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barnesbabee · 3 years

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collab || J.Y

ᴋɪɴᴋᴛᴏʙᴇʀ ᴅᴀʏ 2 - ᴋɪɴᴋᴛᴏʙᴇʀ ᴍ.ʟɪꜱᴛ

Summary: Two famous porn stars have a fun collab together.

Pairing: Jeong Yunho x gn!reader

Words: Just enough

⚠ although there is no mention of gender, the reader wears makeup and lingerie, so if you are uncomfortable with that, don't read ⚠

As Yunho dried his hair with a small towel, he heard the familiar ding sound from his social media. He had just finished uploading the edited version of his live stream, so it wasn't unusual for him to be contacted by a bunch of people right after, however, he didn't expect to see you.

You weren't well known in the porn scenario, as you were fairly new and the competition was vast, but your 'Around The World' series had become a huge success and a major hit for its originality.

Yunho was quite a fan of the series, so when he saw your message, his fingers were crossed.

Y/N: Hello! My name is Y/N, I'm not sure if you know my work, but I am a porn star that is currently doing a series called 'Around The World' where I... well, fuck people all around the world. My next stop is South Korea and I have seen your work before and I think our style is very similar and I would love to do a collab with you! Feel free to check out my work on my page, I hope to hear from you soon! xoxo

The tall man squealed like a high schooler getting a text from his crush, he's always wanted a collab and now he was about to get one in one of the biggest series of the moment!

Yunhxxx: Hello Y/N! I am aware of your series and I am a fan! I would love to do the collab with you! I'll send you my number so we can talk about the details more comfortably :)

Part of your anxiousness died down at his response. Most porn stars were very polite and kind in front of the camera, and in business discussion, all for that quick buck, but you'd find, with your series, that a lot of them were just assholes with a huge ego. You had a good feeling about Yunho, but you didn't want to get your hopes up and then be disappointed.

The arrangements didn't take long, as you were both excited for the collab to happen, making it very easy to communicate. Yunho was kind enough to offer his own home for you to sleep in, arguing that 'whoever fucks me gets to sleep in my house for free'.

Yunho spent the weekend preparing everything for your arrival on Monday morning: he cleaned his whole house, stocked his fridge and cabinets with all sorts of food, and sanitized every toy of his. By the time he received your 'I'm on my way!' text, his house was the cleanest it had ever been.

The man showered, put on his best cologne, and applied some dark eyeshadow under his eyes. As he stood in front of the closet in his briefs only, he wondered what he should go for. A sophisticated look? A sexy look? An outlaw-looking look? He wanted something to get you immediately attracted to him. Yunho wanted to make you feel good, not to make you act as if you felt good.

Ultimately he chose a black button-up and black suit pants. He decorated his long fingers (that he had come to learn was something many people liked about him) and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt.

Yunho was aware of his innocent appearance. He had had his cheeks squeezed one too many times, so he caught on quickly. However, the man loved to play with his looks. He loved to make people wonder what kind of person he was, with a cute face, yet an intimidating look.

Before he knew it, his doorbell rang. Yunho took one last look in the mirror, just to make sure everything was in its place and walked towards the door. The first hello wasn't awkward at all, as you'd already had a few zoom calls to discuss what would happen in your collab, just to make sure there were no misunderstandings.

Once you stepped in with your suitcase, you couldn't help but notice how neat, modern, and well decorated his house was. The walls were white with big windows, and the furniture was a mix of grey, light blue, and white. Yunho lead you to the guest room where you'd be staying, and it was a lot nicer than you expected. The bed was high and large, the duvet was grey with a bunch of fluffy white and red pillows decorating it. In front of the bed was a modern black vanity with lightbulbs around the squared mirror, and against the wall in front of the door was a black, sliding door wardrobe, with a large, orange, and red abstract painting of a couple. His house looked simple yet classy, with just the right amount of colour and decoration. You took a look at him, his dark look contrasting the house.

"You already got prepared?"

Yunho looked a little puzzled for a second, but then understood. "Oh! Oh no, you've just arrived, you must be tired! This is just... how I dress?" He said, feeling a little embarrassed.

You took a good look at his outfit.

"You always dress like that? Wow..."

Yunho's cheeks became a little red at the comment, and he stumbled over his words as he thanked you. He was used to receiving compliments when he had his clothes off, but with clothes on? Not so much... Before closing the door, Yunho told you to feel at home, and that when you were ready you could start setting everything up in the room he used to shoot.

The man had never felt that nervous, so when he finally closed the door, he immediately headed to his living room, and found the whiskey bottle he kept for emergencies. He poured a generous glass and sat on the couch, scrolling through his phone as he waited for you.

You were pretty much used to the routine, and since you had a stopover in a neighboring country and spent the night there, the trip hadn't been too tiring. You sat on the very convenient vanity and re-did your makeup. You liked to match your look to your type of content, so you went for a dark look: dark purple lipstick, a heavy, black smokey eye, and loads of mascara. You made sure to apply a lot, so it would run down your face and give the viewers the fucked out look they loved to see.

The lingerie matched your makeup: black lace lingerie with some bling here and there, and a garter belt to accessorize. You grabbed your robe from your suitcase and exited the room.

"Yunho?" You called, peeking your head from behind the wall.

"Hm?"

His eyes widened when he looked up. You were completely different from the person he had met.

"I am ready if you are!"

He nodded and stood up, downing the rest of his 2nd whiskey cup in one go. Yunho took you upstairs and opened the door to his 'studio'.

In the center of the room was a carpet, and a big, empty space behind it.

"I usually move the bed or the couch over there, depending on what I want to do that day. I found that it was easier to move the furniture than the whole set up." He explained, pointing at the empty space.

Against the wall, opposite of you, there was a bed, much like the one on your bedroom, and a nice, black leather couch. Beside you there was a closet, where Yunho kept all his toys, accessories, and streaming outfits. Other than that it was just the usual setup: a desk with a computer, professional lights, and a camera.

Yunho walked over to the couch and moved it with ease to the empty space.

"So we've already decided?" You asked.

The man smirked as if simply entering the room turned him into a completely different person.

"I already have everything planned out for you dear, it would be rude to have my guests work."

You blushed slightly, and sat on the couch, waiting for the green light.

You watched as he opened the closet, displaying his wide collection. He picked a bunch of stuff that he set on top of a towel on the floor.

"Alright, that's about it."

You cocked your head to the side, in confusion.

"You're not getting dressed?"

Yunho reached for the choker he had brought and softly placed it around your neck, tying it just tight enough. He hooked his finger on the big metal ring on the front and tugged on it. You followed his silent command and knelt on the ground, in front of the couch.

"I'm already dressed, for the concept we're gonna try."

You were getting curious and excited. You stayed still as he started up the live stream. Yunho turned on the lights, set up the camera, and pressed 'Start Live Video'. The screen counted down from five, until the live started.

Yunho sat on the couch behind you, and placed his large hand on your head.

The man smirked as soon as the comments started raining.

There was a mixture of fuck yeah's and happy cheers as they recognized Yunho, and became excited for what was to come. The live was obviously happening on your account, although you would always split the tips with the person you worked with.

"Hello," Yunho started, and you let him take the lead "welcome to the 24th edition of Around The World, I am today's guest, and we have such a great show for you today, don't we?"

Yunho tugged on your hair, making you wince. You looked at the camera and nodded.

The 30 dollar donation ding sounded, announcing that someone had made a request.

'Make her sit on your thigh'

You let Yunho take the lead once more, hooking his finger on your choker's hoop and pulling you up, to sit on his thigh. You hummed as you rolled your hips, causing friction between your core and his thigh. Your hand ran along his torso, feeling the fabric of his shirt.

"He has too many clothes, don't you think?" You asked the camera, in a flirty tone.

There was a rain of comments agreeing with you, and you immediately got to work, unbuttoning his shirt slowly. His dick print was already very visible in his pants, and you could now understand why he wanted to wear that look.

You removed his shirt, slowly and teasingly, as the viewers praised Yunho's toned body.

The male hooked his finger on your underwear and snapped it against your skin. Your little whimper at the sudden pain made him smirk.

Yunho ran his hands along your body, making you shiver from the cold metal of his rings.

Tips and donations rained down with many requests, and so you went back on the floor and laid your head on Yunho's thigh, your face mere inches away from his hard-on. You perked your ass up and traced the shape of his cock with your finger.

"What do you think? Should we reward them?" Yunho asked, petting your head as he stared into the camera.

As expected, everyone gave you the green light to continue, so you slowly opened his fly, to find he had no underwear on. You freed him from his pants, gripping his length in your hand. You kept eye contact with the male, and although you were a professional, you were always nervous when you had to take dicks on the bigger side.

You spat on his tip, and played with his cock for a second, before slowly inserting it in your mouth. Yunho groaned and threw his head back, taking in the warmth of your mouth. His hand was tangled in your hear, gripping it and tugging on it from time to time.

"Shit, you're doing so good..."

Yunho was very vocal, to your (and the viewer's) pleasure.

The 50$ notification ding sounded, and a message played right after.

'bby I wanna see you jump on his cock'

Yunho smirked and gripped your hair, in a firm, yet not painful way. He swiped his thumb across your bottom lip, cleaning the remaining saliva.

"Hmm, you know what, so do I."

You stripped from your underwear, in a sensual way for the viewers (and Yunho) to enjoy.

Yunho slapped his thigh, and you climbed onto his lap, slowly but surely sinking down on his length. You gripped onto his shoulders for stability and groaned as every inch of his cock disappeared inside of you.

His hands gripped your ass, spreading your cheeks in a beautiful way for the camera to see. The male helped you, as you rode him, not only by holding your hips and guiding you, but also by snapping his hips up against yours. Filthy slapping sounds along with the mixture of your moans echoed in the room, and the donations were reaching their peak.

"F-fuck baby you're s-so good, you're doing so well."

You gripped his shoulders harder, as his praises drew you closer and closer to your edge.

"They're c-close! Should we l-let them cum?"

It was impressive how professional Yunho was. How he looked so immersed in you, so tired and fucked out, with his fringe sticking to his forehead and eyes burning into your soul, yet he didn't forget to interact with the viewers.

There were many people leaning towards yes, begging to hear the way you sounded as you came, and so he worked hard until you screamed his name and tightened around his cock. He let you rest and recompose for a second, but the way you clenched around him made it impossible for him to hold it in any longer.

"Shit, get on the ground."

You gladly complied, and got on your knees for him, immediately sticking out your tongue, as you could predict what would come after.

Yunho jerked himself off to your fucked out face, and soon a string of curses came out of his mouth, as he spilled all over your face. He smirked and wiped some of his cum off of your face with his thumb.

"Say ah, pretty baby."

You smiled and opened your mouth. He inserted his finger in your mouth and you happily licked it clean.

Yunho cupped your face with his hand, and smiled.

"You behaved so well, I might have to reward you again."

His head tilted to the side, pointing to the couch, and you followed. You sat down on the couch, and Yunho knelt in front of you. His arms wrapped around your thighs and pulled you forward, so your hole would be of easy access to him.

The man teased you, as his tongue danced around your hole, not quite getting where you wanted him. You rolled your hips up, earning a slap to your inner thigh.

He looked up at you, with a hint of darkness in his eyes.

"Behave."

It didn't take long for you to get what you wanted, as he started tongue fucking you, with the help of his fingers. You gripped his hair, and your back arched as your high approached once more.

You came quickly, with his tongue still inside you, and he held your trembling legs and body, to keep you stable.

He didn't move for a second, giving you time to breathe and rest. After you had recomposed yourself, he helped you up, and the two of you shared a heated kiss, Yunho's hands never leaving your ass, that he definitely had a fixation with.

You finished the stream by thanking the viewers and donors and shut everything off. Once everything was done, you sighed and plopped onto the couch.

"Do you not want to shower?" Yunho questioned, as he saw the mess in your face and body.

You chuckled.

"Yes I do, very much, but I'm so fucked out..."

Yunho very kindly scooped you up.

"Well, I wouldn't want my guest to work too hard, I'll help you out."

#ateez #ateez smut #jeong yunho #yunho smut #jeong yunho smut #kpop #kpop smut #kinktober #ateez kinktober #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #ateez gender neutral #ateez readder insert #ateez reactions #ateez reaction #ateez imagine #ateez imagines #ateez yunho smut #yunho ateez smut

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heckpup · 3 years

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Hmmmmmm Time for the Part 2 of the Immortal Tommy AU I cooked up with my raw materials in the middle of the night

:DDDDDDDDD What fun. I have also now decided that Tommy's new wings are now phoenix style (cause he's immortal now, innit?), in flames, but only at the tips (so far, this will change the older he gets) and only if he wants them to be. Had he still been mortal, they probably would've been just a regular red, and so that is what they look like when they're not on fire.

Also, I'd like to imagine that the old worlds from when we were kids (with borders and that didn't go on forever and just stopped and dropped off into the void, right? I know me and my friends loved to find the corners and try to go through. Good times.) are what the god's personal realms are like. Not enough room for rebellion, since there's not enough room to run from an angry god/goddess. If you go to the edge, you can look at/travel to other worlds as well. Most gods don't bring other people into their worlds anyway, but *shrugs*

Edit: (I can't believe I forgot this I'm so sorry ;-;) TW:Mentions of bl00d, Mention of de@th, mentions of m@n!pulat!0n and g@sl!ght!ng, mentions of t0rture.

Just thought I should mention + explain.

"Hey Clara?" Tommy asks from a small tree, letting his feathers move gently in the wind.

"Yes, Tommy?" Clara calls from below, looking up at the young immortal. Tommy glides down to meet her on the ground, and he looks up at her a little sheepishly.

"Do you think that since, well, you know, I'm recovered and shit, I could visit those bitches from the SMP? I kinda just want to, uh, blow up at them, sorta. I just- its a lot of untapped rage and I really just wanna scream at 'em, you know? It's totally ok if you think I shouldn't I mean, you are the biggest man- er, woman- here, just wanted to ask, but uh-"

"Tommy." Clara cuts him off with a small smile, and a bit of mischief and malice (And anger, as well) twinkling in her dark eyes. "I think that's a wonderful idea. Besides," She begins to walk over to the edge of their small world, "they need to understand what they did, and its never good for us immortals to hold grudges over mortals. Could cause some unplanned problems in the far future."

Tommy beams, and Clara begins mentally preparing for the showdown with glee. "Tommy, how do you want to do it?" She asks, inner drama queen squealing.

"Well-" Tommy tells her- "-I really want it to be big and dramtic, you know? Like lightning and thunder, and like things bursting into flame and shit. I could probably do the flames myself, but do you think-" He looks up at her expectantly.

"Of course!" She says, patting his shoulder. "A storm fit for a god. It would be only fitting, of course. I am going to come along, of course. Just in case there are any unexpected developments, like more dramatic effect."

Tommy nods. "Yeah! Those bitches aren't gonna know what hit them! But, do you think you could stay invisible 'n shit for it? I still wanna do this by myself. I don't-" He cuts himself off, feathers ruffling. "I wanna yell and bitch about it, and I want to do this on my own. Like an important milestone on my recovery." Clara nods in agreement.

"Right, right. For the lightning though, is there any houses you want to keep out of harms way? I plan on hitting a lot of houses, just to get people up and moving."

Tommy thinks for a minute. "Uh, maybe hit close to Ranboo's house- he's the black and white hybrid, he's always been pretty nice to me- and Sam and Puffy and BadBoyHalo. Sam put Dream in prison a while ago, and Puffy and BBH gave me some gifts the night before you picked me up. So, they're clear from property damage, but I still want to see them. Defintely break Dream out, I want to yell at him though. Wait, maybe I can break him out, like teleport him away from the prison and show off my new powers and shit- anyway, maybe save Niki as well, she was always nice."

Clara nods and begins to locate the small world that she pulled Tommy from so many years ago. "Goodness!" She laughs. "It's been a while since you looked down at this one, isn't it?"

"Yeah, haven't had much time to think shit about those old bitches." Tommy begins to search with her, quickly locating the small SMP, being recently cleared of the red bloodvines that had plagued it for a while.

While they plan, they laugh, and Clara is reminded of how far the young godling had been when she whisked him away. His old SMP hadn't deserved him, not even for a second.

Tommy and Clara were watching from the clouds as the little people in the SMP ran around panicked about the storm that was destroying a lot of their houses. Tommy watched with glee and satisfaction as the majority of the SMP (save for Dream, of course) gathered in the newly rebuilt community house to discuss the looming problem.

"Dream has to be behind this, Sam!" Fundy growled out. "He's the only one that has this kind of power!"

"You ready?" Clara asked Tommy, after waiting for him to be perfectly positioned under one of the next lightning bolts, aimed at one of the doorways to the community house. Tommy nodded and lit the tips of his wings, prepared for the force of the bolt to push him back down to the earth.

The lightning hit, and Tommy found himself being thrown down and pushed to the ground.

The first thing he noticed was that the bolt left little sparks over his body and his wings were a little more lit up than usual.

The second thing he noticed was that everyone in the community house was looking at him.

He stood up and, with a great amount of false confidence, strode into the room. Tubbo was staring slack-jawed, as were most people in the building. Phil's face was incredibly pale, to the point that Tommy actually began to worry about the man's health. Ranboo looked at him wide-eyed, but then Tommy saw recognition flash and a smile began to creep onto his face.

But the person that Tommy had his eyes on the most was the no-longer transparent form of his elder brother, well and alive again.

"What's up, bitches?" Tommy grinned, and suddenly the room was alive with shouts and yelling and holy Prime, Tommy probably should have prepared more for this reaction but he hadn't even known Wilbur was alive but oh, Phil's yelling about how Tommy left him and-

"Tommy, how could you? You've been off to who knows where? Where the fuck have you been? How could you leave us?" Phil's void-black wings ruffled, and Tommy didn't even think before responding,

"I've been off healing, bitch! You know, from all the trauma you adults forced on me? And the gaslighting from Dream? The manipulation? It took me years to get over that shit, and the god's world-time runs slow! I spent a whole fucking year trying to understand that what you bitches put me through was fucking wrong, and I was not alright! I left you all here because you left me when I was at my fucking WORST! YOU LET A SIXTEEN YEAR-OLD FIGHT IN FUCKING WARS AND GET EXILED! YOU EXPECTED ME TO TAKE THAT SHIT LIKE A FUCKING ADULT? FUCK NO!" Tommy's wings flared out and he could feel the heat radiating off of it, his flames responding to his anger.

"Thomas Minecraft-Innit, I am your father, how dare you-"

"Oh, you're my father now? Now, after you abandoned me, neglected me, left me in the dust? You cared more about your fucking war buddy than your own two sons! Wilbur was more of a father than you were, and then you fucking killed him!"

"Tommy-" Tubbo tried to interject.

"AND DON'T GET ME STARTED ON YOU TUBBO! DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU DID? YOU LEFT ME AS WELL, YOU LEFT ME WITH FUCKING DREAM! YOU EXILED ME, AND FOR FUCKING WHAT? A SAD POSITION IN A COUNTRY THAT YOU LET DREAM PUPPETEER ANYWAY! WE FOUGHT THAT WAR TO GET AWAY FROM DREAM, AND THEN YOU FUCKING LET HIM RIGHT BACK IN!" Tommy raged, turing on his ex-best friend. "Oh, speaking of-" He snapped his fingers and then Dream was in the room with them, wearing an orange jumpsuit and looking around wildly.

The room let out a great outburst, which, to be fair, was expected.

But then Dream took one look at Tommy and decided that it was a-fucking-okay to try and re-manipulate Tommy again. As if he didn't notice that Tommy was much older, much more healed and much more powerful than before. (Or that could just be him. Clara did tell him that gods- and even godlings- could change their age and appearance, and sometimes it was involuntary and depended on emotions and metal stability. Tommy did actually feel much younger. Maybe it was from being in this place, this world, and being in front of the person that hurt him most. That would make sense.)

"Tommy!" Dream cried with unusual glee. "You're here to help me, aren't you? You finally came to your senses about your best friend, right?" Tommy only raised an eyebrow in response, not giving him an answer. "What, not going to give an answer to your only friend? Tommy, I stayed with you, I kept you company when no one else did, remember?" Prime, how long did Dream think he had been in that prison for?

Tommy only shrugged and then pulled out a sword and dashed up to Dream, keeping the blade on Dream's throat. "You mother fucker. You are the biggest bitch boy I've ever, and I mean ever, had the pleasure of knowing, bitch boy. You are the absolute worst thing to ever happen to me, you know that? You killed me twice, and for what? Gratification of knowing you killed a teenager? And then you tried to gaslight me, manipulate me into doing your sick shit for you? That's the most fucked up thing I've ever known, Dream. I'm going to enjoy taking this life from you." And then he swung, embedding the blade into the wall behind where Dream's body had once been.

TommyInnit killed Dream with [A Final Blow]

Dream made the achievement [Banned?]

"Tommy what-" Tommy turned to look at Technoblade, who was looking blankly at his chatlog.

"Oh, don't worry too much about him. He'll just be stuck for a few days in the ban-void, and then he'll come back on his own." A great number of people paled, knowing the ban void, when you were still on a world, meant that you were subjected to great amounts of agony as your body tore itself apart and tried to pull its code back together. And Tommy had just taken one of Dream's lives, too!

"Tommy, what happened to you?" Phil asked, horrified.

"I grew up," Tommy said with a smile. "And now I have the rest of time to spend continuing to grow and live. Becuase now, Tommy Innit never dies."

Techno rushed at him suddenly, axe swinging. It caught the edge of Tomm'y neck, and Tommy took the chance to grab Techno by the scruff on his, and lift him up, also while feeling his body grow older. Several gasps were heard around the room at the sudden change. "What were you trying to do there, Technoblade? You can't kill a god." And then he let Techno drop to the ground, before touching the part of his neck Techno had sliced.

His hand drew away with golden ichor.

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kiruuuuu · 3 years

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Protection Mountain: The Finale⛰️

Yes. It is here.

Montagne/Bandit conquered my heart so quickly with what was meant to be a oneshot, then turned into a small series of oneshots, and ended up as my longest series in Siege. And now their main story is coming to an end. I would like to thank absolutely everyone who participated in this journey, be it through direct messages, magnificent art, shared ideas, comments, reblogs, likes, the simple act of reading and enjoying - you helped make this happen, you motivated and encouraged me. Thank you for falling into this bottomless hole with me 💖

A special thank you goes out to @ekhap, who commissioned this piece in the first place - without you, it’s likely I never would’ve written it. I’m so happy you enjoyed it, and I hope all of you who stuck around long enough to read this will too.

I have actually managed to post the entire series on AO3 as well, so you can comfortably read (or re-read) it here!! And without further ado, here is the final chapter of Protection Mountain. (Rating T/M, hurt/comfort + a ridiculous amount of fluff, ~8.5k words)

“I’m leaving tomorrow”, says Madeleine, voice soft and always a reprieve from the harsh reality of the hospital room around them. “I don’t think coming back will be necessary this time.”

Montagne squeezes her hand, making her smile.

She’s been juggling family and career for her entire life and right now is no different: on slower or off days, she hops on the train to visit, taking the opportunity to report on some local stories on the way, utilising her travel time to write up or edit her pieces. A busy bee, always worried about being overshadowed by her older brother. They haven’t seen each other this much for years and though the occasion could be merrier, Montagne is fiercely grateful for her presence. He’s unloaded some of his worries onto her and she onto him, and somehow they ended up lighter than before. Tourés tend to stick together, given the opportunity.

“Why do you say that?”

“You might not realise, but you’re looking much better, Gilles. You’ll be let loose on the world again soon.”

They exchange a quick grin over her choice of words. She’s certainly more of a menace to society than he is, and they both know it.

Next to her, Lion is sitting in a second chair, rigid. He’s confessed to Montagne in private that Madeleine reminds him of his mother – whatever that might entail – and so he’s unfailingly awkward around her, probably ruing the fact that they happened to drop by at the same time today. Dealing with strangers isn’t usually a problem for him; dealing with family of friends, however, is.

Apparently, Bandit won Madeleine over immediately, surprisingly enough. She says it’s his horrific German accent whenever he attempts to speak French and his deadpan humour, but Montagne is relatively sure she senses a bit of how much Bandit cares for him. Tourés are also protective of each other, siblings even more so. She wouldn’t have told him a thing about Montagne’s current condition if she hadn’t thought his worry genuine.

And then, out of the blue: “Cathérine called me.” She still sounds conversational, but her gaze becomes a tad more attentive.

Montagne stills.

Lion’s gaze is jumping back and forth between them, the man even more uncomfortable now.

It’s the last person he expected Madeleine to mention, so he needs a second to compose himself. “What about?” He tries to search for emotions, for any kind of reaction to encountering his wife’s – ex-wife’s name, but comes up empty. It’s like hearing about an old, lost friend of his: someone who once used to be important enough to be mentioned in his will, now someone who barely counts as a remnant in his thoughts.

“You, of course. Maman tattled and, eventually, it reached her. She wanted to know how you are and whether contacting you directly is a good idea.”

“And your reply?”

“I said I’d ask you.”

