allen probably threw out Cross's old box, especially if he'd been so worried about him discovering one gone.

It was only when he backed out of the nonexistent parking space and drove towards the actual road that he saw Allen pick up the cigarette still sitting where he'd left it. He was thinking that much was obvious and really, Kanda wanted to reiterate he hadn't been serious but before he could? Allen was turning towards him almost resolutely, “One won't hurt. I'll put it out before I get home.”

Well then. Before Allen could scrounge around and find the lighter that was most likely now hiding underneath one of the many crap piles in Kanda’s car, Kanda held out the lit end of his cigarette, “This is easier.” He pressed it against the end of Allen's cigarette the muttered, “Put it in your mouth and inhale.”

Allen didn't cough anywhere near as loudly or as hard as Kanda had when he first picked up his smoking habit, but then again he did grow up around the perpetually smoking Cross Marian, maybe he’d already gotten used to it?

**FLASHBACK END**

“So you're telling me you went to that old building in the middle of the night just to--grab something then drove all the way back?” Cross asked, staring at Allen incredulously. Granted it wasn't as bad as he'd been assuming--he knew Kanda had a vindictive streak, or at least he did when they were younger. It wouldn't have surprised him much if they'd gotten into an argument and Kanda made Allen walk back. Still didn't make it a great scenario by far, after all, “I don't need to tell you how stupid that was, now do I?”

Allen had the decency to look at least a little chastised though not by much, “We stopped by a 24-hour McDonalds.” Oh. Okay, “I was hungry.”

“Brat.” Cross leaned forward again, “Kid.” Wait, no that didn't sound right either, “Allen.” There we go. Immediately Allen stiffened up, “That building is condemned for a damn reason. If the police had seen you you'd be calling me to come pick your sorry ass up!” Not to mention Tiedoll would probably be calling him too, maybe not livid but definitely annoyed. That was never a pretty sight. “Now what was it that you needed to pick up so bad? It really couldn't wait until, I dunno, the middle of the day? Not during a torrential downpour?”

Allen still looked nervous, hesitant, constipated. Really, really constipated, actually, but honestly? That was the key to this entire damn story. Not that he'd let the kid off the hook if whatever it was was important enough, but maybe he could at least see his reasoning. Tiedoll had always said to listen first even if your opinion didn't change after the fact.

There would always be that one time that it did.

Finally, Allen spoke, softly, eyes downcast, “Remember that meeting you dragged me to? A--A few months ago?” Cross nodded his head. He didn't bring the kid to very many, mostly because he wasn't old enough yet to be useful but he had brought him to a few of the tamer events, “Well someone there. I think--” He took a shaky breath here like the words were fighting to come out,”--thought--had something of Mana's. Turns out I was right. I think.” He clasped his hands, one scarred beyond repair and one the normal pale skin of a regular teenage boy, in front of him, “I managed to find their contact information. With help.” He smiled here and Cross mentally wanted to smack a certain redhead that wasn't himself, “We agreed to...not necessarily meet up, but he said he'd leave the item in a safe place and gave me a date. It was today. Tonight. They sent me an email saying it would be there by midnight, or maybe a little after.” He shut his eyes here but he was smiling so, so brightly, “it was there. Exactly where the email said it'd be.”

Well then. “What exactly is it that he had?”

“Mana's notebook.”

Wait. What?

#d. gray man #modern day!au #cross marian #allen walker #kanda yuu #my fic #this will definitely be chaptered i'm pretty sure #yullen #if you squint #other pairings probably too #we'll see

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fantasticworksandwheretofindthem · 6 years

Text

Softball Struggles

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: In which [Name] climbs into Peter’s window, as per usual, after a softball game, but this night is a little bit different. ;)

Warnings: swearing, slight smut

Notes: This is a extremely based off my experiences with softball, so if you don’t understand the sport at all or don’t like the idea of playing it, don’t read. | Also, message me if you’d like to be added to my taglist!

[ peter parker masterlist ]

“Are you coming to my game today?” you asked Peter, pushing yourself off the tree and starting the walk home.

“I should probably watch the streets tonight,” Peter answered with a frown.

You were upset, but you had expected as much. It was a Friday, and he’d only patrolled two days this week; he probably would’ve done it all week, but you’d convinced him to stay and help you study for your tests.

“I’ll try to swing by, though.” Peter nudged your shoulder with his elbow. You could feel the smugness radiating off of him; you didn’t need to look at him to know he wore a smirk.