He nods, thankful. During their divorce, too many people presumed what would be best for either side instead of addressing them directly. It didn’t feel like their own private business anymore, somehow it affected everyone and so everyone was entitled to an opinion and a listening ear. He appreciates Madeleine allowing him this kind of control. “I don’t think she has my current number. Please give it to her and let her know I’d be happy to talk.”

And that’s that. They kiss cheeks and do a half-hug, exchange verbal pleasantries which are nonetheless heartfelt, and then she and her mild perfume are gone, leaving behind a slightly relieved-looking Lion.

“You do look a lot better, you know”, he confirms Madeleine’s earlier assessment, and though he seems intent on changing the topic – for him, family is still a sore topic most days –, Montagne’s mind lingers. Vague memories form a blurry whole, the image so distant it may well originate in a film he once saw or a book he once read.

Catou used to be his entire world and there were days he was convinced he couldn’t go on if she were to leave him. Yet time, the wound-healer, sometimes corrodes instead – and in their case, it must’ve mistaken their passion and devotion for sickness, for it cured them. They noticed before comfort turned into indifference, but only barely. By the time they decided on breaking up, another man was involved as well, though Montagne assigns him no blame whatsoever. Until their divorce was finalised, Catou kept her friend at arm’s length and he never even attempted to get any closer; but while she didn’t allow herself to fall in love again until Montagne openly gave his blessing, he could see the seeds growing already.

Neither of them cheated, he knows this for a fact. They’d never. He noticed how she became aware of the possibility of being with another man after a few of their long talks which denoted the beginning of the end, and while it hurt, he vowed not to stand in her way. If he couldn’t support her, he at least didn’t want to hinder her.

What hurt the most wasn’t any misguided feeling of betrayal or even jealousy, no. It was the realisation that he simply didn’t suffice. He gave her his everything and it turned out it wasn’t enough.

Maybe this is why he won’t accept Bandit’s proposal: the creeping fear of committing fully and finding it to have been in vain.

“You never spoke about her.” His friend has indubitably noticed his mood by now, or maybe the lack of response gave it away.

He supposes he hasn’t. Neither to Bandit nor to Lion, actually, not even when the topic had strayed to Claire and Alexis. “There isn’t much to say”, he summarises well over a decade of companionship, eroded and erased slowly by the very thing which tainted it in the first place: time apart. “We fell in and then out of love. She was a remarkable woman. She deserves someone who can keep up with her.”

Lion fidgets a little, avoids eye contact. Montagne’s words might’ve struck a chord but he’s too exhausted, too restless to talk it out. Madeleine’s statement has given him hope that he can leave soon, leave Bandit’s birthplace behind, hopefully to return and make happier memories in the future.

His friend’s next question catches him off guard. “Why did you marry her?”

It’s so much out of character for him to ask that Montagne needs a few seconds to come up with a reply. “I loved her, with all my heart. I expected to spend the rest of my life with her. Why do you -”

“Then why are you saying no to him?”

Montagne stares, shocked. The slight petulant undertone, the hint of defiance, the blunt accusation – Bandit himself could’ve posed the question, and it’s not for the first time Montagne realises how alike the two of them really are. But what leaves him utterly dumbstruck isn’t the implication of Lion approving of a marriage between them, no, it’s the fact that he can’t come up with a reasonable answer.

At least not one which doesn’t sound like an excuse.

He must’ve realised the impact his words have left behind, so Lion swiftly changes topics yet again, allowing for Montagne to recover and respond to a few simple inquiries, but nothing really manages to soften the blow.

~*~

There’s a reason he chose le Roc over more modern, flashier, possibly more efficient alternatives.

When he was younger, he used to hide his height by slouching, felt embarrassed by the fact that he’d stick out due to something he neither chose nor controlled – as a tall, muscular man, he’s perceived as intimidating or, worse, a challenge. He reacted to mentions of his physique with sheepish smiles and laughed it off when people referred to his ability to beat up whomever he liked, portraying it as enviable.

It took him a while until he began seeing his build as an advantage. It took friends confessing they felt safe with him around. Acquaintances appreciating his company during the dark. His soon-to-be wife admiring his drive to put his stature to good use. Ultimately, it influenced first impressions only, a quick glance upwards, but as soon as people heard him speak gently, noticed his aversion to unnecessary violence, be it verbal or otherwise, they forgot about his impressive physique immediately.

Like le Roc, it’s a shield. He utilises his own body to protect others and has subconsciously done so his entire life, be it to separate his little sister from her bullies, friends from aggressors, or even two agitated strangers: he absorbs the blows which to him are no more than light punches whereas they could cause more harm on their intended victims. He’s been likened to a mastiff and their instinctual drive to break up fights by simply standing in the way.

Like le Roc, it’s an asset. And like le Roc, it can get damaged.

What he hadn’t realised is just how much he relies on his body to function exactly the way he needs it to.

His life is his job, they’re irredeemably intertwined, and imagining one without the other is … nigh impossible. His mind struggles to come up with alternatives – helping others is in his essence, but picturing himself working in a nursing home maybe or a school, a community centre, is madness to him. Catou had been very involved in these kinds of projects, volunteered wherever there was a need, and while he saw the good she did, the joy she spread, she had a certain soft touch he simply lacks.

He’s a mountain. He can kill and besiege and protect and recover and rescue, but the thought of being responsible for children not his own, or the well-being of elderly people, terrifies him. A small mistake, a brief distraction could prove fatal. He’s trained for combat.

He needs to recover.

Sometimes, he wakes up and can’t feel his limbs. He hasn’t stood on his own two legs for who knows how long. Movement hurts, lying down hurts, existence hurts. But what hurts most is the prospect of never returning to the work he’s destined for.

No one is allowed to catch a glimpse of his frustration as he feels it’s ungrateful, possibly even malicious. Not only should he be elated over having survived at all, it would also imply he regrets having taken the actions he did, and nothing could be further from the truth. Saving Lion was inevitable; he just wishes he could’ve gotten away with less serious injuries. He wishes so fiercely. Bottling up his anger is destructive and being fully aware of how irrational his behaviour is merely continues the spiral of negativity, yet he’s powerless to change it. The people closest to him are still processing the shock of almost losing him and don’t need the added burden of his dread for his own future.

He wonders whether Bandit is repulsed by him. Aside from his atrophied muscles, he’s lost weight, there are the burns which will likely mark his body for the rest of his life, another ugly scar on one thigh where he’s been stitched up. His skin is discoloured in multiple places and he vividly remembers the way Madeleine winced when she visited him the first time. He already doesn’t consider himself overly attractive, so he must seem frightening. It doesn’t help that Bandit distanced himself the way he did at first – though it was likely the shock affecting him still.

Recently though, his lover has been doing much better. He’s been doing amazing, actually: when Bandit isn’t visiting him, he’s out and about, meeting with friends from the GSG9, eating at exotic restaurants, working out, keeping himself entertained. He keeps messaging Montagne, sending photos of dogs he meets or particularly tasty dishes they need to cook together (or rather attempt to), and every line of text lightens his heart. Bandit even keeps Six and Blitz up to date, informing Doc of Montagne’s condition unprompted, and converses with Madeleine as best he can. Of course, there are bad days sprinkled in now and then, days on which his gaze is endless and unfocused, days on which Bandit is either taciturn or won’t stop talking about unrelated things so Montagne can’t ask him how he’s doing. Recovery isn’t fast or linear, Montagne knows this.

He’s so goddamn proud nonetheless.

And even though seeing Bandit flourish, having watched him pick himself back up and carry on where he left off, witnessing the man he loves with all his heart succeed over this void in his chest once again causes Montagne’s chest to swell in pride and adoration, there’s a bitter note to it. An out-of-tune note, a scratchy, unpleasant one. Because Montagne believes he knows the reason for Bandit’s sudden motivation to improve his existence. And it’s not for its own sake, not for Bandit’s own benefit alone.

Montagne remembers stewing in his own thoughts, fighting the urge to call himself useless, agonising over what might become of him, and there’s no way Bandit didn’t catch him wiping his face when he burst into the room that one day a while back. He must’ve noticed how red Montagne’s eyes were, unusually red. He must’ve realised how fucking weak Montagne is. And probably decided it was his turn to take care of his love.

The next day, Bandit announced having joined a local gym for the time being, as well as his intention to watch a film by himself later. It can’t be a coincidence.

There’s nothing worse for Montagne than being a burden.

~*~

Bandit’s energy is enviable. It seems he’s attempted to prepare for every scenario imaginable: he’s washed all of Montagne’s clothes, bought a variety of snacks and pastries, piled magazines on the bedside table, purchased all kinds of toiletries and remedies including a remarkably well-stocked first aid kit, arranged lush-looking fruits on the small desk of their hotel room, and even produces ear plugs and a sleeping mask the moment Montagne mentions feeling vaguely tired.

It’s hard not to get swept up in the atmosphere his lover creates, especially when his own chest seems unusually light compared to the weeks prior – he’s elated to be discharged from the hospital, even if all kinds of other worries creep up on him during moments of quiet. Being able to return home is a wish he harboured without realising: he thought all he needed was distance from the very place that so consciously reminds him of his own frailty, but it turns out privacy and a new environment don’t suffice, not even close. Sharing a space with Bandit and Bandit only is an immense improvement, yet he longs to sleep in his own bed, feel like he belongs instead of being a perpetual guest. Still, he’s grateful for the spacious hotel room, some peace and quiet, and the assurance that no one is going to randomly check up on him anymore.

Except for Bandit, of course.

Maybe it was Madeleine’s comment which inspired him, or maybe he hadn’t realised how much he’d recuperated already, but once his sister had bidden farewell, his condition improved fast. It culminated two days ago, when Bandit entered his room to find him awkwardly holding on to the bed frame but standing, fully upright with no outside help, due to his own strength. He half expected to be scolded, though his weakness must’ve taken its toll on Bandit as well because all he did was burst into tears from happiness.

Montagne very nearly joined in.

Six arranged a flight directly once she received the message, paid for a wheelchair without batting an eye and ordered him to take it easy nonetheless. His leg will take a while to heal and the broken ribs forbid the use of crutches, so Montagne dutifully agreed and thought he could hear her smiling over the phone. He missed her curt, professional yet caring attitude, and it seemed she’d be glad to see him again as well.

All of which is why he’s allowed to spend his last night in Germany’s capital in the very same hotel room he occupied before it all fell apart. The life before tastes like honey, sweet and much too rich, thick in his throat and welding his mouth shut: how much he took his health for granted baffles him. How careless he was. How ungrateful. He longs to get back to lazy evenings with an oversized cat purring on his chest, to the chaos of messing up yet another recipe, their light-hearted bickering, not a care in the world. He’s desperate to return to it, without that creeping feeling of guilt over turning Bandit down for a mixture of sentimental, inadequate reasons he can’t even explain to himself. He lacks the words to express why the image of swapping rings or – heaven forbid – inviting his entire family to a big ceremony fills him with nothing but dread when instead he should be exuberant. Flattered, maybe.

“Do you want to shower?”

Bandit reminds him of a puppy, easily distractible and well-meaning, radiating pent-up energy. Montagne regrets having to refuse him anything. “No, I’d rather just read a bit and sleep. I can shower at home tomorrow.”

His lover very nearly pouts. “Are you saying I have to find another excuse to touch you all over?”

Montagne’s chuckle almost gets stuck in his throat. He’s not ready yet and has been racking his brain for reasons why they can’t sleep in the same bed, or why he won’t be able to undress at any point. He’ll have to deal with this eventually, but his foolish mind has convinced him he’ll be able to postpone it indefinitely if only he manages to use his injuries as a pretext.

If he wasn’t so fucking terrified, he’d call himself childish.

There’s no doubt Bandit has made an effort to tidy up the room, yet there are unmistakeable traces of his prolonged stay everywhere – the overflowing suitcase, tissues poking out from under furniture, too many cables for too many electronic devices carelessly strewn about. Housekeeping probably gave up after two weeks and resigned to only vacuum wherever possible and change the bedsheets, and the thought of exasperated staff dealing with the stubborn git he missed like hell makes him smile. He’s heard stories from various nurses and highly enjoyed Bandit’s redemption arc of starting out as a nightmare and turning into the highlight of their days. If he saw correctly, Bandit even bought them flowers. He must be very proud of his newly discovered move to weaken grudges.

“Wanna get on the bed?”, Bandit interrupts his thoughts a little too casually, so Montagne eyes him with suspicion.

“Do you want me to get on the bed?”

His better half purses his lips, probably considering whether it’s worth pretending like he has no idea what Montagne means (and oh, he hasn’t even considered this prospect, they’ll be finally alone and undisturbed, and despite his aversion to show any part of his skin, his body expresses some interest in the scenario) – but Bandit still manages to surprise him by muttering, almost embarrassed: “I just really want to cuddle right now.”

It’s disarmingly adorable, and Montagne’s heart melts. “Let’s do it, then”, he agrees. There’s some awkwardness in manoeuvring him out of the wheelchair and onto the much-too-soft mattress, but Bandit is stronger than he looks and able to provide enough support. As soon as Montagne sinks into the plushy pillows and Bandit presses himself against his side, all tension suddenly vanishes: his muscles relax, his thoughts calm down, his skin stops prickling. He hadn’t been aware how much he missed simple contact like this, the heat of another body against his own, the blissful feeling of being safe, being home, being loved.

This tiny bubble of everyday life suffices to soothe his cracked soul. He wishes he could wrap around Bandit fully, envelop him whole, drag him onto his chest, pull him into his arms – even offering his shoulder for Bandit’s head to rest on would help with his burning desire to be as close to him as possible, but for the moment he can’t. Not without considerable pain. Still, Bandit’s hand has slid into his, their fingers interlaced, and a gentle, regular breath caresses his cheek. Now and then, Bandit nuzzles him, presses a kiss to his cheek, sighs in contentment. They could stay like this for eternity.

And yet, Montagne’s guilt prohibits him from letting go completely. He has rejected this man. Refused to accept him into his life fully.

“If you wanna watch something, I pirated eleven films we haven’t seen”, Bandit murmurs against his jaw and makes him chuckle.

“I remember the hotel’s internet being unreliable. Don’t tell me you used public Wi-Fi? Mark would be horrified.”

“Yeah sure, I just sat down in the nearest McDonald’s and downloaded a hundred gigs of illegal stuff.” Bandit’s grin is boyish and attractive and so cute Montagne just wants to burn the image into his brain. “Better, actually – I asked one of the boys to do it. So we conspired together.”

“Are you going to miss them?”

Bandit thinks about it and eventually shrugs his shoulders. “Sure. It was nice seeing them again. But I think I miss everyone at Rainbow more. I haven’t been apart from everyone this long… ever, I think. Since I joined.” There’s more on his mind, Montagne can tell, so he waits and peeks down at the dirty blonde hair, the wild beard. Apparently Bandit decided shaving was too much of a hassle, so he gave up on it completely for the time being – and Montagne wholeheartedly understands. If he could grow one, he definitely wouldn’t be running around with naked cheeks.

After a while, Bandit adds, quietly: “I did visit Cedrick.”

Montagne wants to smack himself. How could he forget that Bandit’s twin still lives in Berlin? And while he’s proud of Bandit for taking the initiative and seeing him of his own accord, Montagne feels that he himself could’ve raised the possibility sooner. He knows they’re close, as close as any family member could ever hope to be with someone as fickle as Bandit, and he probably would’ve done wonders for Bandit’s psyche. “How is he? How is his family?”

“Good. They’re good. Gave me too much food, as usual. His wife got a promotion recently and the boys are doing great in school. They want to go to university later, imagine that. The first Brunsmeiers to go to uni.” Bandit glances up at him. “I also told them about you.”

There it is. He must’ve been dying to tell Montagne, judging by his pink cheeks and nervous fidgeting, and his demeanour as much as his words conjure up a bright smile on Montagne’s face. They had an unspoken agreement, an implied promise that they wouldn’t tell their families until they’re ready, which meant until Bandit was ready – coming out to friends was a big step, coming out to Rainbow a massive hurdle, and coming out to his family must’ve been a mountain to climb. His comfort zone has been steadily expanding, yet actions like these still turn Bandit into a skittish cat sometimes.

For someone with commitment issues like this, it’s incredible that Bandit decided for them to get married.

“Dom, mon amour, I am so proud of you.” He kisses Bandit’s temple and smiles even wider at his desperately dismissive mumbled reply of ‘’s nothing’. “That is wonderful news. How did they react?”

“Well, they wanted to meet you immediately.”

Yet they didn’t. Montagne’s smile fades a little. Did Bandit not want anyone to see him like this? Best case scenario, he figured that Montagne’s current state simply wouldn’t do him justice, and worst case… Would he be ashamed of him?

“But obviously, that didn’t work out, so I told them -”

“Why didn’t it?”

He must’ve noticed something, maybe an odd expression, because he reassures him instantly: “My love, I saw them yesterday evening. You’ll meet them soon enough, trust me. They were very supportive, in any case. I think Ced is just glad to know there’s at least one person out there who can tame me.” Bandit’s hand brushes over Montagne’s belly, toying with the hem of his shirt, and he puts his own over it.

Maybe he’s being dramatic. Thinking about it, his recent thought spirals followed a similar pattern to the dangerous ones Bandit entertains much too often, the ones Montagne has been trying to interrupt whenever he notices them. Except that Bandit can’t read minds as of yet and probably has no idea what’s going on with him, and how should he. Montagne hasn’t said a word. They haven’t mentioned their brief engagement, or whatever the fuck was going on for a bit, at all.

Maybe when Montagne said that he was worried about losing Bandit, he didn’t just mean Bandit’s own withdrawal from their relationship.

“I don’t like that you see me like this.”

Bandit reacts not, doesn’t glance upwards, but there’s a tightening of his half-embrace. He’s listening.

“I can’t stand it, in fact. I feel useless and powerless and I can tell it weighs you down as well.” Once he’s started speaking, the words nearly tumble out of his mouth by themselves, one by one does the truth finally spill over. “I’m sorry. You’re trying so hard, mon cœur, I know you’re trying so hard to be strong for me, and I love you for it, but… I don’t want this. I don’t want to be like this. I should be the one there for you.” His heart is heavy, his mind darkened and his eyes burning, threatening tears as evidence of his own fragility. Rarely do his emotions get the better of him yet his self-control is raw and worn out from too much use without a chance to replenish. “I know I should be grateful I survived, but I feel like an annoyance. I don’t even know if I can go back to Rainbow, I don’t know whether I’ll fully heal and I hate it.”

Before he can feel guilty for loading even more onto Bandit’s shoulders, his love cradles his head in surprisingly warm hands, whispers his name and puts their foreheads together. “It’s okay”, Bandit mutters, even though both of them know it isn’t, “Gilles, stop. It’s okay. Listen to me.”

Montagne expects platitudes and white lies, misplaced optimism, a few phrases people throw out and pat themselves on the back for consoling someone, but instead, Bandit says: “Look. All of this fucking sucks.”

Well. It sure does. Montagne frowns.

“I’ve been in the hospital before, I was injured pretty badly and felt less worthy than a sack of potatoes, believe me. I was hardly myself, I couldn’t sleep, the constant pain was horrendous and on top of that, all the pretty nurses were talking smack -”

This startles a small huff of amusement out of him and effectively interrupts his intrusive thoughts. “Aren’t you supposed to make me feel better?”

“- I’m getting to that part. But you probably know how degrading it is when you can’t even piss by yourself, right? That’s the fucking worst. You’re like a baby, and you definitely feel just as stupid. It was one of the worst months of my entire life. But you know what? I got better.”

Ah. There we go. Montagne’s mouth goes thin.

“No, I know what you’re thinking: empty promises. You don’t understand how true it is, though. I’ve been rock bottom a few times, but it gets better. You’ve been there for it, so you know what I mean. And don’t even think for a second that each rock bottom was the same level, no, there were times when everything seemed hopeless, but honestly? Each time, it got a little easier to get back out. To get out and get to a better level than before. My parents…” He catches himself and shakes his head a little. “I don’t wanna keep talking about me right now.”

Montagne nudges him. “Please do. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

A deep breath later, Bandit continues: “My parents valued independence highly, so Ced and I were encouraged to help ourselves, which I suppose is a good thing. But it also taught us to not rely on anybody else. To not expect any safety nets: you fall, that’s it. Convincing yourself it’s worthwhile to go on after you’ve fallen was hard. I felt like I failed at life, and for a bit, giving up was the better alternative. But I did have a safety net after all: Ced did his part, a few friends did, my boss, too. So it worked out.”

“But you got worse again”, Montagne mutters.

“Yes. I got worse. Still, by then I knew not only that it was possible to get back out, but also that others would help. Miles away from asking for help, mind you, but with more hope. I kept learning. And…” Despite his reluctance to go on, Montagne remains quiet and waits. Some part of him realises it’s something Bandit has to say. “And… as horrible as that sounds, as much as I don’t even want to imagine it… I think I’m at the point where I could go on without you. If you didn’t – didn’t make it, for example, I could… I think I could. The beginning would be the absolute fucking worst, no doubt, but I’d find something to – to make it worth it. To continue.”

Wordlessly, Montagne drags him into a bear hug. Presses their bodies even tighter together, ignoring the stabs of pain in his side, ignoring all his muscles protesting, ignoring the uncomfortable weight against his injured ribcage. He just needs this man like air all of a sudden, and it seems impossible to him how he could’ve ever rejected him in anything.

He knows exactly what Bandit means. It might be put in a morbid way, but he’s trying to express just how much Montagne has helped him. Comparing this version of him with the fragile creature he once warmed in his arms is unthinkable; this Bandit isn’t vulnerable anymore. And though he was hit hard by Montagne’s near-death, he ended up recovering, largely due to his own strength. A few years ago, he would’ve reacted very differently to nearly losing a loved one, that much is certain.

Bandit is clinging to him as well, taking measured breaths against his jaw and hiding his face. “You’re the strongest fucking person I know”, he whispers, voice cracking. “And even if you lost all your limbs or your eyesight or what the fuck ever, you’d still be you. You’d still be as great as you were before. That’s a fact, you dumbass. And if you can’t do Rainbow anymore, you’ll open a stupid dog café in Marseilles or sell Fairtrade products in a corner shop, I don’t bloody know. All I know is that you shouldn’t listen to that irritating voice in your head because it has absolutely no fucking idea what it’s talking about.”

By now, Montagne is chuckling and crying at the same time, overcome by too many emotions to be able to process any of them. It feels like he was allowed a deeper look in Bandit’s workings, like he’s able to understand him a little better. More importantly, he does feel significantly less stupid now that he knows Bandit is familiar with thoughts like these and already opened himself up about them.

“I’m also worried you’d be put off by all my injuries”, he admits after a while of comforting physical contact, feeling much more confident in himself and assured they can actually talk things out.

His better half lifts his head to squint at him in confusion. “Put off…? Like, grossed out? This is nothing, I once had someone in my arms whose guts were – wait, you don’t mean that I’d find you unattractive, do you?”

Montagne eyes his love for a moment, the man whose knees get weak whenever Montagne whispers a single filthy word in his ear, the man who has admitted to having more wet dreams about him than he’d like, the very man who so valiantly held himself back until Montagne allowed him to let loose, and who has never held back since. The man Montagne missed every lonely second he spent without him over the past weeks. “Well, I’d hope not”, he mutters.

Bandit looks at him like he grew two heads. “Are you serious?”

“The bruises still look quite bad, and all the -”

“Okay, listen. You stop talking. I’m going to kiss every one of your bruises until you’re not sure whether it hurts anymore, and then I’ll make you come so hard you’ll pass out. To hell with waiting, I won’t take this for another second.”

He’s not sure whether he should take it as a threat or a promise, but when Bandit starts pulling Montagne’s clothes off his body, he finds that he has no intention to argue whatsoever. And it’s good to know this part of him still works. “Be careful, mon cœur.”

Dark eyes flick up and are accompanied by a growl: “Can’t promise that.”

And though this one was definitely a threat, all Montagne does is smile. He didn’t even realise how much he missed this.

~*~

Bandit continues to do all the work for them the next morning: he orders room service and serves Montagne breakfast in bed while also shoving everything he finds into their suitcases. No need to separate their clothes or belongings; they’re going to the same destination anyway. They should travel more, take some time off and explore the world together – a notion Montagne hadn’t entertained until now as he was never really tempted to leave France or just Europe in general without good reason, and their missions abroad together with the other operators’ supplemental information used to be sufficient for him. But now, the thought of spending a week in a hotel with no one familiar around him but Bandit, the image of them going on walks while holding hands, pointing out quaint aspects of the place around them… it’s enticing. He vows to bring it up sometime.

Muscles still sore from the previous night, his mind is the opposite: he feels refreshed, optimistic, motivated. Part of the reason is undoubtedly the sex, he can’t deny it – falling asleep with Bandit in his arms, the faint feeling of satisfaction still coursing through his body, it’s as invigorating as the act itself, the knowing, challenging stare as Bandit swallowed -

Well. He shouldn’t dwell on it. They don’t have a lot of time planned between leaving the hotel and the departure of their flight.