“All these spidey powers, and your puns still suck,” you laughed, shaking your head. “I’ll see you tomorrow, P.”

“Good luck, [Name]!”

“Hey, [Name], you wanna come in with me?” you looked over at Imogen, one of the only softball girls you got along with (mostly). She was already walking up to the white painted foul line.

“Yeah, sure,” you said, jogging up with her, picking up softballs as you went. “Do you know how many balls we’re supposed to have?”

“Eighteen and nineteen,” called one of the girls who were heading into the dugout. You watched as she sat down with a couple of her friends and rolled your eyes. For whatever reason, they thought they were so much better than everyone else and felt like they didn’t have to field during pre-game.

“You ready?” Imogen asked, bringing your attention back to what was most important - warming up.

“Yeah,” you muttered, picking up the bat you always used. You gripped the taped handle and positioned yourself.

“Don’t choke up on the bat, [Name].”

You turned your head to see Venus Wallage, one of Royce’s best friends, also known as one of the girls who thought her shit didn’t stink, pretty much. “Choking up on the bat helps me.”

“If you didn’t choke up,” Venus began, tugging on her batting gloves, “you’d hit the ball better.”

You bit your lip, gripping the handle so hard your fingers began to sting. “It just feels weird with my hands all the way at the bottom.”

“Whatever,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes. “I’m just trying to help you.”

“Yeah, because you know so much about choking,” you mumbled as Venus started to walk away.

Imogen attempted to stifle her laughs, but came up short when a snort escaped.

“What?” you asked defensively. “It’s true!”

“Trust me, I never said it wasn’t.”

“Hey, who’s up?” you asked not anyone in particular; there were plenty of people crowded around the dugout entrance where the lineup hung. One of the girls called out that it was her; you recognized the voice as Imogen’s and starting making your way to the front of the dugout since you were after her. Out at the plate, Ta’Nia hit a line drive that sent her to first and advanced Aline to third. Imogen stepped up to the box, and on the third pitch, she was walked due to a dead ball.

“That’s okay, Immie, shake it off!” you called, though you knew damn well how much that ball must’ve stung.

“Don’t choke up on the bat, [Name]!” one of your teammates called as you began walking up to the plate. You had every intention of letting the comment go in one ear and out the other until you heard Royce.

“Y’all, it don’t matter, it’s not like she’s gonna hit the ball anyways.”

This made you stop in your tracks and your whole body tense up. You gripped the bat as hard as your hands would allow, giving one last aggressive warm-up swing before stepping up. “I’ll show them,” you muttered, and after you hit the ball, you would say to Royce, Now tell me again I won’t hit it.

You stood in position, bringing the bat up the way you preferred. The pitcher wound her arm and through the air the yellow sphere flew. As pretty as the pitcher’s process looked, the ball wasn’t; it was all the way on the outside edge, and you knew she was getting tired. The next pitch that came through, though, was a strike, according to the umpire. However, you would’ve liked to have some words with that call as you felt the ball was way too close to your abdomen to be anything but another ball. The next ball came, and you swung as hard as you could, sure as hell you had earned at least a double.

As soon as you heard the clash of the ball meeting metal and felt the good vibrations (sorry, sorry, I’m lame, I know, lmao), you dropped the bat and took off running. You were about three inches shy of the base when a deep voice called, “Foul ball!”

You groaned and discreetly kicked the dirt before turning around and jogging back to home.

“That’s a good cut, [Name]!” your coach called. “Let’s do it again, just make it fair!”

“Don’t choke up on the bat this time!”

You growled under your breath, grabbing the bat from the ground and tightening your fingers around it.

“Guys, it’s okay that she chokes up,” your coach told your teammates. “I do it, too, it’s okay.”

You felt a little better after your coach sticking up for you, but it still didn’t soothe your rage.

“1-2!” the umpire reminded the pitcher. One of the girls in the field encouraged the pitcher to throw one more strike. Knowing you would be the third out for this inning just added pressure to your rage.

So, the ball came and call it what you want - poor judgement, pressure from everyone else, a bad call, whatever - but that was your third strike. You sighed and stalked off back to the dugout, Royce bumping your shoulder mighty hard as she walked out to the field. You fought back tears of frustration as you tore off your helmet and threw it onto your bag.

Part of you was glad this was the last game of the season. At least you wouldn’t have to deal with everyone’s sore loser attitudes anymore.

“Siri, call Momma.”

“Calling Momma.”

You had to admit, hearing a male, British Siri pronounce Momma as “Mumma” was one of the funniest damn things you’d ever heard.