But anyway, it’s not just that, it’s also the conversations before and after. The way Bandit made him realise what exactly is important, that he can rely on his lover without a guilty conscience. He kept repeating how beautiful Montagne was, even during, and though it caused him to blush in considerable embarrassment, he certainly feels less self-conscious now. There wasn’t a single second in which Bandit’s assurance wavered, no moment where he showed doubt. He meant what he said.

And, thinking about it, it would be the same for Montagne. He wouldn’t care about Bandit’s physical state. He’d still love him unconditionally.

Then why are you saying no to him?

It’s different, Montagne wants to argue in his head. But is it? He’s known Bandit for longer than he did Catou when he proposed to her. They were at a different point in life then, not entirely sure about their careers (well, she wasn’t), uncertain about their future (and children is still a sore spot he refuses to entertain), really too young to make such a momentous decision. He’s been living together with Bandit for long enough to assess how well they work together. How well they fit.

No. It’s not any different in his heart. Where it’s different is his head: he’s twice shy, irrationally worried about getting hurt. And consequently hurts Bandit instead. Bandit has openly declared his wish to make their undying love and loyalty official, whereas Montagne punishes him for a crime he didn’t commit. A crime which was nobody’s fault, in the end.

Watching Bandit tear through the room and toss most of what they own into the nearest suitcase, Montagne notices how there’s one object Bandit hasn’t touched. Montagne’s passport. And he probably never will again, without explicit approval. He made a mistake, apologised and learnt from it.

Now it’s Montagne’s time to do so.

“Dominic”, he says, and instantly all activity halts. Bandit is comically frozen mid-throw, like a deer in headlights. Montagne never calls him by his full first name. “Mon amour.”

“… yes?” He seems unaware of the severity of the situation as of now.

“I would like to change my mind. If it’s still possible.” Montagne extends his hand and, instinctively, Bandit glides over to take it and sit down on the edge of the bed. “I do want to marry you.”

Bandit blinks at him. “Oh”, he says. And then: “Really?”

“Yes. I’ve thought about it, and I realise I’ve been unfair. We don’t have to rehash how… questionable your proposal was, but it made me overlook the most obvious truth: that I do love you above all and want to spend the rest of my life with you. And I do want to make it official that way.”

Bandit still looks dumbstruck, probably overwhelmed from the suddenness of the announcement. “Uh -”

“If it’s alright with you, I’d like us to have rings, too, so I can carry something on me at all times that marks me as yours and the other way round. So yes, mon cœur. My love. I hope your proposal still stands, because I would like to accept it.”

By now, his lover has turned crimson. He’s fidgeting with Montagne’s hand, bending his fingers and generally not knowing what to do with his own, and his embarrassment is terribly endearing – up to the point where he mumbles something Montagne would swear he misheard. “… for the benefits”, Bandit ends, apparently addressing his own feet.

Now it’s Montagne’s turn to blink, uncomprehending. “What was that?”

“I wanted to marry for the benefits”, Bandit repeats, louder, and Montagne’s mind screeches to a halt.

He stares at Bandit, Bandit stares at the ground. “You… what now?”

“Not just – well I mean, also, but definitely not only… you know, financial, because I think there is…” Bandit’s tongue seems to be disobeying him. “But, mostly because…”

“What on earth are you saying, Dom?”

“I wasn’t allowed to visit you.”

The shoe drops.

Boy, does the shoe drop. This explains so much. Montagne blanks for a second before his brain retroactively feeds him bits and pieces of information which now neatly fall into place, now that he’s been handed the solution on a silver platter. In his delirium, he never questioned why Madeleine was the only one coming to visit him – hell, even his parents did – instead of Bandit as well; he did hear about a fight between Bandit and Lion and probably, in his feverish mind, figured that Bandit was banned because of this and couldn’t visit him as a result. But never, not for a moment, did he consider the option that they simply turned Bandit away because he was no more than a stranger to them, no official connection between them.

No wonder Bandit went stir-crazy, no wonder his mind snapped and convinced him faking official documents was a reasonable long-term solution, no wonder he announced their wedding so casually without ever officially proposing. It was never meant to be a step forward for them as a couple, was never meant as any kind of declaration – it was meant as a preventative method in case they ever find themselves in a similar situation.

No wonder Bandit is thoroughly embarrassed by Montagne’s acceptance speech.

If there even was any left, all of his residual anger vanishes upon this revelation. He’s not even dismayed about Bandit’s motives: had he, at any point really, explained himself, Montagne might’ve actually agreed with him – because while a marriage means something much more sentimental and symbolic to Montagne, he understands Bandit’s viewpoint as well, especially under the circumstances.

Bandit is still avoiding his gaze, so he lifts his lover’s hand and kisses its palm until he has his full attention. “We’ve become victims of a grave misunderstanding”, Montagne states, a smile playing on his lips. “I understand now. Still, my point stands: I would like to be married to you, for the reasons I stated, and also for the reasons you had in mind. But I’d like you to think about it, because we obviously have different approaches and I want to be sure our expectations match.”

And this is the moment burning eyes meet his, framed in an expression so open and vulnerable that Montagne has no doubt about the authenticity of Bandit’s next words: “I don’t need to think about it.”

Montagne’s heart doubles in size. His composure, his tension, all of it melts instantly, replaced by a heady rush of pure serotonin as he realises just how right this decision feels. Inevitable, almost, like this has been their destination all along without either of them being aware, but now they’re here; exactly where they belong. All their time together has led up to this, the difficult conversations they had, the obstacles they overcame, all the beautiful little moments which were wholly theirs. It’s incredible to him how far they’ve progressed, from near-strangers who barely exchanged a word to lovers so intimate they’ll spend the rest of their lives together.

It’s not about the proposal itself, not about the wedding or even the marriage after – Montagne himself knows best that a marriage is no guarantee for happiness; instead, it’s something deeper, significant only to them. A promise to each other, a promise to take care of each other, to stay loyal and supportive, to listen and talk to each other. Ultimately, it’s extremely private, yet they might decide to share it with the world regardless.

“Come here”, he pleads and kisses Bandit, half drags him onto himself and pushes his hands under Bandit’s shirt – no, his own shirt, he notices, the one Bandit slept in. A shirt he brought Montagne to wear in hospital and a shirt he took back to wash it, but it seems he didn’t get around to doing so. Instead he just wore it. “I love you so much”, Montagne whispers against scratchy beard hair, and of course that moment someone knocks on their door.

They look at each other and simultaneously roll their eyes. Lion has terrible timing.

“We don’t have much time left!”, the other Frenchman announces from the other side of the door. “So whatever it is you’re doing, you better -” He stops once Bandit yanks open the door with an annoyed scowl.

“We were actually getting ready”, Montagne lies smoothly and can’t help his beaming expression. The same glowing, fluttery feeling which has settled in his stomach is tugging on the corners of his lips, forcing him to grin.

Lion raises a sceptical brow. “Seems like you kissed and made up then.”

“And out”, Bandit provides helpfully. “Don’t stand around, get this luggage downstairs, I’ll take care of Gilles.”

“That better not be a euphemism”, Lion scoffs, but Montagne catches him fighting a smile himself.

Maybe the two of them are contagious. It would certainly make for a more pleasant flight.

~*~

By the time they’re back in England, Lion is thoroughly done with their shit.

The entire jouney, Bandit fawned over Montagne and tended to his every wish – uttered or not –, all of this done on top of all the accommodations he’d booked in advance. They spent a relaxed hour in the airport lounge, sipping on overpriced drinks and listening to the bustling around them, and even flew first class despite the shortness of the flight. Not even the screaming baby that performed the entire duration as if it was having its debut on the big stage was able to put a damper on Montagne’s or Bandit’s mood, and part of him understands Lion’s irritated response to their admittedly disgusting lovey-dovey aura.

His friend started out being cordial and visibly swallowing various remarks, progressed to thin-lipped, high-browed and disapproving, and ended with eye rolls and audible sighs. Every affectionate nickname worsened his mood, every public display like kisses or interlacing their fingers prompted a judging glance, and every soft-spoken sentence had him check his phone for the time.

Montagne has no space in his fully-occupied heart to feel any sort of guilt, especially because he suspects Lion is largely doing it for Bandit’s benefit as the German seems to relish the reactions he provokes. He is very smug.

His suspicions are apparently confirmed when he’s alone with Lion for a minute while Bandit bodychecks his way through an unmoving and uncaring crowd blocking the baggage claim. “Seems like you came to an agreement after all”, Lion states neutrally.

“We did. And if I’m honest, something you said helped with my decision.” Lion only nods, like he expected it. Curious. “Don’t tell me you’ve come to like him? If so, I won’t need a wedding present from you because that’s all I could wish for.”

“Let’s not go that far”, comes the hasty response and Montagne chuckles.

“Then why?”

A one-sided shrug. “I think everyone deserves a second chance.”

They share no more than a significant look before Bandit returns, masking his annoyance with overdone cheeriness, and so his statement remains unexplained. Whether he finally noticed the mirrored qualities he and Bandit share, whether he’s referring to Montagne’s first marriage, or whether he’s implying that he might meet Bandit with a different attitude in the future, Montagne doesn’t know. Still, the assertion resonates with him.

Seeing the oh so familiar landscape rush past the window on the last leg back to Hereford evokes an odd kind of nostalgia in Montagne. The view is one he’s always enjoyed, it marked the end of a difficult mission, the return to normalcy in a way – because his life at Rainbow has become the new normal for him, his everyday life, the foundation for his daily routine. The company of his colleagues is dear to him, as is the work itself, and as gruelling their training schedule is, he sleeps better when his muscles are sore and his head heavy.

Knowing he won’t be able to go back to this life for the foreseeable future causes a bittersweet feeling in his stomach. He will still participate, no doubt, will be included in briefings and kept up to date, will confer with teammates, offer advice. So it’s not like he’ll be isolated or exiled. But the knowledge of being incapable of doing what he’s used to stings a little.

Even so, his mind is focused on another matter. There are many more obstacles to overcome in the future concerning their engagement, starting with their respective families (though he’s under the suspicion Madeleine has realised something is up, even if she might not be aware of the severity of the situation) and ending with important decisions on how to hold their wedding party – but the most valuable aspect is that they’ll be doing it together.

Although he’s not so sure whether Bandit is ready for some of it.

“Take it to your grave or I’ll haunt your son when I’m dead.”

Lion seems largely amused by the threat, patiently waiting in front of the main entrance to Rainbow’s headquarters for Bandit to open the door. “One of his friends is a flat-earther, so he’s faced worse.”

Montagne snorts and Bandit nearly slams into the doors from scowling back at the other Frenchman. “Seriously though. This is just between us for now, alright? Even I haven’t told anyone, and neither has Gilles. Right, my love?”

“I’d like to point out that you were the one who told Olivier about your ‘proposal’ in the first place, mon cœur. Drunkenly, if I remember correctly.”

“Does that mean I can’t even tell Gustave?” Lion seems intent on making Bandit faceplant after all – he’s got the easy job of pushing Montagne around whereas Bandit is tasked with the much more difficult assignment of holding doors open for them on the way to their canteen. “I would love to see his face.”

“No. Nobody. Especially not in Rainbow.”

“What about Père Bertrand?”

“Absolutely not. Who knows whether he’s a snitch.”

“Who would he snitch to? God?”

“Look. I don’t know why this is so hard for you.” Bandit’s voice is rising in agitation as he shoulders open the last door, back turned to the room behind him, eyes fixed on Lion. “Just don’t. Tell. Anyone. Okay? No one needs to know. No one! This is just between us.”

Montagne’s composure is crumbling. Wordlessly, he indicates the entirety of the canteen with a vague gesture, trying his best to hold back a hearty laugh.

In response, Bandit whirls around with a wild expression, only to be faced with an entire room decked out with the gaudiest decorations in pink and white, plus literally all of the other operators arranged along the wall, holding confetti cannons or glasses of champagne, wearing party hats and utterly aghast expressions, and above them, floating below the ceiling, are gold balloons spelling out E N G A G E D.

The awkward silence is palpable.

The champagne bottle in Blitz’ hand pops with a startlingly loud noise, making everyone jump and almost taking out Twitch’s eye in the process, and Lion just starts roaring with laughter, holding on to the wheelchair as to not lose his balance.

“Welcome back, Gilles”, Doc offers and lifts his glass for a toast, and that finally breaks the spell. Everyone rushes at them, congratulating them and greeting Montagne after his long absence, Rook with tears in his eyes and Jackal with an encouraging smile, there are too many faces and too many well-wishes to identify them all. Their gesture is heartwarming, and though Bandit stands in the middle of the crowd, hiding his bright red face with one hand (and repeating that no, he is not taking questions right now), he’s far from fighting the many hugs he receives. When Sledge takes him into his arms, there’s audible bone cracking and joint popping, and Montagne is suddenly glad to be confined to the wheelchair.

Maybe their reveal didn’t go quite as planned, but the support they’re receiving is invigorating. Montagne might’ve preferred a small wedding prior to this, yet being confronted with hard evidence of how much all these people care for them is beginning to change his mind.

He will talk about it with Bandit, later. For now he has a party to attend.

#rainbow six siege #montagne #bandit #montagne/bandit #lion #fanfic #protection mountain #I'm personally very happy with how all this is concluded #thank you to the one person who started all this you know who you are #thank you also to suzie for keeping this ship alive all this time #thank you all #💗💗💗#ALSO #CAN YOU GUESS WHO'S THE SNITCH?

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pumpkinpaix · 4 years

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HI! I'm new to the MDZS fandom and I fell in love with Suibian, but you don't see it that much. I seen somewhere that it would burn out a weaker core and I cried cause I wanted to see that, and as far as I know it doesn't happen anywhere. I'm wondering if you could tell me anything and everything you know about Suibian. I'm starving for anything about it

hi anon! ahahah, it’s always a dangerous thing to ask me about “anything and everything” on a topic because I usually have too many thoughts, most of which are unorganized. but! if you’re interested in that, then here we go!

First, re: your comment about Suibian burning out a weaker core: I am not aware of this theory (or is it something from an interview?? if someone knows, please say so!), but if it brings you joy, then it’s certainly an interesting one to consider! Unfortunately, I don’t have much more to say on it because I’m unfamiliar with it, but I do have quite a lot to say on some other Suibian concepts!

ask and ye shall receive (a very jumbled heap of thoughts as i spiral further and further out of control):

[all rough translations are mine, and thus all mistakes are mine. I am using the version of the novel that is available on luoxia because I can’t be bothered to go flipping through my print edition ahaha.]

the questions about Suibian that interest me the most are why it sealed, when it sealed, when Wei Wuxian began to wield it again, and what that might all mean. I’m going to be talking about novel, CQL, and audio drama canon all together, because I think looking at each canon alone and in combination can raise a lot of very different points!! (I have not watched the donghua or read the manhua yet, so forgive me, I have nothing to say about them. /o\)

So! the one piece of information that we’re given consistently throughout all three of the canons is that Suibian was sealed after Wei Wuxian’s death and that no one but Wei Wuxian himself (and Jiang Cheng, by proxy) could draw it from its sheathe. Thus, Wei Wuxian’s identity is revealed and the golden core swap comes to light. Wei Wuxian is surprised by this, and asks Lan Wangji, “Did it really seal itself?” (novel, chapter 63; CQL, ep 42; audio drama, S2E15).

The novel and audio drama both include a line from Wei Wuxian that emphasizes Wei Wuxian’s surprise, implying that sword-sealing is very uncommon:

万中无一的大好事竟然让我给撞上了

Something incredible that happens less than once per ten thousand times, and I actually encountered it.

the irony, of course, is that this incredible thing is what ended up blowing his cover. rip Wei Wuxian.

but what I think gets really interesting is comparing different points at which Suibian sealed itself and what that might imply in conjunction with other information. Jin Guangyao says “shortly after” his death, but CQL includes a scene in episode 19 that implies that Suibian actually sealed itself much earlier.

[ID: Gif from episode 19 of the untamed drama. Lan Wangji attempts to draw Suibian after he and Jiang Cheng storm the Nightless City and retrieve their swords. He cannot pull it from the sheathe. /end ID]

(in case anyone is curious, it’s about 30 minutes in. I spent the effort to make the gif, so I might as well give you the timestamp lol)

this scene takes place during the period of time when Wei Wuxian is in the Mass Graves (aka the Burial Mounds) after Wen Chao cast him down and left him for dead, right near the beginning of Sunshot. I’m fairly certain it’s not mentioned in either the novel or the audio drama, so this is a CQL-only detail. (please correct me if I’m wrong; I get my canons muddled all the time //hides face)

CQL basically does nothing narratively with this scene other than giving us some sad shots of Lan Wangji and Jiang Cheng (honestly, valid ;A;) but!! if we decide to accept this scene as our jumping off point, we can get to some interpretations about Wei Wuxian using information from the other canons!

take this exchange from chapter 57 of the novel (immediately prior to the massacre at lotus cove):

江澄道：“还不是又为咱们的剑的事去温家了。一想到我的三毒现在说不定被哪只温狗握在手里，真是……”

他面露嫌恶之色，魏无羡道：“可惜咱们的剑还不够灵，要是能自动封剑，那就谁也别想用了。”

江澄道：“你再修炼个八十年，说不定可以。”

Jiang Cheng said, “He’s gone to the Wen sect regarding our swords again, hasn’t he. Whenever I think that my Sandu might even now be in some Wen-dog’s hands, ugh…”

His face filled with loathing, Wei Wuxian said, “What a pity our swords don’t have enough spirit. If they could seal themselves, then no one could even think about using them.”

Jiang Cheng said, “If you kept cultivating for another eighty years, maybe.”

from the novel, it seems clear that sword-sealing is something that only happens when a person’s cultivation level is exceptionally high. if this is true, and we go with the CQL timeline of Suibian sealing itself long before Wei Wuxian’s death, it means that Wei Wuxian’s cultivation level wasn’t just high, it was leagues above pretty much anyone else when he was still a teenager. (In fact, Suibian had most likely already sealed by the time this conversation takes place.)

If we don’t go with CQL’s timeline, however, I think we could make a very different argument. It’s a bit of a reach, but I think it’s a lot of fun, if you’re willing to come with me on this journey!

Jin Guangyao says Suibian sealed itself “shortly after” Wei Wuxian’s death, but we don’t really have external confirmation of that. For all we know, someone only bothered to test it sometime after his death, and Suibian had been sealed for some indefinite amount of time. All we can say for sure is that by some point shortly after Wei Wuxian’s death, Suibian was already sealed and resisted being drawn by anyone who tried it.

We’re told over and over that one can only wield a spiritual sword effectively if you have a golden core/the spiritual energy to match it. Wei Wuxian stops carrying/using Suibian because he knows that in his hands, it will act as nothing more than an ordinary sword. His method of cultivation is no longer suitable for the sword. Suibian is tied to both Wei Wuxian’s soul and his golden core.

If sword-sealing only happens when the cultivator’s level is unbelievably high, then I think we can make the argument here that by the time of his death, Wei Wuxian’s core was likewise unbelievably strong – but Wei Wuxian is no longer the one developing his core. Jiang Cheng is.

I know it’s a ridiculous reach. To be clear, I don’t think the text actually intends this or supports this in any meaningful way, but I do think that it gives us some very tasty potential!! If Suibian sealed itself sometime after the core transfer (which, honestly, we wouldn’t know – after all, who’s been trying to draw Wei Wuxian’s sword?), but just if, I think we can plausibly make the argument that Jiang Cheng’s cultivation is truly extraordinary.

:DDDDDDDD

It’s fun right?? It’s a fun concept!!! Even if it’s nonsense, even if it’s not that deep, even if this was an unintentional coincidence, I think it would be interesting to look at this as being some kind of measure of Jiang Cheng’s accomplishments. On the flip side, I also think it’s very important thematically that Jiang Cheng’s value as a person has nothing to do with his cultivation, that he is, in fact, always second-best, but that doesn’t make him any less worthwhile or deserving of love. Maybe I’m just projecting lmao. Of course, being extraordinary doesn’t preclude him from still lagging behind Wei Wuxian–Wei Wuxian might have just been more extraordinary ahahah. We can have both!!

Now for a totally different thing! Interestingly, this conversation about cultivation levels and sword-sealing (the one with Jiang Cheng) also happens in the audio drama, S2E12 (about 15 minutes in, since I just checked), but Wei Wuxian adds an additional comment:

(don’t have the transcription of the original chinese, I’m just going to translate it as I hear it)

“But maybe you don’t need to cultivate to a certain level to have your sword seal itself. What if there were some other way?”

these two versions of the conversation actually imply pretty different things, I think! this addition opens the possibility to the audience that sword-sealing is possible even without an extraordinary level of cultivation, and I think lends credence to the idea that Suibian is just an unusually loyal sword, regardless of Wei Wuxian’s cultivation level. Whether that’s something inherent to Suibian’s “personality”, or whether this says something about how Wei Wuxian inspires loyalty wherever he goes, or whether it just speaks to the strength of their bond remains to be seen.

(obviously, this could imply any number of other things as well, but I find this to be the interpretation that makes me happiest.)

If we go with “Suibian seals itself after Wei Wuxian’s death” in this canon, I think this emphasizes the loyalty aspect with a touch of grief.

If we combine this with CQL and have “Suibian has been loyal since he was a teenager”, that also emphasizes the loyalty aspect – just in a different way.

Of course, doing meta combining unique details from different canons is largely pointless in terms of crafting any real “analysis”, so I’m mostly saying all of this because I enjoy the process of building the supercanon in my head that brings me the most joy! To summarize the varied interpretations I’ve brought up in this post:

CQL-only: Suibian sealed itself when Wei Wuxian was a teenager, at latest, by the time he was thrown into the Mass Graves.

Novel-only: Sword-sealing is very rare and achievable only through extraordinarily high cultivation. Shortly after Wei Wuxian’s death, Suibian is discovered to have sealed itself, so Wei Wuxian’s core, by the time of his death, was extraordinarily powerful.

Audio drama-only: Sword-sealing is considered very rare and achievable only through extraordinarily high cultivation, but might also be accomplished by other methods. Shortly after Wei Wuxian’s death, Suibian is discovered to have sealed itself. If Wei Wuxian’s core is not wildly and improbably powerful, this implies that Suibian has become an exceptionally loyal sword by the time of his death.

CQL/novel: Wei Wuxian was already incredibly powerful by the time he was a teenager.

CQL/audio drama: Suibian has been exceptionally loyal to Wei Wuxian since at least his teenage years.

Novel and audio drama-only have a much wider range of when Suibian could have sealed itself, as mentioned, so there are further variances within those interpretations.

there’s a lot of potential here!! with my personal feelings regarding the story, I like novel-only with Suibian sealing post-core transfer, audio drama-only with Suibian sealing post-Wei Wuxian’s death, or CQL/audio drama with Suibian sealing as a teenager pretty much all equally. I think the CQL/novel interpretation gets too close to casting Wei Wuxian as a hyper-special and innately noble individual in a way that undercuts the strength of his character arc, but that’s my opinion. (As an aside, this is actually one of my major complaints about CQL in general, independent from what I’m talking about here. But that is a topic for another day ahahaha. To be clear, I still love CQL very much, despite my many frustrations!)

As for what I think is the most “likely” to be the “right” interpretation (whatever that’s worth), I would probably say the one that emphasizes Suibian’s loyalty with Suibian sealing post-death, because I think it’s the most thematically cohesive and has the textual support to back it. (I think it’s a valid interpretation even using novel-only text; it’s just slightly less explicit without the additional comment from Wei Wuxian.)

A final detail:

We don’t get anything from either CQL or the novel that explicitly addresses when/if Wei Wuxian is able to wield Suibian again, but the audio drama’s rendition of the “Yunmeng” extra very subtly indicates that by the time that extra takes place, Wei Wuxian has cultivated a golden core and is carrying his sword once more. You only get it at a couple of moments, but Suibian sometimes clinks when Wei Wuxian moves or when he bumps into something. The two instances I can remember specifically are when Lan Wangji tosses the ring onto him (the ring hits Suibian), and when he’s rowing the little boat onto the lotus pond and the motion makes a sound. It’s!!! Extremely good!!! It makes my heart very full!!!!!

ANYWAYS, if all of my scattered rambling didn’t fill the Suibian-shaped hole in your heart, I would also like to recommend @zeldacw‘s wonderful WangQingSuiChen series of comics, featuring anthropomorphized versions of Wangji guqin, Chenqing, Suibian, and Bichen. I believe the most recent comic is here, and there are links to the rest of the comics in the post. If you just want her general tag for the AU (which is more than just the comics), it’s here!

If you have interest in listening to the audio drama yourself, you can purchase it through the MissEvan app (Mao’er FM). There are buying instructions linked in this post! If you need English subtitles, @suibiansubs is the group that does them. :)

I really can’t recommend the audio drama enough, tbh, it’s really really dear to my heart, and the team clearly worked so hard and cared so deeply for the story they were trying to tell. Consider this my regularly scheduled plug for the audio drama ahaha.

As always, my meta is my meta and if you don’t vibe with it, that’s chill! I change my opinions constantly (I think I changed them like three times in the course of writing this ahahaha), and I know some of my older meta has been making the rounds and every time I see it I think about all the ways my views have shifted since I wrote it rip. For this post moreso than usual, I want to emphasize that pretty much all of the meta included in this is meant to explore intriguing what-if possibilities, not for serious literary analysis purposes. I am aware that a lot of this is reaching/overinterpreting into implications that probably aren’t there. I just think they’re fun to consider!

so this was a mess, but I hope you or someone out there enjoyed it anon!!

(ko-fi, if you’re so moved)

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thornedrose44 · 4 years

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What Would It Take?

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Their friendship was stronger than it had ever been but it was also so, so, so different to what it once was for Kara.

They were open and honest about their day, their fears, their hopes… everything. And with all that came vulnerability, laying yourself bare and exposed.

For Lena, things were probably no different to the last time, she had always been open, had never hidden away parts of herself from Kara Danvers, had been honest about her relationship with Lex and all the positives and negatives that came with that.

But for Kara this was an entirely new experience.

Previously, Kara had kept her walls up and had hidden her defences behind lies and subterfuge. She would empathise with Lena but never reveal shared experiences, would keep her loss and pain close to the chest, would allude but never directly explain. Now, Kara was Kara Zor-El with Lena. There were no shadows to hide in, nor half-formed lies and rushed excuses to duck behind. She was no longer keeping a part of herself hidden away and protected.

When they re-started their friendship it came with the understanding that there would be no more lies or secrets between them. That for their friendship to work it had to be built on honesty at its most fundamental level.

With that agreement in place, over the course of their first few interactions, Kara came to a realisation that broke her.

It was the realisation that this (honesty and openness) was easier for Lena to do than it was for Kara. It was the realisation that Kara didn’t know how to have a relationship without some kind of secret to hide behind; even with Alex there were no-go topics and parts of themselves neither wanted to share. It was the realisation that Lena had time and time again, prior to the reveal, put herself out there thinking Kara was stood by her side, equally exposed and vulnerable.

With that realisation came a whole swathe of emotions.

Guilt.

Shame.

Pain.

Confusion.

But there also came a commitment.

A commitment to meet Lena halfway. To let herself be truly vulnerable with another person. Not just for Lena but for herself.

With that commitment came a strong friendship. A real one. More real than any Kara had ever had before.

Kara no longer filtered her thoughts to hide parts of herself. She spoke her mind and that… that was where the trouble really started.

For a number of reasons.

“Rao, you look beautiful.”

“Your mind is incredible.”

“You’re so graceful and elegant.”

“Lena, you’re just… fantastic, have I told you that recently?”

“I adore your eyes.”

All of those were said in a single day. Scratch that, a two hour period. Games Night to be exact.

Kara hadn’t even known she was doing it, let alone that frequently, until Nia had jumped into the air shouting “Bingo” after Kara had complimented Lena’s hair. Turns out the Superfriends (Kara was thinking of retracting that title) had started a ‘Compliment Bingo’ that they had been playing in secret for the last three months to capitalise on Kara’s tendency to sing Lena’s praises (literally singing Lena’s praises was on Alex and Brainy’s bingo charts and had won them the game at least twice). Nia and Alex had confessed all of this to Kara rather sheepishly after Lena had been pulled back to L-Corp to handle a business crisis following Nia’s ‘bingo’ exclamation.

Bingo-gate probably should have put an end to the compliments but by that point Kara had become somewhat addicted to the pink blush that would dust Lena’s lovely cheeks whenever Kara blurted out a compliment without thinking (having put her filter aside at the restart of their friendship).

See, the thing is… the big realisation at the restart of their friendship wasn’t just about Kara’s sudden self reflection nor her guilt for the earlier handling of her friendship with Lena. They were big parts, huge even, but they weren’t everything. And they weren’t the part that was plaguing Kara now, six months later.

The big realisation, the actual one that had come with having Lena in her life in a full and complete way after being deprived for so long, after thinking that she might never have her back again, never hold her hand, never hug her was…

Love.

Kara loved her.

The big kind of love.

The love Alex had been telling her about over the course of countless sister nights when it came to Maggie and now to Kelly.

The kind of love that meant every time you looked at them you saw something that was just so perfect and wonderful that you can barely keep the words of adoration back (not that Kara even tried to anymore). The kind of love that meant you wanted them safe and cared for.

And despite six months of carefully reconstructed friendship. Six months of coming to grips with the big realisation. Six months of being vulnerable with Lena. Six months of her eyes being open to a new reality where she was in love with her best friend.

Six life-changing months and it never even crossed her mind that Lena could feel the same way about her.

That was until today...

Today, Kara was going food shopping and, since she was also getting snacks for games night later that evening, Lena had offered to come along and help.

It was something that had become standard between them now. Keeping each other company for random chores and daily life excursions. Kara accompanied Lena to the gym to provide the CEO with light conversation and motivation despite not receiving any tangible benefit from the activity (though Kara found the sight of Lena, with a light sheen of sweat, stretching after a workout was a reward beyond anything she could have imagined). Lena, meanwhile, helped Kara with her taxes and happily kept Kara company when she had to sort out her laundry.

Kara had never had a friendship like this before. All of her other friendships (not including Alex) had required that there was some form of entertainment to go alongside every interaction. With Lena, there was no longer that pressure there. Lena would happily work away on her laptop whilst Kara edited her recent article without complaint, in fact, the raven-haired woman seemed to likewise appreciate how at ease they both felt when silent.

Therefore, when Lena offered to come food-shopping with her, Kara didn’t think twice about saying yes.

Kara worried her bottom lip as she looked between the two loaves of bread. One was freshly baked and still slightly warm to the touch. The other was store-branded, squashed on one side and far less appetising but it was a dollar cheaper. Kara let out a regretful sigh, as she put back the warm new loaf and grabbed two of the cheaper variety. Kara headed back to the trolley, tossing in her latest picks before dropping her gaze to scrutinise her scribbled list of items.

“Why didn’t you buy the other one?” Lena asked, breaking the comfortable silence between them.

“Hmm…” Kara hummed, glancing over at the raven haired woman who had an unreadable expression on her face.

“The other loaf of bread.”

“This one’s cheaper.” Kara replied gesturing to the squashed loaves in the trolley.

“Why not get both?” Lena prompted.

“I don’t need both.”

“You may not need that particular loaf but you definitely need more than two.” Lena asserted, moving forward to lean against the side of Kara’s trolley, bringing her into Kara’s space.

Kara barely held back the ‘Rao, your eyes are the purest green’ that flitted through her mind as she struggled to stay focused on the rather bizarre conversation she was having right now. “I only ever buy two.” Kara pointed out.

“Yes but you need more.” Lena insisted, her gaze narrowing.

“I do?” Kara said dumbly, uncertain where Lena’s intensity was coming from.

“Yes!” Lena declared, “With the number of calories you burn through due to your ‘extra-curricular’ activities, you require a far more substantive intake that what you are currently acquiring for yourself.”

“Huh?” Kara blinked, she had definitely been listening but her attention had been only half on what Lena was saying; the other half had been on the way Lena’s long, delicate fingers twisted around the wired bars of the trolley so elegantly.

“Kara…” Lena sighed, her green eyes going soft and melancholic in that particular way that always made Kara’s heart flutter and twist in her chest as if it wanted to reach out itself to soothe the other woman. “The amount of food you have in your trolley and how much you intend to buy are nowhere near enough to cover your daily requirements. If my calculations are correct, you need to be buying out the entire store every other week.”

Kara’s face reddened with embarrassment at the far too accurate assessment causing her to rub the back of her neck nervously.

It was the fact that they had promised to be honest with one another in tandem with the destruction of Kara’s filter when it came to Lena, that resulted in the following words coming out of the blonde’s mouth so easily, “Shockingly enough, not everyone can buy an entire store.”

Kara hadn’t said it to be cruel or to disparage Lena’s own wealthy status. It wasn’t about that.

It was simply an honest statement.

One which revealed far more about Kara’s financial woes than she had ever let anyone find out. Not even Alex knew how Kara struggled to afford the food costs that came with being Supergirl. Alex had never joined the dots that Kara’s increased power usage would require an increased calorie count.

One which Kara frequently struggled to afford.

Lena, however, had already made the connection if the unsurprised look on her face at Kara’s response was anything to go by.

“What would it take for you to let me pay for it?” Lena questioned cutting right to the chase.

Kara was suddenly struck with the clarity that this was why Lena had requested to come with her to the supermarket in the first place.

“No, Lena, you can’t.” Kara rejected without even bothering to consider it as an option.

“Why not?” Lena tilted her head to the side expectantly, obviously wanting a clear cut reason, “Is it pride?”

“You’re my friend.” Kara reasoned futilely.

“Your friend, who wants to help.” Lena pointed out.

“It’s too much.” Kara tried instead.

“It’s food, Kara.” Lena said simply, “It’s a basic necessity that is never too much.” Lena reached out and placed a hand atop of Kara’s one that was tightly gripping her list of food that she could afford. Lena’s touch was gentle and grounding. “It is the bare minimum especially considering all you do for this city.”

Kara shook her head, dropping her gaze to the ground, “I don’t do that expecting anything in return.”

“I know that, that’s one of the reasons why I-” Lena’s voice cut off causing Kara to look up sharply at her, “Just...” Lena huffed out a breath of frustration, “Just tell me what it would take.”

“Lena…”

“What would it take?” Lena pushed.

“Why does it matter so much?” Kara asked instead of answering, switching the focus around. “I’ve been fine for years like this, Lena. Why does it matter?”

“Why does it matter?!” Lena spluttered, looking positively outraged. “It matters because it’s you. It matters because you deserve to have as much food as you need without worrying about paying rent. It matters because you matter. It matters because I-” Lena paled, biting down on her bottom lip hard.

“Because you?” Kara whispered, blue eyes wide with shock and hope as her heart hammered against the cage of her chest.

Lena opened and closed her mouth, her whole body tense and rigid before she exhaled deeply causing her entire being to deflate in acceptance and her head to hang, depriving Kara of bright green, “We promised each other honesty.” Lena muttered helplessly to herself, before she raised her chin determinedly, “Because I love you.”

The whole world went still. Everything went quiet. And Kara completely forgot how to breathe as Lena, yet again, took that first step of vulnerability. Yet again ventured forward, tearing down her own walls, to do something Kara didn’t know how to do.

Rao, Kara was in total awe of this woman.

This woman she adored. This woman that loved her.

This woman that made her want to strip away all her armour so that all of her could feel what it was like to bask in the presence of the one and only Lena Luthor.

“It matters for all the other reasons I said as well.” Lena continued, utterly unaware of how she had caused Kara’s entire being to unravel. “But it also matters because I love you and I can’t do nothing, Kara. I can’t do nothing when I have the very means to help you. So, please, please, please just tell me what it would take. Tell me what-”

Lena’s demands were cut off yet again.

Though this time it wasn’t her own doing, but Kara’s.

Kara’s lips pressed against hers to be exact.

It was there in the bread aisle of the local supermarket that Kara Zor-El did the first thing in her life solely as and for herself. The first time that Kara Zor-El was simply Kara Zor-El with no barriers, no armour, no secrets… and the free version of her wanted nothing more than to kiss the woman she loved.

So she did.

And it was… transcendent…

Kara cupped Lena’s cheeks with her hands so, so, so gently. She wasn’t keeping her in place or even guiding, her palms were barely brushing Lena’s skin but Kara had never needed something so much, to feel like she had her whole world safely cherished in her hands.

Lena’s lips were soft and pliable and Kara took so much care in mapping them out. Finding out how to slot their lips so that they fit perfectly together. Where to apply pressure to cause Lena’s breath to stutter. How to coax Lena’s lips gently open with the lightest swipe of her tongue.

Kara eventually pulled back an infinitesimal distance, parting so that their lips were just out of touch and their foreheads resting against each other.

“Marry me.” Kara breathed out.

“What?” Lena gasped, jerking backwards, green eyes wide and kiss-swollen lips parted in shock.

Kara laughed gleefully as she dropped her hands away from Lena’s face to wrap them around the other woman’s waist and pull her close.

“Did… did you-” Lena stuttered.

“Answer your question.” Kara grinned, pressing swift and delicate kisses to Lena’s jaw.

“My question?” Lena murmured, turning her head to the side to allow Kara a path down her neck.

“What would it take.” Kara muttered, nipping at Lena’s tendon and producing a sharp intake of breath. “For you to buy the whole store for me every other week.”

“Oh…” Lena leaned back to arch a sharp eyebrow at the blonde as a mischievous smile took over her face, “Well, now I have a goal to work towards.”

Kara’s eyes crinkled at the edges with joy, “Yeah, I guess you do.”

#supercorp #supergirl #kara danvers #lena luthor

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bird-in-a-cage · 4 years

Note

#42 from the prompt list... I mean I'm sorry but... I NEED TO SEE THAT.

Wow, am I sorry this took so long! This was a tough prompt but, thanks to @cockasinthebird for being a wonderful human being, we got through it. So I hope this was worth the wait!

Prompt list is here if anyone wants to throw a prompt at me!

#42: “I didn’t say “sex party” as in orgy. I said “hex party” as in witches.”

So far, college had been okay. It was as hard and challenging as Steve had expected, but he was getting on almost well. He had to spend a lot of time studying in the library, reading and re-reading source materials, typing, editing, deleting and starting all over again with essays and assignments sure. But it was different from high school, on a deep level he wanted to be here, amongst the old stone buildings that either held no heat at all or far too much depending on the weather outside, surrounded by people who also shared a passion for learning. It was different to focus on what he wanted to learn instead of just having to cram a little bit of everything into his brain everyday.

Turns out, if he was just allowed to go a little slower and take his time, he wasn’t as dumb as everyone back home at thought.

He’d gotten into college by the skin of his teeth, pulling far too many all nighters and living off five hour energy to drag his grades up when it was almost too late, pulling in every favour he had to retake anything below a C with nothing but a prayer and a pleading smile, somehow managing to not go completely insane in the process. Getting a 3 point grade average at graduation had been nothing short of a miracle. He wanted to say his parents had nothing to do with his acceptance into quite a nice school, but in reality Steve knew they probably greased a palm or two. Maybe helped pay for the new set of band uniforms that were recently unveiled.

The college itself was beautiful. Steve had fallen for it on his first visit. Old stone buildings, a large green campus area, a good surrounding community, regular activities and groups to go meet up with and try different things with now he was getting out of small town Hawkins and away from being stuck in what he knew.

There was something a bit…odd about the college though. Steve would be sat in the library, for example, finishing up a comparison piece when he would hear the telltale low battery beep from his headphones. He always forgot to bring a charger. He knew it was on his nightstand back in the dorm room, wrapped around the drawer handle so he wouldn’t forget to lift it this time, so it was pointless checking his bag for it. He would go to pack his things away, open up his slouchy backpack and there it would be, his exact one because he’d wrapped a piece of green tape around it when his roommate kept stealing it and swearing blind he hadn’t, laying curled around his water bottle..

That wasn’t the only example though. Things would just appear when he was looking for them. Books he needed from a completely different section would just happen to be on the shelf he was currently looking at. If a flavour of soda was sold out at a vending machine, he would pick another, but the one he originally wanted would tumble out, ice cold and somehow impossibly refreshing. None of them were a major inconvenience by far, but it was just odd.

The only small downside to the college of his dreams is that he forgot to investigate anything about the fraternities and sororities. Steve didn’t really have any desire to be in any frat even if offered, they were just houses for boys to pretend not to be at least a little bicurious as they bumped into each other all sweaty playing sports, using basketball as an excuse to touch each other’s muscles. Flat out no homo-ing each other. Steve was out and proud at college, didn’t need an excuse anymore other than “you’re hot, you wanna?”. The days of bi-panic and needing a thinly veiled excuse such as helping someone he thought was cute off the ground in the middle of a match were long gone. Steve had been to a couple of frat parties, naturally, everyone did. They were kinda fun if you hung around outside away from the thick, choking air of sexual tension that was threatening to bubble over at any minute.

Everyone knew frat houses were just potential orgy dens, right?

There was one frat house though, just off campus and to the right a little, that gave off a weird vibe. The Omega House. It didn’t look that special, had dark grey panelling on the outside, windows trimmed in white, the omega symbol on the outer wall above the door painted in silver that reflected the sunlight and looked almost like real silver. Like the college itself, it was just odd. As far as Steve could tell it didn’t have many members, only four, as far as he’d counted, would walk around in blazing orange letterman jackets with that emblem stitched into the back and a smaller one on the front right breast. He didn’t know what majors they took, probably all on sports scholarships with how stacked a couple of them looked, and one liked to hang around the library. Always in sunglasses even indoors, tight jeans to combat the slightly too big jacket. Blonde hair shaved at the sides but longer on top, not wildly long but just enough for natural loose curls to develop.

Not that Steve had been looking at how handsome he was at all.

Thinking about it, he seemed to always be around when the odd things happened. When there would suddenly be a spare chair even though all the tables were packed with other students trying to do their work, a fresh stack of post it notes in Steve’s bag when he needed to write an annotation down quickly, a newly sharpened pencil just happening to be on the floor by his feet when he’d lost his before class. The rain suddenly starting as soon as Steve got into a building when he’d forgotten an umbrella like it was waiting for him to be safe and dry.

There was just something weird about the whole thing. Not enough for him to freak out and want to go home though, no way. He could deal with weird and slightly odd far better than being stuck in a town going nowhere, where his only future was getting a job in his father’s company and a wife he didn’t love, cranking out a couple kids after a year of so and slowly but surely morphing into a mirror image of the man he lowkey despised.

Even the thought of that was horrifying. It was bad enough that genetically they might look similar one day. Hopefully many, many years in the future. When plastic surgery was cheap.

The library was quiet when Steve entered. Of course it was, it was a Friday night. There were a number of parties and gatherings happening all over the place, but this week he’d promised himself to be good. Study now and party later. He’d been invited to a glow paint, totally-not-a-rave party happening just outside of town that he was pretty excited for. He’d been focusing hard on his studies so it was time to let off some steam. And maybe that steam had been building for quite some time cause ol’ Lefty wasn’t doing the trick anymore, mashing his face into a pillow in the dead of night, furiously jacking off under a blanket and praying his roommate didn’t wake up or come back soon. And, maybe sometimes, Steve thought about that cute blonde in the Omega House jacket and how good it would be to see those thick lips all slick and swollen wrapped around his cock. Really those thoughts were just between him and God, who he hoped wasn’t paying attention most of the time he was alone in his room.

Steve found the spot he liked, towards the back facing towards the window where he couldn’t be distracted by people walking in, and pulled his laptop and the well annotated copy of Dracula he was working from. His half finished essay sat on the screen, cursor blinking at him accusingly, demandingly even. He sighed at it and opened up to the page he was last working from when the chair next to him was pulled out. Not even one or two over, obeying the unspoken rule of the Personal Study Bubble. No, the very next chair. Steve could see orange reflected on his screen. He frowned slightly and turned to just give a passing glance, hoping for a the fuck? expression, when he saw staggeringly blue eyes staring back, nestled into tan freckled skin, natural curls just reaching down into the field of view. The regular sunglasses had been tucked up into the neck of a black tee. The back of Steve’s neck felt instantly hot as he looked away, hoping for a moment he hadn’t been seen, but that was impossible. He was right there.

“Hey, haven’t seen you around before. Must be in the same class though.” His voice was deep and Steve felt his legs turn a little bit to jello. He chanced another glance and saw the guy was holding a copy of Dracula too. Steve wasn’t sure he’d been holding it before…

“Well, I attend almost every lecture…”

“You must do if you’re in here by yourself on a Friday,” the guy smiled. It didn’t look cruel, neither did it sound like he was making fun. This was already confusing, and Steve wasn’t the greatest with people at the best of times, let alone he around guys he thought were kind of stupidly handsome from afar, and apparently just stunning close up.

Steve just nodded and shifted in his seat slightly since this guy clearly wasn’t going to go away any time soon. He didn’t have anything on the table in front of him, didn’t even look like he had a backpack for the potential of anything. The odd feeling was definitely strong and getting stronger. “Can I… can I help you with something?”

“That depends,” the book was quickly tossed aside and the guy nudged closer with his chair, Steve could smell his cologne. It didn’t smell like anything he’d tried before. It was floral but dark and spicy, but also fruity too. Slightly burnt lemon and vanilla loaf? His hand wrapped easily around Steve’s freer one. His skin was warm, a little rough maybe from weightlifting which he clearly did, applying a comforting amount of pressure. Steve couldn’t help the skin on his arm breaking out in goose pimples. He glanced at their hands together and his throat felt impossibly tight. “I’m Billy by the way.”

“Steve...”

“Great. So, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but things can be a little, strange around here-”

Steve glanced at their hands again, felt that blue steel bore into his eyes and further back. “Oh they’re strange alright…”

“You ever wondered why?” This guy, Billy, grinned something devilish and let Steve’s hand go only to put it on his knee, squeezing firm but not unpleasant. Steve was sure he was starting to sweat under the attention of all this. Yeah he had fooled around with a couple guys drunk at parties, stumbled into a dorm room or two he didn’t recognise to have some fun and wake up with carpet burns over his back and his knees, but this felt very direct. Especially when Billy’s hand started slowly drifting higher. Steve couldn’t even say he didn’t want it, he’d been staring at this guy from a distance for months now, but to have him suddenly be right in front and touching with obvious intent. It was something else.

“Uh, n-not really. Sometimes maybe?”

Billy’s eyes turned from cool to blazingly erotic in an instant, for just a moment, then back to cool again. He nudged even closer into Steve’s bubble, who was more helpless than a fish on dry land at this moment.

“Would you like to know why?” The way Billy’s tongue licked over the L was something filthy. If Steve had been set jello before he was now quickly melting into a sweet pool of tangy cherry. “My friends and I can show you.”

Steve felt like he was drowning. This wasn’t happening, it couldn’t be happening. But still BIlly’s firm hand crept ever higher until he was practically cupping Steve through his jeans, inching closer until their lips were connected in the middle of the library. Steve’s eyes fluttered closed. He was already boiling alive in his skin from all the attention and Billy’s lips weren’t helping. They were as plush as Steve had imagined. Maybe not in the right area just yet but with the way Billy was pushing his palm directly against Steve’s slowly awakening dick they just might be soon.

He was half hard when Billy pulled away, flushed bright red like he’d been sunburnt.

“Come by the house tomorrow night, you’ll see. We promise you’ll enjoy it.”

With that, Billy winked, slipped his sunglasses back on and left. Steve blinked at nothing for a long time, trying to piece together what the hell had just happened to him.

Did… did he just get invited to an orgy?

He packed up quickly and went back to his dorm, there was no way any studying was going to happen now. It didn’t happen throughout all of Saturday either. Just the memory of the whole short incident rolling around and around in Steve’s mind, of Billy’s words dripping from those lips and the feel of his hand pressing just right.

He’d definitely gotten invited to an orgy.

He lay on his bed for a while just thinking, tapping his forefingers together as something for them to do. Steve was kind of flattered really, he knew he was nice looking, but there were far better looking guys on campus, and from the stories he’d heard they’d probably be up for it no questions asked. It also popped into his head that the guys he’d seen wearing the orange Omega jackets were a lot more jacked than he was, and Steve had seen enough porn to know what that probably meant. A part of him knew this was utterly insane. Shit like this didn’t happen without a bored camera crew and fourteen different close up angles.

But then maybe it did happen. He was from a small town after all. He was pretty sure his neighbours three doors down were swingers from all the cars that would suddenly appear once a month for just a night. Least that was the rumor that he may or may not have pushed a couple times. And, afterall, wasn’t this what college was about? Being out there and experimenting with crazy shit you wouldn’t do in the real world. He’d taken ecstasy in his first few weeks at a warehouse party, he had no desire to do that back home.

So, maybe he was warming up to the idea of being a bottom at an orgy party being held in the weird grey frat house. Who was anyone to judge? Steve just wasn’t going to tell anyone about it, that’s all.

He felt nervous standing on the front steps of the Omega House. All the blinds were drawn inside. He didn’t know what to bring, what was customary? It didn’t feel right to bring, like, snacks, so he’d just brought himself, already flushing and trying not to get hard by just the thought of Billy getting his hands on him again, how good he must look naked and sweating, finding out what those lips could really do.

The man himself answered the door after two sharp knocks. The grin he wore was sinful, eyes wild and excited, grip firm as he pulled Steve easily inside the dark room. Steve wasn’t sure what to expect, but low mood lighting, a coffee table in the middle of three couches covered in books and blank papers, and every other surface holding up thick lit candles dripping with wax wasn’t it. It also appeared to be just the two of them.

It wasn’t entirely what he had signed up for. But Steve wasn’t exactly complaining.

“Man, am I happy you actually came,” Billy started, pulling his letterman off and hanging it over the banister like a coat hook. His black tee had the sleeves ripped off, his arms were nothing short of statue worthy. He ruffled his hair a little, the curls bobbing just so. They looked delightfully soft. “The rest of the guys are at some sorority bullshit, but they’ll be here later.”