Your mom answered on the second ring. “Hey, baby. Is the game over?”

“Yes, ma’am,” you answered as you crossed the street. “But you don’t have to worry about picking me up. I’m just gonna crash at Peter’s.”

“Are you not gonna stop by the house first?” your mom asked. There was a loud crash like ceramic breaking in the background, followed by a whispered curse from your mom.

“Nah, I’m just gonna snitch some of his clothes to sleep in,” you said, beginning the climb up the fire escape of Peter’s apartment. “I love you.”

Your mom muttered an “I love you, too” before ending the call. You slid your phone into the front pocket of your softball bag. Peter’s window was already cracked open for you, as it always was, so you slid it open all the way, dropping your bag in first. You jumped in and started, “P, lemme tell you--” You cut yourself off with a yelp and an, “Oh, my God!” You turned your back and shielded your eyes, the image of what you’d just witnessed burned in your mind.

“Shit, [Name], what are you-- what are you doing here??”

“My game ended, and the girls were being extra bitchy tonight, so I wanted to come and rant to you!” Your face was red and your neck was flushed with color. Part of this was, you had to admit, because you thought it was kinda hot, Peter “taking care of himself” like that. You couldn’t help but fantasize about helping him, or hell, even taking care of your needs with him.

“You couldn’t have knocked?” Peter’s voice was unusually high and cracked at the end.

“How was I supposed to know what you were up to?” you exclaimed, tugging on your jersey. You couldn’t figure out what emotion you felt more: arousal or embarrassment.

Peter was breathing heavily. You turned your head just slightly to see his arm resting against his forehead and his eyes closed. He was biting his lip, and his bare chest rose and fell with each pant. In the back of your mind, you pictured this would be how he’d look after you’d blown him.

After a few more minutes of awkward, silent tension, you strutted over to Peter’s dresser and opened the drawer where you knew he kept his sweatpants. As if you hadn’t just walked in on Peter in such a vulnerable state, you slipped off your pants and socks and pulled on a pair of his gray sweatpants.

Peter looked up about the time you had bent to take off your socks and immediately shielded his eyes again. It was one thing to think about you while jerking off; it was completely another to actually see you half-naked. “[Name]! What are you doing??”

“Your sweats are more comfortable than these softball ones!” you exclaimed, hopping to pull up the soft material onto your hips.

“You could’ve given a guy a heads-up!”

“Oh, don’t get your knickers in a twist,” you dismissed with a wave of your hand. “Now, let me tell you about this fucking bitches.”

And off you went on your heated and curse-loaded rant, only fueling Peter’s desire for you even more.

#peter parker #spiderman: homecoming #spider-man: homecoming #spiderman: hoco #spider-man: hoco #sm: hoco #s-m: hoco #spiderman: hc #spider-man: hc #sm: hc #slight smut #reader insert #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #your name #self insert

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occasionalfics · 7 years

Text

Child of Light, v

Summary: Picking up where you left off, your life is in turmoil and all you can do is watch. Maybe something good will come of it, though.

A/N: Sorry if things feel rushed. I wasn’t trying to make everything go quickly per se, but I did want to focus on some sections more than others.

Words: 2,187

----

The next few hours felt like a lifetime, and yet they blurred past you as if in a dream. The blue woman kept you close as you watched a mutiny in action. She forced you to look on as Yondu’s loyal men were shoved into the airlock one by one, then forced into space. You had to hold back tears when you glanced at Yondu’s stoic face, his broken crest. You wanted to ravage them all when Taserface stepped up, riling anyone who questioned Yondu’s authority over them.

Even Kraglin joined in, which broke your heart. To see him so actively against his Captain felt wrong. Whenever you looked away, the blue woman grabbed you by the chin and forced you to look on.

But then she was gone. She entered the ring herself, stepping into a spot of authority as if it were her birthright. She didn’t seem to want the Elector - just...revenge, it seemed. For what, you couldn’t say, but before you knew it, she was gone. Kraglin escorted her to whatever it was she demanded. Yondu and the trash rat were carted off to the brig. You were all but forgotten as the crew scattered for the night. You hid in the surveillance room, which was hardly ever manned.

You fell asleep to the sound of the crew snoring, when all of the sudden there was a loud crash somewhere across the ship. You jumped from the uncomfortable chair and watched as Yondu, now sporting an old fin-shaped prototype of his crest, and the trash rat escaped from their cell and proceeded to kill anyone in their way with the Yaka arrow and blasters. The trash rat found you, though he may have simply been looking for this room.