“Uh, o-okay, cool.” Steve tried to sound confident as he went to go take a seat on one of the couches. Billy sat next to him, up close and personal again and it wasn’t the worst thing in the world. He was radiating body heat which Steve wanted to eat up greedily. He noticed some of the books on the table. A copy of Frankenstein, a very old looking copy of Dracula, maybe second edition, a copy of Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, and copies of both Malleus Maleficarum and A Guide to Modern Witchcraft. Those titles mixed with all the candles and the mood lighting and Billy’s staring and frankly demonic grin led Steve down the path that seemed the most obvious to him.

This was a sex cult house. And it was about to get all Rosemary’s Baby up in here.

Billy’s hand was back on his thigh again, heavy and pressing, taking Steve out of his deep barrel of thoughts. The grin was back on his tanned features. “You look nervous.” He gave Steve’s thigh a squeeze. Even though he had no idea what was going on it still made his cock jump alert in his jeans.

“Well, I’ve never exactly been to… one of these before…”

Billy’s eyebrows furrowed together a little, he still wore a smile though. It suited his face. “One of what?”

“You know...?” Steve rolled his hands as his face turned ever redder. He was sure it could almost be seen from space. He wasn’t a prude by any means, but growing up in quite a strict household meant he just struggled saying some things out loud. So he whispered it instead. “...an orgy?”

Billy stared at him for a moment before breaking into laughter that wasn’t at all humiliating. He must have sensed Steve’s rapidly growing discomfort and indignity because the laughter quickly died and turned more into gentle questioning. “Did you think that was what this was gonna be?”

“Well I don’t know what else this would be!” Steve spat out in frustration. He hated not knowing the whole story and here he felt he barely even knew the first line of the novel. Billy smiled warm like a summer day and cupped his cheek. He felt instantly calmed, being swallowed up by those cool blues like a gentle river on an August afternoon. “I said I’d explain about all the odd things that happen around campus. They’re from us in this house. We’re kind of, different.”

“Different how?”

Billy took his hand back and snapped his fingers loud and piercing. All the candles extinguished themselves at once. Not a breeze to be felt. It wasn’t scary, or spooky, but it was pretty cool. “Different different. You’re the only person who’s seemed to notice. And, by house law, that means you get initiated. You get to know that we’re all witches.”

The word hung in the air and seemed ridiculous. But, at the same time, it didn’t. It did certainly explain how chargers and post its and pencils would suddenly just appear whenever Steve needed them. He still wasn’t completely convinced though.

“Witches?” He repeated back carefully, just in case he’d heard that wrong too. Billy nodded and clapped his hands. Every candle reignited themselves, flickering back to life one by one in a circle around the room. A bottle of whiskey and cans of coke appeared on the table where there had been just papers before. The books remained. There was a proud look on his face. Short of being drugged at the door and this all being a crazy fever dream, this was definitely real. Steve didn’t really have any reason to not believe his eyes and what was happening around him. Billy didn’t look like David Copperfield that was for sure. “So, not an orgy?”

“No. Not an orgy.” Billy chuckled and repeated back. He must have seen Steve’s face go from confused to understanding to a little disappointed all within the space of a few seconds because his hand was high on Steve’s thigh again. Maybe the guy just didn’t understand personal space? That seemed growingly likely. “I don’t think I’d wanna share you anyway.”

Steve felt the flush on his face again, but he grinned through it this time. Weird, spooky, otherworldly shit could be saved for later if there was even a chance of getting what he’d been thinking alone in his bed. “But you’d wanna maybe...?”

He let the question stay floating between them as Billy smirked lewd and pressed himself up against Steve’s body. “Bet you’d love to find out what I can do with my fingers pretty boy…”

Oh, Steve really would.

#prompt list #my writings #harringrove #billy x steve #steve harrington #billy hargrove #college au #was probably about time i did one huh?#sorry i couldn't get the line in exactly but i hope this is still okay

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peeterparkr · 5 years

Text

limits of desire⤳t.h.||2

chapter two: make a guest list

MADE OF HONOR|AU

So, after that photoshoot, I decided to get back on my shit. I’m re-uploading it, editing it and changing a few things. Yes, I’ve posted this fic before but I feel like I’ve grown as a writer and it’s a fic with so much more potential.

story summary: you met Tom a night he was trying to sleep with you, it didn’t work and you became best of friends. Wedding bells might be ringing for when you both realize what you really feel.

summary: the one with the graduation, and with Tom and Y/N knowing they both have thought about it.

pairing: fuckboy!tom holland x best friend!reader

warnings: alcohol , swearing, graduation

word count: 6k (wow)

As usual tell me what you think

previous chapter

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series masterlist

4 years later.

Tom’s phone was vibrating as the Spider-Man ringtone was playing. He tried to open his eyes but was too tired, he rubbed them as he tried to get off the woman that was kindly resting of his bare chest. Her hair was falling down on his shoulders and her fingers were caressing his arm. She moved while Tom, midst yawns, turned off his alarm.

He opened his eyes and looked at the time.

“Shit!” He quickly hopped off the bed letting the girl fall flat on the white blankets. He kept cursing under his breath while putting on his pants. “Hmm, where are you going?” The just awoken girl asked, confused by the lack of warmth she was faced with. She covered herself and reached out for his hand, impeding him from putting on his shirt and pulling him back beside her. She danced her fingers over his chest from behind, causing a paused laughter from Tom.

He smirked and rolled his eyes. “I’m leaving.” “Just like that?” She asked. “So soon?” “Yep.” “Oh, I thought we were gonna grab breakfast and arrive together,” she complained and then placed a kiss on his shoulder. “Please sweetheart, I’ve got more important things to do,” he admitted. “And we both know that your boyfriend won’t be happy. Neither won’t y/n.” “What if I call you later?” She offered. “We could hang out after it.” “You perfectly know I won’t answer, no back-to-back’s, remember? besides, what for? We both got what we wanted, already.” Tom pushed her arms away, turning around to wink at her. “I guess I don’t have to say this anymore, right? the whole congratulations! You’ve slept with a celebrity,” he rolled his eyes as he put on his shirt. “But-” Before she could say anything, he walked back to place a finger over her lips. “Tom.” “No buts, I’m leaving, Rach,” he leaned over to kiss her but she frowned, pushing his face away.

“You’re an ass,” she stated.

Tom chuckled, “Good thing you were really into mine, last night, huh?” Tom shrugged while he picked up his stuff. “Get out.” “And what do you think I’m doing, darling?” Tom walked out of her room and headed to the kitchen. He opened up the fridge and got out a juice box, he didn’t even care about pulling out a glass as he drank it straight from the box. “What do you think you’re doing?” Rachel asked him. “I’m thirsty, you know, I thought I told you you should buy the organic one instead, tastes better, next time I guess,” Tom answered with poor elegance as he handed the box back, now empty, while saluting with his two fingers, walking to the door. “Buy-bye, I hope we can do this again. See you later.” The girl screamed, kicked and slapped the door shut right behind him. “Guess not.” Tom let out a little cynical snicker while getting out. It could have been worse, he didn’t care, he knew he could call her up in a week or two and she’d answer. Tom called Harrison. “Hey, man, need a favour, would you please go and pick up the flowers I ordered? K. Cool, thanks, see ya there, can’t run late.”

“You’re already late,” Harrison had stated before hanging up. Tom quickly hopped into his motorcycle while heading home. He had little time for what came next and he needed to look impeccable. He was riding through the busy and crowded streets of London, dedicating smiles to whoever recognized him. Gosh, even if he was wearing whatever he was wearing the day before, he looked so damn good. His ‘walk of shame’ made everyone else’s more shameful than they already were.

Thing was, he knew it. He was perfectly aware that his Bad Boy appearance wasn’t strong enough to outshine his good and innocent boy facade. But at the same time, it gave everyone a chance to use their imagination and just try to figure him out. Only the people surrounding him knew he was indeed, the best friend they could ask for, they figured he was a good lover, too, but never someone to even try to get into a relationship with, that just wouldn’t work out. But people couldn’t stop thinking about it, because he was oh, so dreamy! His charming and innocent attitude quickly would outgrow anything bad. He already had all the attention he needed, but of course, he was hungry for more. Hence the motorbike, it added just the right amount of rebellion, to the new James Dean vibe he was trying to pull.

He was late, so late. However, his stomach couldn’t stop growling and his eyes were closing. He stopped at a Starbucks. Clearly, he was diverting every single glance while arriving. He had the complete look, the leather jacket, ripped jeans and the boots. A whole snack, if it’s correct to call him that. It suited him. He picked up his helmet strutting to the entrance, even the baristas were left in shock breathless. The sweet redhead barista sketched him a flirty smile, while she scribbled Tom’s name on his cup. “Is it okay if I write Spider-Man instead of Tom?” She asked with a chuckle.

Tom only winked at her while letting his hand run through his hair. “Whatever you wish for, darling.” The endearing pet name that would cause them all to fall flat to his feet. The power it held should be illegal. Darling. He knew it worked, because the undeniable line of girls that would ask him to say it only proved that it was his biggest weapon.

He took a sip of his coffee while he read his name, kindly accompanied by a phone number. What a surprise. “See you around, Gloria,” Tom said with a wink.

He drank his coffee, as some other girls approached him to take a picture with him, he knew they had taken pictures of him from afar. And there he left again, of course not forgetting to write down the girl’s number on his phone. He’d text her, sometime, maybe in 3 days. But he went back home, took a hot shower and put on the all suit he had chosen like a month before. His hair was perfectly brushed, and he had showered himself with lotion, he looked handsome and neat, he thought.

He stopped in front of the mirror, doubting just for a second if it was right how he wanted to look, he changed the jacket for his own brown leather jacket. That was better, he snapped a picture, he liked the man looking back at the mirror. He doubted if it was too much. Ah, it didn’t matter. When it came to her, it didn’t matter.

Tom arrived, just a tad late, of course, but he knew that he’d be the centre of attention, and that was all he wanted. That was, clearly, before he realized how awkward walking through the already sitting crowd would be. He finally found Harrison, who had saved him a seat. He had arrived just in time, ish. The ceremony had already started, but he had missed the boring parts, so it was good.

“Where were you?” Haz murmured angrily, as soon as Tom sat beside him. “I’m here, aren’t I?” Tom defended himself as Haz gave him the bouquet of flowers he had asked for. “Where is she?” “Shh, she’ll be out, easy,” Haz said. “I don’t understand what’s going on.”

“Me neither,” Tom admitted.

Haz stared at Tom, and smelled him. “Someone showered in Gucci instead of water,” he mocked. “One might only wonder why.”

Tom nudged and shushed him. “And now our first class graduates, graduating with honours from the Bachelor of Journalism,” the man on the microphone spoke. Tom smirked as he got out his phone to take pictures. Harrison laughed. “You’re worse than a mother,” Harrison bothered him, but Tom ignored him. “Miss Y/N Y/L/N” They called her and she proudly walked into the stage to receive her diploma.

The ceremony ended and after meeting with her mom and grandma, she ran over to Tom, who opened his arms to hug her and pick her up.

“There she is, the woman of the moment!” Tom grinned.

“Oh, shut up,” she laughed.

“You don’t know how proud I am of you, y/n,” Tom whispered in her ear. “You actually came,” she chuckled. “You sound surprised,” he frowned. “I wouldn’t miss your graduation for anything in this world,” Tom grinned. She let him go, but her hands were still posing on his shoulders. “Thought that last night you told me you were with someone,” she said. “I was.”

She rolled her eyes and laughed. “Will you ever change?” She finally let him go as she smiled at her grandma. “Thank you so much, nana,” she hugged the woman. “They’d be so proud of you,” the woman said with tears in her eyes. “I know,” answered y/n with a tinge of sadness. Tom quickly gave her the bouquet of flowers, bringing a smile back on her face.

“We are all proud of you,” her mother stepped in to remind her.”You did all of this by yourself, you did it!”

“Mum,” y/n said, just a little bit embarrassed. Y/n smiled and glanced over to the cheerful Harrison who offered her a hug.

“Congrats, Sherlock.”

“Thank you, Watson,” she giggled.

“So, are you going to interview me already?” Tom asked, with a chuckle. “I mean if you call yourself a journalist.”

She rolled her eyes, “Why would I? I know everything about you already, mister,” she chuckled. “But if I may,” she cleared her throat and pulled out one of the flowers.

She turned around and used the flower as a microphone. “Hello ladies and Gentleman, tonight we are all pleased to be hosting this event, the red carpet for the big movie, the one we’ve all been waiting for, the thrilling sequel to ‘We thought she wouldn’t survive the last finals’,” she took a deep breath. “I’m here joined by Tom Holland, one of the stars from the movie, who seems very excited, hey Tom! How are you? We love your outfit.”

“Hello, hello,” Tom faked arrogance as he unzipped his jacket.

“I can’t believe we are here already! The big premier to the movie we’ve all been waiting for: ‘ridiculous and cliche graduation pictures’! Such a great title that just makes me shirker! Mr. Holland how was acting along with your two best friends, Harrison and Y/N?”

“I’m glad you asked,” he played along. “You see, it’s a very interesting film, it was shockingly violent, acting with them was amazing, Haz did a great job, but this movie wouldn’t be possible without the amazing role y/n played, she surprised us all.”

“Ah, yes the stunts she pulled, one would’ve thought she couldn’t have made it, don’t you think?” She bit her lip, suppressing a laugh. “After the events of ‘We thought she wouldn’t survive the last finals’, y/n must have been through a lot.”

“Definitely, some of those stunts were hard, I could never do something like that, but thank goodness that she pulled them off so elegantly.”

“Of course, of course,” she giggled but then turned back serious. “So please, tell me, what was your favourite scene?”

“Uh,” Tom bit his lip. “I love we were able to do that scene when it all started, with an almost broken nose and Chanel n°5,” Tom said. “I think I thank god every day for that scene.”

“Yes we all do,” she agreed with a tinge of red on her cheeks, she cleared her throat and turned to Haz. “Any words on the film? Mr Osterfield?Who are you wearing tonight?”

“You guys are the worst,” Haz stated, rolling his eyes. Both y/n and Tom laughed.

Y/N’s mother nodded in agreement. “Can we please take the pictures now?”

“You’re taking away all the fun, guys,” y/n complained.

“We didn’t even get her to be interviewing us at the Oscars,” Tom pouted. “You both are the biggest idiots,” Haz told them.

“Thanks,” they both said in unison.

“C’mon,I need my bloody cliché pictures,” she said dragging them to the side. They found the champagne as well on their way. They drank a glass, took pictures, congratulated other graduates while some other graduates were divided: some were amazed by the presence of Tom and Haz, while some others were disgusted by Tom, probably from their past encounters.

Y/N laughed while Tom and her walked away from her mom and nana, who were talking nonstop with another graduate’s parents. Y/N’s best friends, Hannah, Jessica and Lizzie had come too, and Haz and Jess were talking. Lizzie was glaring at Tom. “She still remembers how you broke her heart,” y/n pointed out as she took a sip of her champagne. “Probably most girls here do, now that I think about it.” She turned around to look at the guests. “Wow, there goes Rachel, I thought she wouldn’t come, she texted me that she would only come if you weren’t here,” she pointed at her old roommate. “You wanna go say hello? bet she’ll be delighted with your presence,” y/n laughed with malice while Tom rolled his eyes. “Ah, sure, I’ll go say hi to all of them,” he joked. “Oh, she did come.” “She came to congratulate me, I guess,” y/n said. “I don’t know, but I bet she’s not approaching us.”

“Not if I’m here,” Tom admitted.

Y/N chuckled.“Can you blame her? We started to hang out every single day and she was embarrassed that she almost slept with you that night”

“Almost?” Tom smirked, raising his eyebrows.

“Wait, did you—when did that—?”

Tom didn’t answer, he just sipped from his glass, holding back his snicker.

“Thomas!” Y/N frowned as she started to make some calculations on her head. “You’re kidding, right?”

“I’m not,” Tom shrugged. “That’s the only secret I have for you, I guess.” That was a lie.

“When did it happen?” She frowned.

“The first time? our first New Years eve together,” he chuckled.

“First—?” Y/N blinked. “And the last time?”

Tom started to count with his fingers. “About five—maybe six?”

“Six?”

“Yeah, six hours ago,” he smirked. “After the party.”

Y/N crossed her arms. “I can’t believe you,” she scowled. “I thought we had agreed on no friends of mine, you’re making me lose them.”

Tom side hugged her and she just pushed him away. “Y/N I’m sorry.”

But he truly wasn’t sorry, because what he had done with Rachel was yet again another attempt for him to stop himself from ruining the best relationship he had. Him and y/n had been too close the night before, and he had thought about kissing her, and he had thought about holding her. So he had to stop himself from having those thoughts, hence why he ended up shagging Rachel. It was a strict business.

And it wasn’t like he had feelings for y/n, but sometimes he couldn’t deny that the way she smiled or the way she touched his shoulder would make his imagination go wild.

“Be thankful those three haven’t stopped talking to me,” she motioned to her three friends. “I would’ve dumped your ass by now.” “Lizzie is still mad, huh?” Tom looked behind his shoulder. "And she will continue to be mad," Y/N reminded him, starting to walk further away. "You know, I turn to see most of the girls and almost all of them, you've broken their hearts."

"I've always been clear with my rules," Tom mentioned. "It's not my fault to be so charming."

Y/N shook his head. "I can't believe you," she said. "You're awful."

"Only if you sleep with me, I am," Tom agreed. "But look at us, we're fine."

Y/N kept walking, Tom following her. "You tried to sleep with me, though."

"Oh, I did, and you didn't give in,” Tom smiled.

"I'm happy I did not." She laughed. “I would probably look like poor Rachel over there.”

"What would have happened?" Tom asked her.

"I don't know, probably what you do with all of them, throw them away the next day,” she pointed out.

"You never know," said Tom, watching her.

"And we will never know because you haven't tried since," she smiled mischievously.

Tom cleared his throat, as he blushed. “Nope.” That was another lie.

"Who would say that someone like you would become my best friend?" She dedicated him a confused look.

"I don't know, I'm grateful that my seductive gifts didn't work that day we met." Tom scoffed.

Y/N nodded. “Cheers to that.”

Tom noticed y/n’s tinge of sadness. "You're good?"

Y / N shrugged. "I do not know, I want to say yes. But everything is so overwhelming right now.”

“The real world is waiting for you,” He said spraying his arms.

“That’s scary,” she said and sighed. “I miss them.”

And Tom knew why she had turned blue.

“Bet they’re proud of you,” he said, lifting her chin. Only with her he could do this and be sure she wouldn’t be high heels for him.

"Yes, and because of them I did it," she said. "I would like to go back and tell them, show both of them that I could do it, that I kept my promise."

Tom hugged her, while she only smiled bitterly at him. Tom knew how important this day was to her and how hard it was now that he remembered. Besides, it was more complicated while she watched the other families, all complete.

Her father and brother had died 2 years before. Tom still remembered how she had come to him and how she had curled up in the warmth of his arms. Sobbing and letting little pieces of her escape in each tear. Her life had collapsed into small pieces that had already vanished. It had been a car accident, Tom had never gone with the details. It was a horror story. She still had not overcome anything, and she never would. But Tom had been the small ray of light that illuminated her darkest moments, he had been there when she needed him the most.

As he held her he felt her release all her pain, as if Tom's arms had healing powers.

"You graduated," Tom told her, letting his head rest on her. It was weird, Tom knew that with her he could let loose all the 'bad boy' style. With her, he could let himself be carried away. He could be vulnerable and not all the farce that was charged.

"You guys say it like it’s a big deal, and shit it is."She let him go and smiled at him. "It scares me," she confessed. "It's strange as if... I still feel that it's not true."

"You have your diploma, don't you?"

"Sure, of course, but, I feel like I'm missing something in my life, I dunno," she told him.

"What do you mean?" Tom questioned her.

"I dunno, I need to go out more, you know? I feel like I need to define myself before continuing, sort things out,” she added. "Anyway."

"Define yourself."

"Yes, I dunno, to explore the world before dedicating myself completely, to explore for a while, all my life I have been someone who has been locked up with perfect grades, and everything has been planned, so for the first time I want to be... free, to try other lands, not have to hide away.”

"Sure, of course, live a little."

"Something I've learned from you," she joked, staring at him. "Try different things, and then throw them away the very next day."

"Ah, come on," Tom shook his head, "you make it sound like it's awful, look at you now, having doubts when you literally just graduated."

"It is awful when it is with people," she corrected him. "Look, I just know I need a break."

"So you're not going to look out for a job?" Tom asked her.

"I already have, and—I got a job offer, but," she explained. "I feel like, I need something more. I need to sort something out before I do anything stupid."

Tom had already had this conversation with her. Y/N had done everything she had planned. Everything perfect, but at the same time, there was always a certain rebellion. She was independent but she had put on her own barriers, she had simply fulfilled the life of a perfect girl. But it was authentic, with her inappropriate comments, her blatant attitude, and her crazy ideas she had managed to tear apart the perfect girl without destroying it. However, she was always held back by some fears, fears that Tom had noticed but she never really explained. He did not blame her, Tom was as scared as she was. Yet, it was the opposite. His biggest fear was the greatest strength of Y/N. Commitment.

It was weird, while he was so committed to what he did, his acting career, he did not know how to escape later, Tom was so terrified that he was doing his best to avoid it, he was an expert escaping.

She needed stability and plans while Tom liked spontaneity. They did not really know how their friendship worked. They liked being different. They needed each other, y/n didn't let Tom lose sanity and Tom made y/n take a little time to have fun, even to clear up.

"And what is that ... something else?" Tom asked.

"For now, I need to go out," she told him. "Have fun."

Tom smiled grimly. "With that, I can help."

"I asked you for a reason."

"Actually, I'm glad you did it then, Haz and I have something planned."

—- The music was loud and the blue lights lit up to the rhythm, making each rumble shine around them. They were in their best clothes, and there were boys and girls dancing near them. Some bottles and some glasses were on their table.

They had had a good time so far, and they were snapping pictures and recording Instagram stories while they were cheering out for the just graduated y/n, laughing.

“So what’s the news, y/n?” Tom said, a terrible pun, really.

Y N rolled her eyes at Tom but gave him another smile.

After the event, they had gone to have dinner with her mother and grandmother. Tom and Y/N had shared their plates and ordered two different desserts.

But now, they were enjoying themselves with y/n's friends, Tuwaine, Haz, and the twins. Tom had been a little uncomfortable with Lizzie, who completely tried ignored Tom's gaze at all costs. Harrison was not having a bad time, because Jess and him were having a nice conversation, Hannah and the twins were having the time of their lives and Tuwaine and his girlfriend were dancing.

Unfortunately, Tom had had to invite y/n's three friends. He didn’t mind Hannah and Jess, but Lizzie, Lizzie was a whole other situation. She was obsessed with him, and the tension in the room was something too peculiar. He had tried to ignore it but, but she had her ways of bothering him. Especially since Tom wanted to spend most of his time with y/n, and Lizzie kept dragging her away.

Tom had what he could say was the perfect life in terms of relationships, and he was well aware of that. Knowing that Lizzie was just trying to get his attention, he realized how easy his life was. He had a different woman when he pleased and could have fun all day with y/n. A perfect balance.

Now in the club, he was having the best time.

Celebrating the graduate with the best of everything, anything that could make the impossible possible. Tom seemed to not get tired of telling her how proud he was, and then as he was drinking more and more he couldn’t stop telling her beautiful she looked and she kept smiling shyly.

They danced together and laughed. He wasn’t sure if it was the music, the atmosphere, the type of reunion or the alcohol, but he felt that their looks had become significantly more flirtatious. It probably was his imagination.

They took some shots, showed their worst dance steps and kept enjoying. They ordered too many things and the attention in the club was diverted many times to their table.

Tom would not let his hand move away from y/n's waist in the whole night, but at some point, they both sat down to rest. There were times when Tom could not stop thinking about how she was his everything, this was one of those moments. He could never lose her, he loved her too much to ever let her go. It was amazing what Tom would be willing to do for her.

They were too close, everything platonic of course, so her head on his shoulder was nothing strange to him. Tom finally relaxed watching as their friends were having fun, although a fan interrupted them and asked Tom for a picture, who agreed with pleasure. Y/N watched them and the fan recognized her.

"You are y/n, I've seen you with Tom on his Instagram!" The fan cheered, and she laughed awkwardly. Tom noticed that the alcohol they had drunk had had an effect on his friend.

"Yep, that's me."

"You two make a beautiful couple!" The fan commented, causing her to shake her head quickly and Tom to laugh uncomfortably.

"Nono, nothing like that," Tom clarified, causing the fan to step back embarrassed.

"I'm sorry," the fan apologized. Tom winked at her before she left.

Y/N giggled when she saw her leave. "She thought we're dating.”

"She's not the first," Tom said, sitting down next to her.

"Nor will she be the last," she added. "Ha, you and me, a couple?"

"Ah, I love you too much to let you go with a stupid relationship."