“Aren’t you Quill’s friend?” he asked with a sneer. He didn’t wait for an answer before firing his blaster.

You ducked, pulling your head between your legs for coverage. You watched on the surveillance screens as handfuls of crew members you’d practically grown up with died, either by arrow or blaster. They deserve it, you reminded yourself. They betrayed us.

Chaos ensued for a few long minutes. The Elector blew up in parts, but Kraglin had switched back to your side and had a smaller ship ready for departure. When he joined you and the trash rat in the surveillance room, Yondu grabbed you by the hand, led you to that ship, and the four of you were off.

“Where’re we going?” you asked, glad to finally be back in somewhat comfortable company.

“Ego,” Yondu said as he took his seat.

You stopped, your eyes widening. You couldn’t go back there. You couldn’t see your Papa again - he wanted you dead. That’s what you’d told yourself all these years. You’d seen the corpses, known he’d been hiding the bodies of your kin on his planet. He was charming and inviting, but for some reason, he wanted you all dead.

“Why?” you asked.

“Quill’s there,” the trash rat answered.

You shook your head. “No,” you whispered, falling back when the ship jolted through its first jump.

“Y’okay back there?” Yondu called.

You pushed yourself up as best you could and leaned against a console. With a grunt you answered, “Sure.”

No one looked back to make sure. Jump after jump, you twitched and stretched and yelled, but so did everyone else. At least you weren’t alone in that.

After the last jump, Rocket and Yondu had a small spat. All you could do was watch by Kraglin’s side, wide eyed, as Yondu gave his life story to the trash rat. You didn’t miss Yondu’s quick glance at you when he mentioned that they both push away the ones they love - though you thought you’d done that more than he had. You didn’t think he’d told anyone that story but you - but you could see, from what was said, why Rocket needed to hear it. They weren’t so different, and they had the same stake in this mission. Peter. They had to save Peter like you did.

It felt like forever before you finally made it to Ego. It was different since your last visit. Of course it was, you reminded yourself. Last time the planet wasn’t done forming. Now it was, but the surface had become a wasteland. The ground was cracked, with light pouring through the crevices, blinding everyone on board. Even through the ship, you could feel Ego’s heat fill you up. It weighed more than you remembered, and made you stumble as you tried to catch your breath. Yondu and Rocket readied to leave while you watched.

“(Y/N), Kraglin,” Yondu called. “Y’all stay here. Rocket and I’s got work we gotta finish.”

“Yes, sir,” Kraglin said obediently.

You stood and stepped in front of Yondu on his way out.

He sighed. “Ya gotta let me go, Darlin’.”

“He’s my brother, Yondu. I need to see him. I need to help him - I’m the only one that knows how.”

He shook his head.

Rocket said, “Wait. Quill’s your brother?”

You and Yondu glanced at him together, but ignored the question all together.

“Ya ain’t the only one that can save him, and I gotta do this. ‘Ts my fault he never came back. My fault he left in the first place.” Yondu put his hand on your cheek, and you melted into his touch. It’d been so long since he’d been intimate with you, and now you didn’t know if he ever would be again. “I got the both’a ya in this mess. Lemme get him outta it, like I did fer ya.”

You sighed heavily. Rocket groaned and rolled his eyes, exiting the ship as he threw his blaster onto his shoulder. You nodded against Yondu’s hand, against your better judgment, and then put your forehead against his.

“Come back to me,” you whispered. “I love you too much to lose you.”

Yondu nodded and pulled your chin toward him, leaving a long and tender kiss for you. And then he was gone, and you and Kraglin waited in nervous silence.

--------------------------------------------------

He never did come back. You watched as, one by one, Peter’s teammates came back to the ship. No one introduced themselves, but it would’ve felt insincere if they had. You recognized the green assassin, the red and green hulk of a man - though not the pale woman in green leather he carried, the Groot, and the mismatched blue and purple woman from Berhert. You avoided her gaze as you waited for Rocket, Yondu, and Peter. The first came back in solemn silence and shut the hatch, uttering some sad words about only losing one friend.

That didn’t make any sense, though. Peter and Yondu were missing. How could he only be missing one friend?

Peter did, though, and the second he saw you on the ship, he fell into your arms like he did whenever he got himself into trouble as a child. He was much larger than he used to be, but you needed his weight in your arms like he needed yours.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, over and over and over again.