"You're never going to try, then?" She asked him, and she did what she did best, stare into his eyes as if she was trying to read into his soul. And even if her eyes looked tipsy, he still thought they were the most amazing pair of eyes he had ever laid his eyes on. Tom did not know exactly where she wanted to go with that conversation. He knew that she didn't want him, so he did not need to worry. Or maybe he did.

"No, I love you, I want you in my life, I already told you," Tom assured her. "Or do you want me to try something?" He didn’t know where that question had come from.

"We are too drunk for this conversation," she said as she reached for her glass, but then turned back to him.

"So you're telling me," Tom said as he rested his forehead on hers. "That you have thought about this?"

"You're my best friend," she reproached him, pushing his head away. Tom brushed his lips lightly against her cheek.

"You have not thought about this?" Tom left a kiss on her neck, he felt her warm-up. She didn’t say anything. She cleared her throat and pushed him away again.

"No, I just wanted to hear you didn't want to throw me away," she laughed. "What would I do without my Peter Parker?"

"I do not know," Tom looked at her. "You need me, and I need you.”

"Don't start, Holland," she stopped him as she shuffled to get far from him. "But yes, I can tell you ... I wuv you!"

"Well, someone's a little drunk," Tom said as he watched her. Y/N kissed his nose. "Very drunk."

"I'm not," she said decisively. "Come on, you have to dance," she said, taking his arm and taking him back to the group as they danced.

Lizzie was getting drunker and drunker. But y/n and Tom kept taking.

"Thanks for this," she said in Tom's ear, as they danced together.

"For you, I'd do anything," Tom assured him. Y/N paused to stare into his eyes. Tom meant it.

"I owe you one, I needed to forget everything about ..."

"Woah, okay, I need you to have fun, okay? We can mourn together tomorrow, but please! You graduated today! "

"Yes... Yes."

"And you'll be the best journalist, writer, reporter or whatever you want to be in the world," Tom said decisively. She leaned over to give him a sweet kiss on the cheek, their met eyes again, feeling like the music that had previously stunned them was fading slowly, she saw Tom's lips, and Tom saw hers, they came a little closer but they were quickly interrupted by a cry from Lizzie. Tom and Y/N separated before they could do anything foolish, something they could regret.

Lizzie clung to Tom as she danced, and Tom didn't hesitate to let himself go, letting y/n go, while she laughed and played along with Harrison. They both needed to escape from the situation. The night continued and they danced separately. Lizzie kept caressing Tom's shoulders and y/n watched them for a brief moment but let it go. One way or another, Tom ended up kissing Lizzie.

Y/N turned to see them and simply rolled her eyes with a little anger, but continued to dance, chatting and laughing with Tuwaine, the twins, her friends and Haz. She could have enough fun to forget about it.

Tom and Lizzie were very busy doing their thing so they decided not to interrupt them.

They stayed there until 3 in the morning and they decided they would go to Tom and Harrison's flat, they would continue the party there. Y/N and Haz waited for Tom so the three of them could leave in an Uber, however, Lizzie arrived and discreetly approached y/n's ear.

"Let me go with Tom alone," she begged sweetly. Y/N frowned.

But before she could tell her anything, Lizzie smiled at them as she took the Uber with Tom, his lips still glued to her, closing the door before either Haz or Y/n could hop on. Haz and Y/N were left along since Tuwaine had left with the twins, Jess and Hannah in another car.

Y/N watched them leave, although she didn't want to admit it, she felt her heartbreaking little by little. But she was trying to ignore it, so she just looked down at her phone.

It was not the first time she felt that Tom and her had something else, this wasn’t the first time they had had their ‘almost’ kiss. It seemed like in the past few months that had been a constant.

But their friendship was too good to ruin it for their feelings, even if they both said they were non-existent. It was obvious to everyone in the room except for the two of them. She would often deny it to herself and Tom let it escape, ignoring it. But she always had to cross out the thought while seeing him continue with his life.

Harrison smiled apologethically at her. "Lizzie has serious problems, no offence."

"None taken," Y/N clarified as the next Uber arrived. "She's an idiot."

"I’d say Tom is the idiot in that equation."

"No, she knows perfectly well what she is to face with Tom," Y/N explained, as she looked back at her phone."I mean, that does not make Tom less a jerk, but he doesn't play games, he's very clear with his rules."

"Oh, yes, quite clear," Harrison agreed with her. "I think that besides his mother, the only constant woman in his life has been you."

"Someday he will throw me away," she shrugged.

Haz shook his head with a smile. "I doubt that."

"You do?" She questioned him, as they climbed into the car that had arrived.

"Sure, you're what Tom needs to be sane, he worries too much about you, it's unbelievable you're the only serious thing he has in his life."

"There's nothing serious."

"I mean friendship, I know it does not go any further than that, but I'm amazed how he really takes pains to have you happy, he loves you too much," Haz told her.

"Yeah, we are friends."

"I think there's more, but you guys keep ignoring it,” Haz pointed out.

“Not from his side, no,” She gulped.

“And from yours?” Haz questioned.

Y/N was silent for the rest of the ride. They arrived at Haz' place and she still was thinking about it.

The party continued, the graduate was happy, and they continued joking, playing cards and basically looking for excuses to get even drunker. They made a round of 'never have I ever' which started out as a game to destroy innocence and ended up being a war of who could embarrass who the most. They continued with a round of charades and ended up listening to music, scattered on the chairs. Lizzie and Tom were very interested in each other as they continued with their make-out session, quite gross if you asked anyone in the room.

Almost everyone had gone, only the owners of the place were left with Lizzie and Y/ N.

"Hey, Tom, mind if I stay?" y/n asked before Lizzie threw herself into Tom's arms.

"Oh, no, you’re good, you can stay in the guest room, you know," he told her, while Lizzie kissed his neck. Y / N felt like scorn and was quite disgusted by the scene.

"I'll take a hoodie of yours," she warned him and went to his room. Such a nice room, even if she knew what was about to happen next. She looked around, smiling at the pictures all over the walls. He had a lot of things about Spiderman, of his trips, it was...very him, very much his real self. Not that boy who was kissing one of her best friends downstairs. It was weird, it was him but y/n thought it was another role he played, the playboy life wasn’t truly him . Y/N saw a picture he had with her.

And then she realized it, she was the one who should be there, kissing Tom, not Lizzie. Because Tom meant something to her. But what was she thinking?

She had hope, that maybe he had thought about it, too. That maybe he had only been sleeping around because he couldn’t have her. And maybe she had only been dying for him to ask her out again, she was dying for a kiss. Just one kiss, and maybe she could get back to her senses.

She thought about it, maybe she could stop him, just go downstairs and stop him, tell him how she really felt after all those years. She turned around, but before she could even go out and ask Tom to stop what he was doing so he could come down to his senses, she heard them approach.

"Uh, we kinda need this room," Tom said mischievously, while Lizzie laughed shyly.

"Oh, yes, sorry."

And with that, y/n walked out.

“You’re okay?” Haz had asked her as he bumped into her.

“Yeah, I just feel a bit sick,” she had told him.

“Probably the alcohol,” Haz suggested.

“Probably, yeah,” she smiled. But they both knew it wasn’t the alcohol.

Haz gave her a small smile as she started to walk away. “You know, he’s too scared of losing you.”

“Yet he’s doing nothing to keep me,” she sighed. “I’m going to book my flight tomorrow.”

“Does he know?” Haz pushed.

“No,” she shrugged. “But knowing me, and knowing him, it’s the best I can do.”

“So you’re escaping?” Haz frowned.

“I learned from the best,” she shrugged. “I can’t let this grow.”

Haz didn’t push it any further, because he knew that it was hopeless. And she knew it, too. She knew it was either too early or too late to accept it because she was doomed to never have him.

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sasukeslilkitten · 4 years

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an essay about fashion dolls in recent days by an adult doll collector

as a doll collector, even though I grew up with Barbie, when Bratz came out, they took my heart & I think eternally Bratz will be the doll that I love the most.

as an adult i literally despise Barbie because even though the premise was Barbie is rich bitch who can do anything, her proportions were very irksome & unrealistic to me even as a child & as I grew up I was more & more disgusted by her. Sure, in 60s-90s that body was ideal & could even be considered ideal now. But twig arms, ridiculous super model height, exaggerated hip & chest with nickel wide waist just seems very detrimental to me. Not to mention every so often buzzfeed or daily mail etc will bring you the stories of women turning themselves into barbie dolls... & yes, I recognize that Barbie has become more inclusive to everyone now, but in my opinion, Barbie is almost like aged up American Girl, the Disney of the doll world.

However, I felt like Bratz had a very typical & realistic body type for someone between the age of twelve to even twenty two. Bratz bodies aren’t very plastic surgery heavy at all. Bratz were the embodiment of the nineties, a symbol of the changing times by that point. The fashion dolls. Flashy, exciting & alternative. The doll for the egirl, the doll with edge. The doll for the youth with a passion for fashion. At one point my mom had taken a good deal of my Bratz doll clothes for her Bratz & when I was left to look at the remaining clothes I thought “wow, these are literally the sluttiest clothes.” I loved it! Barbie may be a doctor or a lawyer, but the Bratz spent big money on their clothes to go out dancing in, Bratz are out here to have fun. The Bratz would feature in a style magazine more times than Barbie ever could with hair & make up leagues louder & flashier than Barbie could ever dream.

Bratz are my favorite doll & nothing will change my feelings for the original Bratz. It is incredibly painful that Mattel bought out Bratz when they were fighting a losing battle against Littlest Pet Shop.. Yet I would like to bring up that having Bratz aimed at both adults & children would have been the better way to go. There is a good enough amount of adult collectors besides myself who would quickly jump to a preorder of a new Bratz doll in the original style. & we had that happen in 2018 & the adult collectors loved it! So why hasn’t it happened again?

When Mattel bought out Bratz they changed the Bratz body to resemble a smaller & more realistic, toned down Barbie. At first, it was so subtle that I saw the body had changed & I could tell you how it changed, but I didn’t realize it was a smaller more proportionate version of Barbie’s body until I read someone else say it in an article & I couldn’t unsee it. My opinion on the second Bratz body is that, if Bratz never had a first body, if the second body was the original, I would be completely fine with it because it seemed like a regular lady body with no flash & slightly more human than the original Bratz body.

Another change Mattel had made was they toned down the new Bratz hair & make up. Hairs weren’t done over the top or super stylized anymore, they became very basic, & I can’t think of any second body doll with a fun make up at all. Did they even wear make up at this point?? & the face became far reminiscent of My Scene. Yet, one thing I did appreciate about the hair change was we got a lot more short hairs which Bratz never did before. Like Shania is a great example of that. I had to have Shania solely for her hair. But the body change caused a difference in fit between the originals & the dolls after Mattel bought them out. The difference isn’t terrible, but as much as I tried to like the second body, when I would share clothes between the original & second bodies, the clothes fit awkwardly on the opposing bodies, to the point it was irritating in some cases but interesting in others.

Then Monster High became a phenomenon. I couldn’t understand this. Of course I liked the alternative monster based premise. I love that idea! However, their bodies disgusted me. I didn’t like the fact there would be zero compatibility between Monster High & Bratz. I didn’t like their weird scoliosis & tiny binded chests. The only appeal I could fathom with Monster High was the fun monster concept for girls with alternative interests. Also, for many years, I was under the impression Monster High only wore dresses which was really disturbing to me.

After Mattel found Bratz proceeding to lose the battle against Monster High, they came out with possibly the greatest & most ill fated doll line; Bratzillaz. For those who don’t know, they are a combination of the second Bratz body with the posibility of Monster High. & their face is a slightly toned down version of the original Bratz with a layered glassy looking eye. Their faces have a softer, more adorable & angelic look than any other doll I have ever encountered in my life. Their faces are like a mix of original Bratz with Pullip. I admit that when it came to clothing & ideas, Bratzillaz were lacking miserably. Rather than even trying to fight the monster idea, they were a witch academy. Yet there were werewolf & mermaid characters. There were a lot of fun colored hair & eyes. For being dolls so breathtakingly beautiful, they had an incredibly painful run of one full year, maybe a little over a year.

Instead Mattel decided to make Bratz more child oriented. Again, many adult collectors would still be very into the original fashion heavy Bratz dolls... But no, we get these god awful alien bodied, deformed Bratz dolls. Their bodies look a lot more like Monster High but if you completely removed the ability to pose them... So what’s even the point then? They can’t do anything, they can’t stand or even sit down! They can’t share any of their clothes with any other Bratz line whatsoever. I admit, some of them had really fun hair (mostly when it comes to color) & really fun clothes, yet what do the clothes even matter if you can’t even display the doll? I had seen a couple in a thrift store & I had bought them only to be severely disappointed. I actually tried to buy a fashion pack meant for the third Bratz body only to find the shoes didn’t snap on to any of the bodies i had. Yet I kept their heads & bought original Bratz bodies for them. Yet this horrible gesture of grotesquely mutilating Bratz did nothing to save the doll, proving that all Mattel wanted to do was murder Bratz & never give them a chance. Not as long as their precious Barbie still existed. When all along, adult collectors still watch, buy, sell & customize the original Bratz.

A couple days ago I had gone to a thrift store with a friend where I found a whole damn pile of twenty plus Monster High dolls. As I expressed before, I didn’t like Monster High & I never have. I have seen many dumped into thrift stores & passed over them without a second thought. But here, I had to look in the pile, holding out hope that I would find an original Bratz doll mixed in.. & as I sifted through these bizarre dolls, I did find myself ensorcelled by some. I enjoyed their fun skin tones & vibrant hair colors, & because they were only a dollar each, I bought seven of my favorites. I took them home & fixed them up & redid some of the hairs I didn’t like. & I had a lot of fun. I still don’t like their strange finger sized chests & their weird scoliosis torsos yet I had a lot of fun posing their bodies.

I inspected their brand online & found a couple other dolls by them that I liked. Nowhere near the number of my fondness & love for the original Bratz. But I did change my mind a good deal about them. I would like to collect some of them & it’s interesting to know that they can pretty much (although awkwardly) wear Bratz clothes & it would seem they are more compatible with the third Bratz body. & in an interesting twist, they can also probably wear My Scene shoes. & it would seem that they were in fact manufactured with some pairs of pants & shirts, although it is weird to me how many dresses they chose to incorporate. I also liked the ability to remove the hands to get long sleeve shirts & jackets on with more ease & the ability to customize dolls with different limbs. They also had fun hairs & unlike the original Bratz, Monster High not only included a lot of fun colors for their hairs, but also different lengths. Their make up wasn’t quite as flashy, but the point is, they still tried & there were fun colors to be experienced along with plenty of fun hair styles. But Monster High can’t actually be considered a fashion doll in the same way Bratz are.

I guess eventually Monster High also lost their popularity & attempted to revive the brand by gearing them more toward a younger audience, which obviously failed.

I see a lot of people online, on various platforms, customizing & presenting original Bratz dolls in a very fanciful & inspiring way. People really go all out with their original Bratz dolls fashion wise, from paying for programs to spending heaps of time editing very intense magazine like photoshoots of their dolls, to people literally sewing & buying one of a kind clothes for their dolls. Buying specialized Bratz wigs to custom re rooting, yet I didn’t see anyone anywhere going this hard with Monster High.

Some of these people have now picked up these new Lol Omg dolls. I think these dolls are adorable! I wouldn’t buy every one that’s come out, but I already love them profusely & far more than I ever admired Monster High. I can’t wait to see what they do next! One opinion I have though as an adult collector who strictly collects out of commission dolls, I can easily find every style of Bratz & Monster High for under fifteen dollars on ebay & for less than five in thrift stores. Yet, because no child has received a Lol Omg doll, grown up & discarded it, it seems like I would have to buy these dolls new :\ & there is one I really like & want that is new but it comes with a set of the stupid original Lol Surprise figurines, which I’m saying I’m an adult collector, I have no use for those stupid things..

In closing I want to say that thus far, I will always love the original Bratz & Mattel took something with amazing promise & shit all over it for everyone. Monster High wasn’t as bad as I thought, but save for the third body Bratz, is one of the lesser doll lines I’ve seen as an adult collector. I am super happy & excited to see what Lol Omg does with their dolls as I am very eager & enthusiastic about collecting them. Yet by far, the best doll out of all the ones I’ve encountered is Bratzillaz. Even though they appeared to be a total failure, most of those dolls are still trending at thirty dollars new in box. They didn’t have the greatest fashions, but when it comes to their bodies & faces, nothing surpasses their heavenly beauty.

#this is just my opinion though

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blahsome · 4 years

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March 18 2020, yet another big milestone. 25 years. A quarter of a century. Is it a big deal or are numbers arbitrary and it’s the same amount of a deal as it ever has been? I can’t publish everything I’ve written down for this year without feeling guilty, but I also can’t step on no toes all the time. And now, I will also feel guilty posting this when there's a pandemic occurring, but, I am trapped at home with little to do other than edit and re-edit this writing to be suitable enough for the public. I started writing this on April 9, 2019, too early to start my 25th anniversary writing? I’ll guess not. So here it is, my yearly open letter to my mother with intermittent ramblings and poems about my experience moving though life as the person I am and my perceptions as a flawed but resilient female. It’s like if I put it out there, maybe I’ll somehow reach her and she will somehow let me know. Highs and lows, as usual. Just after 2 years off the sauce I had a bigger ‘aha moment’ than putting down any bottles, though one wouldn’t have happened without the other. I realized drinking wasn’t my real problem to begin with. It was people, and my desperate need for their acceptance and approval. My need to be recognized and valued instead of coddled and unconsciously kept in a box. My need to control the outcome of situations and stepping on toes in the process. After so long being alcohol free I came to see that I had to start living for me. In early June 2019 a dear friend turned me on to a book called CoDependent No More. In maybe a week’s time I absorbed every word, the narcissist in me was almost convinced that I’d written it myself, it resonated so deeply. The following week I started attending CoDA meetings. Now that so many of my grievances and ailments make sense, I only wish I’d known sooner that it was okay to live life with me as my number one priority. I didn’t know before that I didn’t have to feel responsible for other people’s actions or inactions, but my self worth had been dependent on it. I’m 95% sure my mother was CoDependent, and with that consideration, I’m able to understand her life choices better and therefore navigate my own with slightly better foresight. Wikipedia says “Codependency is a behavioral condition in a relationship where one person enables another person's addiction, poor mental health, immaturity, irresponsibility, or under-achievement. Among the core characteristics of codependency is an excessive reliance on other people for approval and a sense of identity.” Now, that’s just one definition. There are many charastics to pick and choose from, and let me tell you, us codependents (I can only speak for myself) can be picky and choosy. Some people define codependency as a disease because if it goes untreated it only gets worse. I’m trying to break a lifetime of habits. Hi, My name is Blossom and I’m CoDependent. Every Monday night I go to a meeting where a group of women gather and we all try to work on ourselves to let go of whatever unmanageable ailments are keeping us shackled. It’s humbling and it fills me with hope. It empowers me to continuously seek change and clarity. Codependency is a tough one to recover from, as you can’t quit people. Once I had a name for this problem, every love song sounded different and every frustration made sense. I became able to recognize crazy making and slow down and see that I didn’t have control and things had become unmanageable. In doing so, I was able to step back and make better decisions for myself and my life and that’s how this whole last year unfolded more in my favor than any year previous. I worked on detaching and I started living for myself. March is a hard month for me. I sometimes feel so undeserving of a skin to be settled in. I writhe around in my persistent and annual grief. I start getting anxious in February wondering how it will appear this year. This March is particularly hard. I moved into a house with strangers and rarely stay there. I’ve got no place of my own to grieve, and with COVID-19 amongst us, I don’t want to take up any more emotional space while the world is feeling its current devestations and fears. My hopes for 2019 were to have more highs than lows, make my amends and reconciliations, and to keep my head mostly above water. And that was mostly the case. My aunt told me shortly after my post last year that my mom had self imposed low self esteem (now I recognize this as codependency). Watching home videos of her I feel like I could see stress in her face and I think about what she wrote in her journal about worry making her face look funny and how she didn’t want anyone to feel as she did. Maybe because it was a different time she felt like she couldn’t talk about her anxieties and had to bottle them up. I’m thinking about all the time I’ve spent transfixed by being a motherless daughter and trying to figure out where I fit into the word. I’m thinking about how long I spent tending to my father's bent and dusty wings, thinking I’d needed to see one of my parents fly so that I could’ve learned how it’s done. I’m in some required college to career success class that’s making me question my path, as if stress wasn’t doing that already. I’m laying in bed wishing that I’d figured out sooner that my wings were fine regardless of anyone else’s. I wish you were here so I could tell you all about everything. And so you could do the same. And so we could share the load. I quit smoking finally. Now my only vice is other people’s problems and trying to fix them to no avail. The eternal heartbreak I mentioned in my last letter makes more sense now. And the boy who told me to turn off the lights on my birthday sent me a podcast that said something about only being able to be loved as much as you’re willing to be vulnerable. And I think we’re all scared to be completely honest about how shitty we are, so we just perpetuate the shittiness and stay closed and unloveable. Early August 2019- I’m off track as usual, probably malnourished, definitely exhausted. This morning I was crying, I thought I wouldn’t be able to pull it together and that my eyes would be red when I got to my first job of the day. I think I was mourning. Things are going to change so much. I won’t have any more free time. I have to restructure everything. Which I think is what I wanted, but what a learning curve. I still have desperate hopes of creating a camp for motherless daughters someday. And it has to be accessible to all. But lord knows how far off in the future it is. At this time my feet are seldom beneath me, I’m sprinting forwards and if I stop I will stumble. I have to figure out my shit first I guess, and I’m putting in the worrrk. Or trying to at least. At a CoDA meeting a woman was talking about learning how to wield her anger, a thought that made me tremble. I liked the sound of it, as I have so much, and if we could turn it into a power, a force for good...it’d be all over. But I’m stifled by it, embarrassed of it. When I cancel plans it's usually because I’m embarrassed about how angry I am over something out of my control, and I can’t come down. Everyone was relatable, everyone seemed to be making progress, even if at this time it looked like a breakdown. They told their stories and I cringed inwardly, thinking of what I would have done in their situation. The time for change is now, I’m shaking in my boots. Some poetry and prose: My broken heart painted my world red slandering your name ensuring I’m to be seen as a fool who sobs wolf My depressed history understands every bit of where you come from like we have the same veins My logical self tells me that’s your burden to bear but I do everything I can to fabricate your crutches and excuse your bad behavior - Codependent Cowgirl Uncharmable. You only want your ex cause you think that’s where you can be yourself, but really that’s where was born the version of yourself you hate the most. Here I am standing strong, aching for my newest weakness. You’re having none of it. If I unclench my jaw and take a deep breath Tears roll down my cheeks THIS is relaxing So I tense back up And jump back into my cortisol spiral There is too much to get done to spend even one second thinking about you Six Sundays have passed since I’ve seen you last Codependency writes all my prose and all my sonnets All my pros and wilted bluebonnets - Go hard or go home Or go hard and stay at home, for forever because you thought you and your home would be each other’s salvation because home was the only thing that ever willingly invited you to change it and was better for it. But home got too heavy and home wouldn’t change on its own. And all the changes you did accomplish didn’t prove your worth. Plagued by nostalgia and sentiment Chronic grief Frozen in grief, and just when I begin to thaw, the temperature drops again Perpetually stressed What if to lose a parent as a child, is to lose the present. Because then you are trapped dreading the uncertainty of the future and wondering about a past you never knew and will never know, theirs. - Fuckless nights I unwittingly dusted off my fiddle strings and played as best as I could but you were never pleased. I was always out of tune or just off beat. -- And so let us not demonize others for our perceived shadows they cast and have casted We can’t all be deciphering your eccentric and elaborate needs when you’re shouting CUNT at the tips of your fingers and claiming to empower women while you dig in your claws to another. Chicken soup wasn’t enough to cleanse your soul. -- I think about you every day Literally nothing happens And I’m reminded of you I wake up I think of you I want to punch a wall I till the dirt I think of you I go on a date I don’t like him I think of you I let myself get so fucked up over you My rose colored glasses are shattered but I’m still wearing them I can’t bring myself to say nothing but nothing I say gets through to you I was operating out of a place Of fear I felt threatened by any number of women I’d never met and will never meet. I saw a message on your phone It confirmed my suspicions You drunkenly tried to explain it away I wanted to believe you but I had already poured the concrete and I cart it with me everywhere Slowly I’m leaving little bits here and there Becoming lighter - This week I wrestled with my codependency, Manic and exhausted from my nervous system vibrating I spent countless hours elbows deep in the dirt trying to find the root of it all An unsolvable problem parallel with reality Hard work makes me stronger Even if I can’t kill all the weeds Progress over perfection What even is progress? fuck my life. I’m no fun at this time. The doors will rot in the yard, my gut tells me just like the others. It’s not even a metaphor, just a strong probability, and a waste. Oh my god the realizations just keep rolling in. For hoarders the drama triangle isn’t just for people, but objects too. The doors must’ve been playing victim, and he’s gone to rescue them. The only corner left for me is The Persecutor. - Back in the thick Texas air Drawn to tough love From best friends to boyfriends Can’t get enough of the push and pull I’m nothing like the others I’m so much more with so much less You make me nervous But I don’t have much to lose I want to roll over and kiss you on the mouth I want reciprocation I want you to push my face away Just to kiss me on the neck You always get me with a twist We are scared of each other Collective hurt Collectively hurt We are missing something and are unable to accept ourselves and each other as we are I don’t know how you can lie to me Or how I can stick around for it For all those times you smash it right I guess Second best to you kissing my neck Is when I’m out of sight but on your mind I don’t fit in to some plan you thought you had I break the mold I’m quiet and bold We are anxious, we are stepping on each other’s toes Bite your tongue For better or for worse Things stay the same But with time, and your tongue between your teeth Eggshells are everywhere, splintered into our feet Make it up as you go along Keep the gas on I’m filling the space between my eyes and my rose colored glasses with wool - Same as ever Tongue between my teeth Lighting up another 100 out of 10 You wonder if you know me But you don’t give yourself the opportunity I’m right behind you writing my words that my teeth won’t allow my tongue to speak Desperation is such a drain Self inflicted low self esteem A familial affliction Looking like a 10 Feeling like a dud That low self esteem has me trembling And today was a good day - With a bottle of booze as his gate keeper He’ll never let me in I’m flushed, way too in my head Thinking up scenarios to catch you with your hands red bloodied from tearing my heart out and probably hers, too. - When I first quit drinking I felt this temporary empowerment, like I always had my wits about me. I could do anything. And then my codependency cloud settled back in, my intuition slipped back out the window. Now it’s like I’m in the desert, with a paddle, which makes even less sense than being upstream without one. It takes so much energy for me to state my needs. I’ve lived much of my life being brushed off and I predict rejection of my needs and so I try to suppress them and be ok with things as they are, but I need more. When I’m cancelled on, or am not prioritized, I need to be provided with alternatives or I feel insignificant. Reminders of my stated needs feel like nagging. I need reassurance. It’s exhausting and disheartening. -It’s the little things like when I ask if you want to do something and you tell me what you’re doing instead, without offering any alternative. Or when you tell me nothing. And I have visceral feelings that to inquire is to overstep and overstepping leads to termination. When I’m doing better I don’t write as much. Pain is romanticized, joy is foreign to me and perceived as fleeting. I’m trying to flip that script. Going to CoDA helps me in this effort. It reminds me that there is space for me and it's ok for me to have needs and taking care of myself should be step one in all of my endeavors. It's ok to say no. I don’t owe anyone anything, and also no one owes me anything. I’m closer than ever before to becoming the butterfly out of the cocoon, though I'm still very far, and that's okay. Progress over perfection. Now wash your hands and stay safe. If not for you, then for your loved ones, or your friends friends loved ones.

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wolf-with-a-pen · 3 years

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Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door Part 5

TW: death, unreality, more dirty flirting

Previous, Masterpost, Next

Ok, so if you read the original A/N for this, then you would know I am a liar. I didn't do any of that. Well I'm back for this moment, and I am going to try and give you more content, and what was promised. So, enjoy the edited version of this for now because I despised the end.

Enjoy!

Word Count: 4087

IT HAD BEEN 3 MONTHS since Edward had arrived, and not much progress had been made. Since they had met Riley, they hadn’t seen or heard from them again, despite giving him their number, which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing in Edward’s eyes, but at the same time, they wished that he had at least used the number once. While they were waiting, they had continued working for Dick, and had managed to meet quite a few new people- some of which were able to help, some of which had no clue what was going on behind the wall. It was to be expected- they couldn’t expect everyone to be an angel or demon, there was still a large amount of humans on earth after all.

But they had found a few. Most were regulars that saw them arrive that day. Some were just passing through. These were the better ones to talk to- they were travellers, always had a good story to tell, and could better spread the word. They never stayed long. Honestly, at this point Edward’s contacts were a mess. They had acquired so many numbers that they couldn’t tell who was who anymore. The only thing that mattered was that they were all able to help, whether they wanted to or not. Somehow, without realising it, Isi had managed to find one of the few places in the city that was a meeting place for the dead. It would come in useful for them.

Meanwhile, Isi and Vanny had been looking for suitable schools and Universities to either apply to join as a student at or become a teacher at, to spread themselves out more and be exposed to more people who could be allies. So far they had visited three different ones, with not much luck, but the second they managed to get Edward back in school, they believe they would have better odds- 3 people are better than 2 and they could cover ground quicker. Unfortunately, they didn’t want to re-join school. Who would? Especially since they had already gone through it all and managed to finish it. Somehow. The only one that hadn’t was no longer there. And plus, they were getting more allies every day.

It was a normal November day for Edward, with business being at its worst for people staying at the bar, mainly due to people only popping in for a hot deink on the cold days, and it being in-between the main rush seasons. It gave them rest at least, with calmer days, but it also meant that less people were recruited. They tried as many as possible, but it was hard for them, especially when they kept saying the wrong things to the customers, and there was nobody really that they hadn’t talked to. However, they didn’t realise that that day would go horribly different to how they were expecting.

The first sign that something was up was when nobody entered. All day it was quiet- almost as if the shop was invisible. By 11am everyone was a bit worried at the sudden change in people’s routines. Especially when the regulars that barely leave the bar never arrived. And to make things worse, Dick hadn’t arrived. He said he would arrive earlier than usual but Edward had to open up for him. And finally, whenever a shift ended, all it meant was they would lose a member of staff from the place, due to none of the others arriving. It was stage and they did not like it one bit.

So, when they saw someone enter, they were almost relieved at the sight. Until they saw his face. That smug looking face. They knew he had done this. They didn’t know how, but they knew. Suddenly, the urge to punch him in his handsome face hit them, and the despised the very sight of his beautiful red shoulder-length hair. “Wait, what?” they thought, “I don’t like him, he is not handsome, why am I thinking like this? Just ignore it and him and they’ll go away.” Unfortunately, that plan didn’t work. Edward stared as he entered the room, shortly followed by Sprite and Salami, both locked in a flirting battle. Again. If they were brutally honest, they didn’t mind seeing the three again, but they would never admit it, and were never brutally honest. So, they didn’t say anything. “What’s up?” they asked.

“Why don’t you come and look?”

They sighed, wishing they’d have predicted that. “What did you need handsome?” they asked, flirting to distract him, and hide their nerves.

“Oh, nothing much darling,” he replied.

“Then why has the shop become invisible so we have had no customers at all, the entire day, because I am sure it has to do with you.”

“Oh, come on, you got a break, didn’t you want one? And so what if I did? I needed the privacy before I could come and talk to you.”

“So, I’m guessing you’re also the reason for the power failure to all of the cameras in here then?”

“Yes I am.”

“Bastard,” they muttered.

“Now, that’s not very kind, is it my dear? Especially since I was going to give you information for the rebellion.”

“Wait, what? Seriously, we’ve been doing fine on our own the last 3 months.”

“Yes, well, we may know a way you can find even more people for the cause. That is, if you agree to give us something in return. We will even help you get it, instead of just telling you where it is, all we need is a favour in return.”

“Before I decide, can Vanny and Isi be here?”

“Sure, but I am not entirely sure Vanny will see us.”

“Nor am I, but she will need to know as well if we agree.”

“Fine, call your friends. I don’t care.”

“Thank you.”

“Anything, Mon Cherie.”

By the time Isi and Vanny got there, things had… progressed. A normal conversation turned to one of constantly trying to better each other, only willing to stop when the other is a mess. Neither was winning currently. “Are you a sea lion? Cause I can see us lion in your bed tonight.”

“I love my bed but I’d rather be in yours.”

“I like your outfit but can I talk you out of it?”

“And that t-shirt looks great on you, and honestly, so would I.”

“You look uncomfortable in that; can I help you out of it?”

Isi cleared its throat, dragging the attention to it, and stopping the flirting fight, believing it would get further. “You said that he had information for us. Can we get on with it? You two can continue later.”

“Sure.” Riley replied, before beginning to explain.

“So, if we agree to do a favour for you, you will give us info on a way to send messages to only those who are dead, and help us get this thing? I think it sounds ok, just depends on what you’d have us doing, and how long the favour would be redeemable.”

“If you don’t like the sound of what we are doing, and are completely unwilling to do the favour, we will not force you, and we can redeem it at another time. As for time scale, you aren’t going anywhere I’m pretty sure, so if we say, I don’t know, 100 years’ time?”

“Alright I agree to it.”

“Thank you. And your girlfriend?”

“I also agree.”

“Wait, you can hear us, and see us?”

“You’re a bit transparent, but yes.”

“Ok, how on earth did you find yourself a veil-seer this early on?”

“We did not know she was a veil-seer until now, I’m surprised we hadn’t known before, but most of the people around here have the jewels we do to keep us solid.”

“Alright.”

It was at this point that the cat from 3 months ago made a surprise appearance. They ran to Sprite, rubbing against them before running and laying down next to a cat basket that Dick had in the corner for the occasional visitor they had in the place.

“Ahh, Spooky, I was wondering where you got to.” Riley said.

“So that’s their name, Spooky.”

“You met her before?”

“Yes, we saw her the first day that we were here, and simply couldn’t resist petting her.”

“Right, so that was you that they saw. Anyway, you’re all willing to swap information for something that could potentially help, for an IOU to us?” Riley confirmed. All of them looked at each other for a second, Edward then confirming. “Alright, though this will be a long story.”

“An old legend goes like this: once in a time, there were 2 lovers- one a veil-seer, one a demon. Both were smitten; however, their romance was illegal, and forbidden by Satan at that time, and the demon girl’s father- mainly because said father was homophobic, but we didn’t know that then. Anyway, despite this, they still talked as much as possible, but it was becoming increasingly hard to visit each other or get someone to smuggle love letters between them, due to not being allowed to be in love. However, they didn’t say they couldn’t be friends, so the demon spent all day and night trying to find a way to create an invisible ink that only the recipient and the writer could read. And so, she found one, pretty easy to make and to use. So, they used that. However, nobody but her knew the way to make it. Since then, she has been lost, alone in hell, since her lover died and ended up in heaven. And so, I am telling you this, because we can go to heaven, find the lover, take her to hell, and convince the demon to tell us the recipe for the ink, and you can use it to just create messages visible to demons and angels, and veil-seers on earth, that aren’t the guardians.”

“Cool plan, but did you forget we’re outcasts and are unlikely to be allowed back into heaven while we stay as angels?” Edward asked.

“No, and that is why we are going to hell first. Satan said he could make you all fallen angels. Then you can’t be turned to guardians, and are still allowed in heaven.”

“Wait, really? This would mean we can recruit people still in heaven, and maybe venture to hell and recruit people willing.” Isi exclaimed.

“Yep, and you’d get the ink to use on posters and leaflets on the ground, and you can say it’s to advertise the bar.”

“Ok, that sounds amazing, when do we start?” Isi asked.

“Whenever you are ready.”

“Ok, should we meet back here at 7pm and go from there?” Edward questioned all of them.

“Sure. It’s a date.” Riley announced, focusing on Edward, bringing their hand up to his mouth before kissing it.

As promised, all of them had returned to the shop by 7pm, some definitely more stressed than others- the two angels knew that they would most likely have to make a good impression in order to be turned to fallens, and to not instantly be killed by Satan. They didn’t know what he was like so they had prepared for every eventuality. Isi was dressed in its “formal wear” and it was much fancier than its casual wear- something Edward wouldn’t have believed possible. It had a black shirt, red tie, and black trousers, with white suspenders on them. Edward was wearing a red shirt and black trousers, but refused the tie. Riley certainly didn’t mind from the look he was giving them. Vanny was wearing a short redress, tights and boots, and had done up her hair. However, Riley, Sprite and Salami were all wearing more casual outfits, almost as if they were all going to the shops or on a walk around the city, not going to see their boss. Neither side remarked on that fact.

So, there they all were, staring at the wall around the back of Dick’s. The angels were all apprehensive, not knowing what was going on. “6 for hell,” Riley announced, and the wall began to slide out in front of them, collapsing at the ends as it moved. Where it was covering, a grey glowing light shone out, with steps in an alternating lighter and darker colours of light, so they were visible but not out of place. “Come on, let’s go before the portal closes. Edward, since you’re the most handsome, why don’t you go first?”

“Hey!” the others protested, but still let them go first, following him through, the portal closing behind them, as they caught their first glimpse of hell.

Edward was in awe at the sheer scale of the place, it looked massive in comparison to heaven, mainly because you could see all of it. It was full of mountains and hills, and quite a few small cities dotted around. The thing that they all instantly noticed was the massive spire reaching up to the top of the world: you could barely see the tip of it, it was that tall. And imposing, made in black and red, and looking like a knife in the middle of the place. “Welcome to hell! We need to head up to the tower, to the very top. We might have to wait a while for Satan to be ready, we didn’t exactly tell him before we came. So, we can go and tell the doorman we are here, and if you want, we can go sight-seeing.”

“Sure, I’d like to see what it is like here.” At that, they all set off along a winding brick path to the right of them, heading towards the massive spire that was towering over them.

Despite the large distance that they had to cover, it didn’t seem like it took too long. All the way through they were talking, getting to know each other. Most of it was spent flirting or arguing, but some was spent comparing worlds- the demons had a chance to find out how bad heaven really is. All they knew was it is corrupt; they didn’t know to what extent. Whereas, the angels found out how much of a safe haven hell is. Anyone can do what they want, be what they want. Both appreciated the fact they were not in heaven. The one thing that was near constant was Riley trying to pick up Edward, clearly refusing to give up on them. It was working, but they made sure not to show that.

The instant that they arrived at the tower, they were greeted with “What are you doing here?” and “Why did you bring a bunch of angels and somehow a human to hell?”. Very tiresome. They were all led into the tower, and taken half way up the building, into some sort of meeting room, before being questioned. “We would like an audience with Satan, it’s about our mission.”

“Fine, I’ll ask him, but first I need to check none of you have trackers, mics or cameras on you, especially the angels.”

“Alright.”

And so, that is how the whole group ended up being inspected by a bunch of demons, even going so far to pat them down like they do at airports, and even use x-ray machines. Definitely overkill. But at least they all knew the guardians wouldn’t be watching them. It took way too long in their opinion, and so, the second they were all done, they were taken the rest of the way up the tower, all the way to Satan’s penthouse. They knocked, and tentatively entered, well all the angels did, the demons strode in like they owned the place. Mainly because they had been there way too often.

“Hello, Sprite, Salami, Riley, Vanessa, Isi, and Edward. Now, what are you doing here, and Riley, Sprite, Sal didn’t I tell you not to make contact yet? Explain, why are they here?”

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

For Merlin it was what could be considered a normal day. At least, as normal as his life had been over the past 12 months. He had been chased out of his hometown, by pretty much everyone except his parents- the one thing he was glad about. His parents saw him as their son. But it had caused problems. For months and months, people had slagged him off, avoided him, tried to break him, all because he was different to the others. “Different.” That wasn’t the only way they described him. Most of them were too offensive to repeat. And because of that they had no help back then. But now things were looking up.

A few months ago, Merlin had managed to convince his parents to move. Not that it took much once they found out how he was treated. They were more than willing to let him start over in a new place- they had spent the last 6 months trying to find a new place, and sell their current one to make him happy. And they had managed it. Today was the day- they were moving city and county. Part of him was sad to leave, but he was excited that he finally had a chance to be himself. The house looked strange- it had been stripped nearly bare in preparation for the new owners. Everything he had was in boxes or bags, and they were just finishing putting everything in the cars before leaving. Well, that and getting his dog ready to go.

She had been a 7th birthday gift, and quickly became his best friend- the only real friend he had ever had. Back then he was popular. Everyone wanted to be his friend. Or date him. Either way, everyone was always sucking up to him. Boy had that changed. But throughout it, Midnight had been a good friend. He had trained her and everything. All he wished was that she would no longer be his only friend. At least he had a chance. A clean slate.

And so, they set off, 3 people and a dog in a car for the 5 hour journey to their new home- scary and exciting. Merlin stared out of the window at the gradually greying outer world, watching the cities and woods and fields zoom by, eventually watching the raindrops fall on the window and rest there. Some streaming down the window, leaving pretty patterns of streaks. Barely slowing down, barely noticing the time pass. That was, until the sky became not just overcast, but dark and full of stars- his parents took the scenic route, knowing it would be quieter and most likely quicker. He was glad. Most of the time he didn’t see anything like this due to the pollution in his town. Eventually they arrived, tired and restless but still needing to do the hard work of moving everything back into the new house, even if it was just to stay in its boxes all night, so they could free up the moving van and send it back where it came from. It took hours. Afterwards, completely and utterly drained, Merlin dropped onto his inflatable mattress, (after getting changed of course) and despite himself, fell asleep almost instantaneously.

It was the next morning, and Merlin was excited to see what the place had to offer, especially since he was told how different it was to his home town. He got dressed, wearing an oversized pastel blue hoodie and ¾ length white trousers, throwing on a pair of shoes and running a comb through his short mop of dirty blonde hair. Grabbing his phone, headphones and a bag to stuff them in, he ran downstairs, grabbing a bowl of cereal and eating it quickly. “Can I go explore?” he asked his parents.

“Merlin, you are 19, you know you don’t need to ask.” They had replied.

“But we need to unpack so I thought it would be better to get permission,” he explained.

“You know you can go anytime.”

“Thank you!” he answered, grabbing his bag, and making his way to the front door.

“No problem, just be back for lunch, it’ll be around half one.”

“I will, thank you.”

Looking around the city, he was in awe of the size of the place- in comparison his hometown would have looked like a village or town, not a city. It probably was. Aimlessly, he wandered, not worrying about anything but exploring the are and finding out what the area was like. Mainly residential, but there were quite a few suspicious alleyways, all of which he avoided subconsciously. He turned off the road his house was on and walked down a side road, which widened into a path, leading directly to what looked like a little cottage. Then he noticed the sign, big and bold- “Dick’s Dicks (And Drinks)” it exclaimed at him. Then he glanced at the flower beds, all different pride flags, and nearly cried. Already he had found somewhere he would be accepted for who he was. Walking up to the building, he pushed open the door.

The inside was as pretty as the outside, making the place feel like home to him, and despite the people inside all looking at him, he didn’t mind it for once. Instead of the original stares of disgust, they were fond stares, happy to see someone new in the place. Most of the people in the place looked older than him, at least in their thirties. But there was one, one that he spotted from the corner of his eye. One of the bartenders, and they looked around his age.

Said bartender had eyes you were just drawn to- an amber colour, reminiscent of caramel, and harsh but welcoming. Their hair was a chestnut brown, and pretty long, nearly to their shoulders, even with the slight wave that it had, framing their face perfectly, and contrasting it. Pale as a sheet, and emphasized by their hair and clothing, which was dark enough it was noticeable. Their face was sharp and defined, with a strong jawline and most people would say they were attractive. From what you could see over the bar, they were wearing a navy blue button up, with a badge of the place’s logo attached to their left pocket. Carefully, Merlin approached them, sitting down on the stool closest to them. On the badge was a name, Edward, which he assumed to be theirs and a “they/them” written underneath.

“Hey, what would you like to drink?” “I’ll just have a coke please.” “Coming right up.” Edward replied, turning around to grab a glass, before returning to a pump just next to them. “I haven’t seen you around before, you new to town?” “Yes, we just moved in yesterday down the road.” “Really? Cool. May I ask why you moved here?” “Yes, my parents found a better job here, and in general the area is more accepting so we moved.” “Bully problem?” “Yeah.” “I understand, I had the same,” they replied, placing the glass on the bar. “Really? You look cool to hang with, why wouldn’t people like you?” “Preferred to spend time alone, so people avoided me.” “Right. Can I ask how old you are?” “22, how about you?” “19, but I’ll be 20 in a few weeks.” “Cool. You going to the University down the road when term starts up?” “Yeah, are you also going?” “Hopefully.” “So I’ll see you there then.” “Probably. Do you want to exchange numbers? It’s ok if you don’t but you seem cool to hang with, and I thought it’d be good to help you settle in here.” “Yes, of course. Thank you.” Merlin said, grabbing a piece of paper and pen stashed in his backpack, writing down his number, before handing the sheet to Edward, along with the pen. Quickly they wrote their number on the other end of the paper, tearing it in half and handing the side they had just written on back to Merlin. “Thank you.” “No problem, it’s the least I could do for you. How would you like it if I gave you a tour of the area?” “That would be wonderful. Thank you. I’ll text you later to arrange it. I’d probably better go now before my Mum gets worried.” Merlin replied standing up. “Yeah, sure, talk to you later. Have a nice day.” “Bye.” He replied as he walked back home. Maybe this wasn’t going to go as bad as he expected.

#knockin' on heaven's door #original content #tw death #tw unreality #tw flirting #tw mentions of mistreatment #tw bullying mention

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milieumarch · 7 years

Text

The Fallout of Fall Festival

I am re-posting this after editing some things and splitting it into two parts, because it was a monster. Thanks to @teamhook for helping me out with some advice. The next part should appear soon!

Summary: Emma and Killian were well on their way to becoming an official ampersand couple in their small town of Storybrooke, Maine, when a surprise visitor caused a rift between them.

Word Count: approx. 9K

FFN

The Storybrooke Fall Festival was one of the favorite events of the year in the small town in Maine. Pumpkins and hay bales were brought in by the cartload to take over Main Street for a day and tables were set up with people peddling wares from candles to handmade jewelry to wooden carvings and other stands were serving food.

As town sheriff, Emma had to work all day (although what she was meant to protect the festival from other than the off-chance that a scarecrow came to life, she wasn’t sure).

As the daughter of Mary Margaret and David Nolan, Emma had to help set up and break down half of the tables and other decorations.

At least she got paid in free food and apple cider for the entire day.

She’d been up since the crack of dawn helping her dad line the street with hay bales and then settling a dispute between the nuns and August Booth about who had which table. Fortunately, it was resolved quickly without her having to incarcerate a nun or August.

By the time the festival officially opened at nine in the morning, she was ready to take advantage of the free beverages as she walked to the booth where Ruby was serving coffee.

“What can I get you, Sheriff?” Ruby called cheerily.

“As much caffeine as you can fit into a cup. Or a bucket. Whichever will keep me upright for the rest of the day.”

“How about one cup and you can come back for more?”

Emma huffed. “Fine. But if I fall asleep on a hay bale, I’m blaming you.”

She grabbed the cup and took a large gulp. “Ugh, needs sugar.” Ruby pointed to the bin of sugar packets next to the coffee dispenser and Emma started adding ample amounts of the powder to the coffee.

“You’re going to crash so hard once that wears off,” Ruby commented.

“Not if I come back here as much as I plan to today,” Emma retorted.

“Unless you plan on chugging caffeine until your heart finally gives out, you will eventually crash.”

“Yes, but hopefully I can hold it off until I’m lying in bed after the chaos is over.”

“Just so long as we don’t run out of coffee,” Ruby said impishly.

“Don’t even think about it.”

“Has she started on her caffeine high yet?” said Elsa as she walked up.

“You try working the entire festival, including set-up and breakdown, without coffee in an IV,” Emma grumbled.

Elsa wrapped an arm around her friend’s shoulder and squeezed quickly before dropping her arm. “The place looks great, Emma. You and your parents have outdone yourselves once again.”

“It’s all Mom. Dad and I are just the manual labor.”

“Either way, it looks fantastic.”

“I’ll pass on the message.” Emma looked around. “Did you ditch Liam at home?”

“You know how much of a grump he can be when it comes to town spirit. But—” She trailed off and looked away.

“But what? Elsa?” Emma said with suspicion lacing her tone.

“Killian’s here,” Elsa answered quietly.

Emma groaned. “Can I get whiskey in my next coffee?”

“Absolutely not. You’re working,” Ruby responded.

Elsa quickly added, “He’s not going to try to talk to you. He just said that he likes the festivals.”

“They’re open to the whole town,” Emma muttered.

“Maybe you could talk to him,” Ruby offered. “Isn’t it about time that you two talked it out? You’ve both been moping around for the last two weeks. And don’t think I missed you hightailing it out of the diner this week when he walked in.”

Apparently, both David and Liam had set down their feet on the same day about Emma and Killian avoiding Granny’s Diner, resulting in the most awkward lunch run in the history of both the sheriff’s department and the dock crew.

“I’m not ready. I still have things to figure out.”

Elsa sent a soft smile towards Emma, remembering the conversation they’d had the morning after the fight.

“Well, figure it out faster. I’d rather have happy Emma than Emma crying into her hot cocoa.”

“Ruby!” Elsa reprimanded. Ruby gave a responding shrug before turning to someone walking up to the stand.

The morning after the breakup, Emma woke up, confused about her surroundings. As she remembered the events of the previous day, she opted to stare at the green walls of her bedroom rather than face her morning-people family. Her thoughts were disrupted by someone lying down on the bed beside her.

“Annie!” Emma scolded.

“Not Annie,” came Elsa’s voice from behind her. Emma flipped on her back to see her friend.

“Elsa? What are you doing here?”

“Emma, you know why.”