Kraglin steered the ship toward who knew where - it didn’t matter, so long as it was far from Ego’s corner of the galaxy.

You nodded against Peter’s shoulder and let yourself cry. He cried with you. There were so many unresolved issues you now had to keep with you, but at least you had your brother back. At least he was apologizing for his mistakes. At least he was alive, and at least he’d survived Ego.

You knew it was time. Ego was gone - and so was Yondu, and somehow that only made you more sure. After a while you looked up at Peter and asked, “Can we talk?”

He nodded. You found a private space on the small ship, lofted above everyone else, and sat close to one another.

“(Y/N), I’m so sorry. I shouldn’ta let him do that. I should’a found a way to save him, to bring him back.”

You took Peter’s hand and shook your head. “He did want he knew he needed to do, Peter. We may not like it, but he wanted to prove he was worthy of forgiveness.” You choked on the last word and closed your eyes, knowing that he would never get to hear either of you forgive him for his mistakes. All you could do, you knew, was finally tell Peter what you’d been keeping from him for almost two decades.

“Remember when you were younger, and I told you about my Mama?” you asked.

Peter nodded.

“My Mama was so in love with my Papa, she couldn’t see what he really was. I didn’t meet him until I was nineteen, Peter. I’d grown up thinking he was made of stars, of light and goodness. I’d been told all my life that I was so much like him, that I was good because of him. But I wasn’t. When I met him, I knew I was good because of my Mama, just like you.”

His face scrunched up in confusion, but he sat quietly, just as he did when he was ten and you told him Krylorian myths and tales.

“My Papa was made of light, but he used it for selfish, terrible purposes. He killed because he could and only wanted more of himself in the universe. But he was dangerous, and I avoided him for almost thirty years. Yondu saved me - he was hired to bring me to my Papa, but by then he knew what my Papa was capable of. He waited until I knew, too, and then he took me home. I only looked back on my decision to stay with him when you came along.”

“Why?” Peter asked.

You took a deep breath before answering. “My Papa is your Papa, Peter. You and I are both children of Ego, and we are the only two to survive his terrible purpose. And we did it because Yondu saw that we were people - that we had lives and...autonomy. You were the last one he ever picked up, and he never delivered you to Ego because of me.”

Peter stared at you for what seemed like a long time. You played with his fingers as he processed what you’d told him.

“You mean...you’re my sister?” he asked, finally.

You smiled softly and nodded.

“How come you never told me?” he asked.

“Yondu and I agreed early on that you needed to find out about Ego in your own time, on your own terms. I didn’t want to burden you with what I knew when you were a child. I wanted to tell you that you were my kin for so long, but I could never bring myself to explain everything. What I knew about our Papa was too much to say...until now.”

“That’s why you were so upset about your wedding,” he said.

You nodded. “My Mama passed before we got married. I wanted you there because I loved you, and because you’re my brother. I should’ve told you then, when I confronted you about it after-”

“Why? To make me feel guilty for missing my only living sister’s wedding?” he asked, mostly joking. You could tell by the arch in his eyebrow and the twist in his smirk.

“Maybe a little,” you joked back.

You laughed together, and it felt so out of place given the decaying body of your husband on the floor below you. But it also felt nice, natural, and familiar. You laid your head on Peter’s shoulder and breathed him in for the first time in a year.

“I’m still so sorry,” he said after a while. “I know he wanted forgiveness, but now he’ll never get it.”

You paused and sat up again, your face falling as your mind raced.

“Actually, he might.”

--------------------------------------------------

You had the trash rat send the communication. Then you waited.

You let Peter lead the funeral. You weren’t sure you had the strength for it, honestly. You stood by Peter’s side, said a few words and more prayers silently, then watched as Yondu’s body burned and turned into red flakes of stardust.

Moments after he was gone for good, you heard explosions.

“They came!” Rocket called.

You went to the bay window of the ship and watched as other Ravager factions surrounded you, dislodging fireworks into the void of space. Kraglin cheered, Rocket hooted, and Peter slung an arm across your shoulders and another around the assassin. You watched as Stakar Ogord, from his command center, celebrated the life and death of Yondu, his exiled favorite. And you openly cried, this time as a reaction to the overwhelming, warring feelings of sadness and joy that flowed through you.

You were sad to see him go, but knew it was his time. He’d all but told you so himself.

You pressed a hand to the window, put your forehead against it, and watched as his red ashes soared like his arrow across the sky.

#yondu x reader #Yondu Udonta #yondu udonta x reader #yondu fanfic #child of light

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