Emma sighed and turned her head back to the wall. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

“Do you want to tell me your side?”

“Listen, Elsa, I’m sure that I’m public enemy number one at your house right now. You don’t have to be here.”

“Too bad, because I want to be here. And you’re hardly public enemy number one.”

“Sure about that? I basically kicked Killian while he was already down.”

“I’ll admit that Liam isn’t too pleased with you. But you and I were friends long before you and Killian were together. So now I’m here for my friend who just had a fight with her boyfriend.”

Emma picked her head up and twisted it around to look at Elsa. “Liam’s mad at me?”

Elsa smiled softly. “He’s gone all big brother. And you know how overbearing he can be.”

Emma turned herself so she was lying on her side, facing Elsa. “He’s right to be this time. I really hurt him. And he’s still trying to deal with all the Milah stuff.”

“What happened, Emma?”

Emma picked at the sheets on the bed. “I got scared and ran. Like I always do.”

“Start from the beginning.”

Emma kept her eyes focused on the movement of her hand as she spoke. “Milah was back in town. And she wanted to get back with Killian. And I freaked. I told him that he should take some time to figure out if that’s what he wanted to do. And he said that I always planned on running anyway from our relationship. So that’s what I did.”

“Oh, Emma.” Elsa reached out and grasped her hand. “This sounds like one big misunderstanding. He’s not going back to Milah.”

“I know that!” Emma snapped. “And I’m sure some part of me knew that last night. He’s been all-in on this since day one. I was the one who took forever to catch up. But why wouldn’t he go back to her? She’s offering him everything he wants: marriage, kids, stability. He deserves someone willing to go all-in like he is. And I got anxious at signing a lease contract.”

“He’d rather have a lease contract with you than the whole package with Milah.”

“Maybe.”

“I knew him back when he and Milah were together. They were different from the two of you and he was different.” She glanced at Emma who had turned curious eyes toward her. “He was restless. He’d come visit Liam and couldn’t stand not doing anything. Always ready for the next adventure or thing going on. I got the sense that he was never in the right place. And then she left and he was miserable for a few years. And then you came along.” Elsa smiled thoughtfully. “And he became happy, not in a manic way, but in a content way. Suddenly he just seemed to belong. I don’t think he knew what it meant to want to settle down until he met you.”

“Clearly he wanted to with Milah. It’s why they broke up.”

“Okay, maybe he thought that he wanted that life back then. But he didn’t know what it meant to enjoy being in one place. It was a fantasy to him back then, but with you, it’s a reality.”

Emma pulled her pillow over her face and smashed it over her mouth as she made loud, garbled noises. “I screwed up, Elsa. I screwed up badly and I hurt him.”

“Yes, you did.”

“But I can’t go back to him. Not yet.”

“Why, Emma? You’re both miserable.”

“I can’t just make up with him if I’m going to run in another three months. If that’s the case, he’s better off if we just cut ties now. I can’t do this again. If we’re going to try to work things out, then I need to be in it for the long haul. And I don’t know if I am.”

Elsa squeezed Emma’s hand. “I think you’re right. So take the time to figure it out.”

Elsa stood from the bed and walked around the room for a second. She picked up one of the overturned photos and smirked at it. “Do you remember this?” It was the one of him in pirate apparel behind bars.

Emma smiled wistfully. “Yeah.”

“That was during the time that I picked up a few extra hours at the library, so I helped him find this costume for the whole fairytales thing and make all the adjustments needed. And the whole time we were trying to get him fitted, all he could talk about was going to show you. You hadn’t even started dating yet, but he wanted your approval so badly.”

“He asked me out that day, and I turned him down.”

“He never admitted to that! What happened?”

“He showed up at the station and was goofing off. And started spouting all these goofy pickup lines, like ‘You’ve got me hooked’ and ‘I’m a pirate who knows treasure, and you’re the finest treasure around’. But I told him that, as town sheriff, I couldn’t be seen fraternizing with villains. And that it was my duty to lock him up for the town’s protection. Which is how that picture happened.”

“How did he get you to agree to a date?”

A blissful smile crept onto Emma’s face. “It was the end of last fall when I got that really awful cold. He’d heard through the town gossips that I was sick and brought me grilled cheese from Granny’s and soup and medicine. And then he made a giant blanket nest and gave me hot chocolate and watched movies with me the entire day. A week later, I found out that he’d skipped sailing with Liam to spend the day with me. The last sail before they dry-docked their boat for the winter. And I realized that he’d done so much for me when I wouldn’t even take a chance on him.”

“That’s a good story.”

“I’ve never once deserved him. Especially not now.”

Elsa walked back to the bed and perched next to Emma. “Maybe. But I don’t think that’s true. And he definitely doesn’t think that’s true.”

“Didn’t,” Emma muttered.

Elsa grimaced. “I wasn’t going to tell you this, but . . . he asked me to check on you. I had already planned on it and then he told me you’d be here and wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Emma shoved her face back into the pillow and let out a loud groan. “I really don’t deserve him,” she rasped.

“He’s not keeping score. You just need to figure out what you want. And if it’s to be with him, then do everything in your power to make things right, because—” One side of Elsa’s mouth quirked upwards “—you know the old saying. ‘A man unwilling to fight for what he wants . . .”

“. . . deserves what he gets’,” Emma whispered.

“Take some time to think. And remember that I am always here to talk to.”

Emma shot her a grateful look. “Thank you, Elsa.” She looked downwards before her eyes flitted back to Elsa’s. “Is he okay?”

“About the same as you. Miserable and full of regrets. But he stayed out of the rum last night.”

“Okay, good. That’s good. Take care of him?”

With a small nod and salute, Elsa left her alone.

Later the day of the festival, Emma was admiring a necklace that she’d spotted at one of the stands when she heard a loud ‘Killian!’

Instantly recognizing the voice of her younger sister, she froze. A second later, she heard a shout of ‘Goose!’ She sucked in a breath at the familiar nickname for Annie, her twelve-year-old sister.

Still pretending to be examining the necklace, she glanced around surreptitiously, instantly spotting the dark-haired man in a black leather jacket in front of a booth a few down from where she was. Not a second after she saw him, he was nearly knocked over by her little sister tackling him in a hug.

“Killian, I missed you!” Annie cried.

“I’ve missed you too, little lass. Are you enjoying the festival?”

“It’s okay. You didn’t help set up.”

“Aye, well, I was—busy.” Emma could practically hear him scratching behind his ear.

“I know you and Emma broke up. And I think it’s stupid.” Emma dug her fingernails into the palm of her hand.

“I’m sorry, goose. Sometimes stupid things happen.”

“Well, it’s stupid. And you two are being stupid.”

Killian made a noise too soft for Emma to interpret. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around, goose.”

“Even—even though you and Emma aren’t dating, which I still think is stupid”—And she beats me at Scrabble?, Emma thought—“are you and I still friends?” Emma’s heart nearly broke all over again at her sister’s sad tone.

“Oh, goose, of course we are.”

“Good. But you should get back together with Emma, so she’ll stop being sad. And then you can come to movie night and keep Leo from stealing all the popcorn.”

“Not that simple. But I need you to do me a favor.” His voice dropped a bit and Emma stepped a couple steps closer to pick up on his next words. “You need to make your sister happy, even when I am being stupid, as you so eloquently put it.”

Emma almost broke down right there at his words and the sincerity in his voice.

“I’m good at that, better than Leo, who just wants to play video games all day.”

“I know you are.”

Emma peeked at them again to see Killian press a kiss to her sister’s forehead and then wrap his arms tightly around her. She felt a smile overtaking her face, even though she could still feel tears welling behind her eyes at the overheard conversation of her sister and that ridiculous, stupid man.

Before Annie or Killian caught sight of her, she strode away from the jewelry stand into the crowd milling down the street. It was time to take the advice her father had given her. She just needed to figure out how.

Emma was so stuck on her goal that she didn’t look back to see Killian approaching the table that she had just left.

“Tomorrow, you’re getting lunch,” David announced, tossing a bag of food from Granny’s onto Emma’s desk.

Jolted from trying to figure out how she could play off Annie’s ‘REALM’ in Words with Friends, Emma glared at her father. “Dad, you know I can’t go there.”

“He hasn’t even been there. Apparently he’s got Liam working as his errand-boy.”

“Great,” Emma scoffed. “Liam hates me even more.”

“Emma, you can’t avoid Granny’s for the rest of your life. You’ll starve.”

“Not as long as Mom’s around.” Mary Margaret, thrilled to have three children back under the roof (although downcast at the reason why), had been baking every day since Emma showed up on their doorstep over a week ago. “Who taught Annie how to play Scrabble? She’s twelve and she’s kicking my butt.”

“What can I say? My good looks weren’t the only thing she inherited from me.”

“Yeah, I’m sure she gets her vocabulary, not from her teacher mother, but from her deputy father who tried to convince me two days ago that the opposite of an ‘entrance’ was an ‘outrance’.”

“Hey, that joke is funny, and you know it! See if I get you lunch tomorrow.”

Emma reached for the bag on her desk. “Thanks for the grilled cheese, Dad.”

“Grilled cheese? I thought you wanted Granny’s Meatloaf Surprise.” He leaned in to whisper, “The surprise is getting sick after you eat it.”

“Ew, Dad, why.”

“I’m just saying. I’ve gotten out of some night shifts with that stuff.”

“Storybrooke’s finest.”

“Just because I vowed to serve and to protect doesn’t mean I want to run the drunk tank on Leroy’s birthday. Graham booked all seven of the brothers that night.”

“Let me eat my grilled cheese in peace,” Emma whined. David turned back to his desk and his own lunch as they both began unwrapping food in silence.

After half of the grilled cheese and one-third of the fries (damn you, Dad) had disappeared into Emma’s stomach, she looked up at her dad. “Hey, Dad,” she started, “when did you know you were going to marry Mom and all that ‘to death do us part’ stuff?”

“Somewhere between me getting on one knee on the beach and the altar, your mother filled me in.”

“Dad, no, seriously.”

David smiled. “It was during her Thanksgiving break freshman year of college. She’d gone to University of Maine while I stayed home in training to be a cop and everything. And I kept hearing all these stories about what’s known as the ‘turkey drop’. It’s where couples break up during Thanksgiving after college. So I was so worried that she was going to get back and have found some stupidly handsome, rich college guy who wanted to make her every dream come true or something.

“And then she got home and she was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. And she kept saying she didn’t want to go back because she hated being away from me. I told her that she needed to follow her dreams and I’d always be with her, even if not physically present. I used most of my savings, as well as borrowed money from your grandmother, to buy a ring and proposed that week. We didn’t get married until after she graduated, but I knew then.”

He and Emma sat quietly for a few minutes, the father lost in memories while the daughter processed everything.

“Did you two ever fight? Not small squabbles but a big blow-out fight?” Emma asked shyly.

David’s smile faded. “Once,” he stuttered.

“Over?” Emma prodded when he didn’t continue after a few seconds.

“I wanted to keep you,” he stated.

Emma swallowed heavily. “When I was a baby?”

David nodded. “We were discussing options when your mother was pregnant. She wanted to give you up for adoption. To ‘give you your best chance’. She’d already been accepted into colleges and said if we kept you you’d grow up raised by two kids who were barely scraping by. She’d hoped that you’d be raised by some nice family.”

“She couldn’t have known,” Emma whispered, thinking back on her foster-system days.

“I know. I told her that even if we couldn’t give you the best toys, we’d still know that you were growing up being loved with all of our hearts. She accused me of saying that she didn’t love you. I told her that she was being too optimistic and idealizing the idea of adoption. Lots of mean things were said on both sides and we didn’t talk for a few days.

“Finally, we both apologized and talked it over. I decided she was probably right and neither of us could raise a child. And she said we’d make sure that you were going into a good family before we gave you up. And we thought we had, just—”

“They sent me back into the system after three years when they had their own child,” Emma finished.

“Yeah. If I’d known that, I would’ve taken you back. If I’d known anything about how you would grow up, I would have held onto you as a newborn and not let anyone take you away ever.”

Emma lurched out of her chair and wrapped her arms around her father tightly. He returned the embrace as she buried her head into his chest. “You couldn’t have known,” she said into his shirt. “You tried your best to give me a good life.”

“I know. But I would give anything to remake that decision.”

“You would’ve been a great dad.” Emma could feel tears leaking out of her eyes. “You are a great dad.”

He tightened his hold on her before stepping back with a grin. “I would’ve been the world’s worst helicopter-dad. You would’ve had to take me to all your classes.” He gasped dramatically and added, “And think of how many years of my jokes you missed out on!”

Emma rolled her eyes. “On second thought, maybe the system wasn’t that bad.”

“Emma,” David called, his tone sobering. “I know that this thing with Killian has been really rough on you, and you’ve got a lot to sort through.” Emma groaned but he continued, “I just want to say that if he makes you happy, and I mean really happy, you need to grab onto him and not let go. Unless he wants you to. But he’d be an idiot to not want you. And he’s not an idiot. I think.”

“Dad, I get what you mean. And I’ll figure it out.”

“My offer to hit him still stands.”

“Unnecessary use of force,” Emma muttered under her breath as she went back to her lunch and game with Annie.

Emma Swan was going to get her Killian back.

If he makes you happy, and I mean really happy, you need to grab onto him and not let go.

It would probably take a fair amount of apologies and talking about feelings (which Emma was distinctly not a fan of), but if anyone deserved that from her, it was Killian. The stupid man was adored by both her parents and her siblings and adored them in return. He cared for them even before he and Emma got together. And he’d asked two separate people now to look after her since they’d broken up.

It just wasn’t fair.

So Emma Swan was going to suck up her pride and fear and she was going to do everything in her power to patch their relationship. If only she could find him in this absurd throng of people.

Usually the crowds at the festivals made her proud of all the work her parents did in organizing town events. But now, it was frustratingly hindering her from getting back to the man she loved. It took everything in her power to avoid cursing out the brother-miners as she shoved through the crowd, hoping she looked like she was on sheriff business.

Finally, she caught a glimpse of Killian’s messy hair ahead of her. She slipped between people until she could see him more clearly.

He wasn’t alone. She was with him.

Killian leaned closer to Milah laughing. Soon she was laughing along with him.

They continued to chat with Killian first looking confused and then grinning. His face fell briefly but then he was back to smiling as she kissed him on the cheek. He said something to her and then hugged her.

Emma’s heart broke once more.

She’d missed her chance. Of course he’d gone back to Milah, his first love.

Unsure whether she wanted to cry or vomit, Emma turned on her heel and rushed to the place where she’d last seen her father. Fortunately, he was still standing there.

“Dad, I need you to take over police duty for a few minutes.”

“Yeah, sure.” David looked closely at her. “Are you okay, Emma?”

She forced her lips into a smile. “Yeah. Just need a break. Thanks, Dad.” With that, she hurried off to somewhere she could be alone.

Quite fortunately, Granny had not filed any sort of complaint about the scene she, Killian, Liam, and Milah had created at the diner.

Nor had Leroy gotten drunk and started a brawl (yet, the night was still young).

Nor had any dogs escaped from yards, kids driven cars into ditches, nor any of the things that would require the attentions of the town sheriff.

Which meant Emma had finished paperwork from previous days and made a couple phone calls to the mayor and other parties involved in the upcoming town events and got to go home early.

So now, stuck in her and Killian’s apartment with a couple hours before the man was due home, she was freaking out.

Milah was back. Milah. Was back. Killian’s Milah. The one who left and broke his heart. So badly that he still got quiet at times or occasionally frantic if she stayed late at work and he came home to an empty house. So badly that Liam still checked in with him, hushed conversations when they thought she was focused on something else.

It wasn’t hard to figure out that something had happened to Killian before she showed up in town. When people first heard of his flirtations, they often said things like “It’s good to see him showing interest again” and “He’s been through a lot”, followed by “You’re good for him” and “I haven’t seen him smile like that in a while” when they eventually got together. An attractive man in his twenties doesn’t solicit comments like that unless he’s been through a rough break-up.

And now, the reason for all those remarks from both close friends and virtual strangers was in Storybrooke.

Emma took a deep breath and pressed the heels of her hands into her eye sockets.

Maybe she was overreacting. Sure, Milah wasn’t in Storybrooke for the scenic ocean view and small-town atmosphere; she’d told Emma herself that she was looking for Killian. But maybe she was just here to apologize. After all, she’d torn the man to shreds by leaving with absolutely no word. Maybe the guilt had been digging at her for the past six years, and she’d come to make her amends. She’d apologize, maybe stick around for a few days to reconnect, and then be on her way. Nothing would change in the town or with Killian and Emma.

Then again, maybe she was here for more.

Milah, sweeping back into town with heartfelt pleas for redemption and entreaties for another chance to win Killian’s heart. Six years was a long time. Plenty to decide that you were ready to settle down, despite previous hesitations. Maybe the picket-fence life didn’t sound so bad to Milah anymore, especially if it was with Killian. She was ready for the whole package, the jobs with regular hours and kids and sensible cars and cable TV subscription. Maybe Killian would decide he was ready for that, too.

Sure, he’d been playing house with Emma for the past two months, but it wasn’t like there was any serious commitment in the whole set-up. Other than a lease contract, and that could be dealt with. They hadn’t talked about anything more than just sharing a living space. No looking at houses or rings or, dear god, strollers. Emma knew she wasn’t ready for that kind of talk. Not that she wasn’t committed to her relationship with Killian, but until three years ago, she hadn’t even had parents, let alone thoughts of becoming one. But maybe Killian did want all that, and maybe he was tired of waiting for her to get with the program. If Milah was laying all that on the table and he was ready for it—

But Milah had left him. Perhaps, despite whatever promises she spoke about changing and being ready, he wouldn’t be able to trust her and wouldn’t go back to her. That was a thing that happened, right?

But did Emma really just want Killian staying with her because he refused to get back together with Milah? Wasn’t that the same as being second-best? Just call her a geyser, because she was Old Faithful: predictable and reliable.

No.

She shouldn’t be doing this to herself.

She’d wait. Killian would be back soon. He’d explain everything. They’d laugh over how weird it is to see exes from days past and then order a pizza and spend the rest of the evening on the couch. Maybe he’d call in sick and she’d let her dad (who was sheriff before her but stepped down to be a part-time deputy) keep Storybrooke safe the next day and they wouldn’t leave their apartment all day.

Everything would be okay.

She just needed something to distract herself with until she got to “okay”.

She could—she could— She glanced around frantically at the apartment before her eyes lit upon a couple dirty dishes in the sink, probably from Killian’s breakfast that morning. She could clean.

Cleaning was cathartic and all that. Most importantly, it would keep her busy until Killian got home. Then he would explain everything.

She just had to make it to then.

The festival was a lot of fun, Killian had to admit, even though he was aware every second of the gaping absence of Emma’s hand in his. He’d spotted her a couple of times, even though it seemed like everyone in town was celebrating one of the last few days of decent weather for the year.

He thought he’d caught sight of her blonde hair in the crowd ahead of him and was about to promptly turn around when someone grabbed his wrist. He turned and locked eyes with his ex-girlfriend.

“Milah,” he breathed out.

She smiled. “Hello, Killian.”

He stared wide-eyed for a few minutes. “Hi. Uh, how are you?”

“I’m good.” She gestured around herself. “This is quite the event.”

“Yeah, Mary Margaret has outdone herself once more.”

“Not quite Mardi Gras in New Orleans though.”

Killian chuckled, thinking back on the crazy party day they’d had back when they were together. “Nothing is. But I hear that, after some spiked apple cider, Leroy will take off his shirt for beads. So not that different.”

Milah laughed heartily. “Maybe I’ll stick around long enough to see that.”

Killian furrowed his brow. “Are you leaving?”

She nodded. “I only came to Storybrooke to see you. Either to make amends or, well, you know . . .” She trailed off and glanced at one of the nearby booths. “But even though I’m ready to stay in one place, that place isn’t Storybrooke. I was thinking maybe Chicago or New York?”

Killian grinned. “You’ll do bloody brilliant in either of those places. Put down some roots, but plenty of excitement always. They’ll suit you.”

“Storybrooke suits you,” Milah commented. “You’re so much more than when we were together.”

He cocked his head to the side. “More what?”

“More confident? I don’t know. More Killian, maybe.”

“More Killian,” he mused. “I like that.”

“I’m leaving later today. I just wanted to find you and actually say goodbye this time.”

“Oh.” He scratched behind his ear.

“Killian, I’m sorry for all this. If I made you uncomfortable being back here. I don’t know what I was thinking, except that maybe I wasn’t.”

“Milah, it’s fine.”

“No, it’s not. I barged back into your life and tried to make myself welcome where I wasn’t.” She took a deep breath and met his eyes. “Is it true I ruined your current relationship?”

“Er, ‘ruined’ might not be the best word. It’s salvageable, I hope. And it wasn’t really you so much as—”

“Killian,” she rebuked.

“Yeah. But I’m working on it.” He sighed. “You showing up catalyzed the blow-up. But the problems existed before you.”

“They always do. But I didn’t help with that, and for that, I am sorry. I wish you the best of luck in fixing things.”

He hummed and nodded. “Thank you, Milah. And even though things went sort of chaotic, you coming back, the closure I got from that, it was nice. So, thank you.”

“I needed this, too. And it was nice seeing you again.” She leaned up and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Good luck with the rest of your life.”

He smiled. “And good luck finding yourself in New York or Chicago or wherever you land.”

“I’d say the same thing, but you’ve clearly already found yourself. Now, you just have to get it all back.”

He stepped forward and hugged her. She returned the embrace before pulling back, nodding, and returning to Granny’s.

Killian watched her leave before turning back to the festival with a bounce in his step.

Emma had made her excuses and then fled to the back hallway of the diner, her fingers tapping anxiously on her phone to select the well-used contact.

“Swan” came the relaxed voice of her boyfriend. “Miss me already?”

“Killian, ask Liam for some time off. You need to get down to Granny’s. Now.”

“Swan, is everything okay? Are you all right?”

“Just get down here.” She paused as he continued to ask questions. “You know what? Just give the phone to Liam.”

“Swan! Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Emma,” he whined.

“To Liam.”

She waited a few seconds, hoping he would follow her directions. Then Liam’s voice came over the line, “Emma?”

“Hey, Liam. Killian needs to get down here.” She could still hear Killian’s frantic questioning in the background.

“What’s going on, lass?” Liam asked coolly.

“It’s Milah. She’s here. She’s looking for Killian.”

Liam’s “damn” was followed by a loud “What’s going on?” from Killian. “All right, lass. We’ll be there.”

The line clicked off and Emma took in a deep breath. She stood in the hallway, just breathing and trying to clear her rushing thoughts for a few minutes until Ruby burst through the door.

“Emma, what was that?”

“Nothing. I had to call Killian.”

Ruby pointed a red nail at Emma’s chest. “Not that. What happened in there.” She jerked her thumb back towards the diner. “Who is that woman?”

“That’s Milah.”

“I got that. Do you know about her? How does she know Killian?”

Emma sighed, slumping her shoulders forward a bit. “They used to travel together, like she said. And they were together. Until they wanted different things and she left. He was pretty torn up about it for years.”

“Was?”

Emma sent her a pitiful look. “Yeah, I mean, I think so. You don’t think he would be with me and still hung up on this other woman, do you?”

“Oh, no, sweetie, of course not. You just have to see the way he looks at you. The only woman that man is hung up on is Emma Swan, and can you blame him?”

“Thanks, Ruby. But shouldn’t you be working?”

Ruby dismissed Emma’s concern with a wave of her hand. “Granny isn’t that old. She can handle the diner by herself for a few minutes. Just needed to make sure you weren’t back here about to tear your hair out.”

Emma gave Ruby a grating look. “I’m fine. Now let’s get back out there.”

“Why? Worried about rumors about why we’ve been back here so long?” She waggled her eyebrows exaggeratedly.

Emma pushed her back into the diner proper, and Ruby trotted off to take orders from a nearby table. Emma continued to lurk in the back of the diner and quietly observed the woman, Milah, who had taken a seat at one of the tables. She stayed there for a few minutes until Killian burst through the door of the diner with Liam on his heels.

“Swan,” he gasped, his eyes darting around. But before they found her standing in the back, they landed on Milah, who had stood at his entrance. His eyes widened and he gulped. “Milah.”

“Killian,” she replied in her clipped accent.

He stood motionless until Granny bustling by snapped him out of his transfixed state. He then lurched towards her until he was standing directly in front of her. “What are you doing here?” he hissed.

“Can we talk?” she responded coolly.

He nodded towards a vacant booth and she headed towards it with him on her heels. As they were settling in the booth, Liam walked over to where Emma was still paralyzed in the back. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder.

“You okay there, Sheriff?”

“It’s—uh—a lot to take in,” she muttered back. “I mean, I’ve heard the story and all but . . . that’s Milah. The Milah. The one who broke him for years.”

“And you’re Emma, the one who fixed him. Lass, don’t start questioning your role in this drama.”

Emma looked up at him gratefully. “Thanks, Liam. Hey, why are you down here? I only said for Killian to come.”

“If you think I’m going to let my little brother go alone when you tell me that Milah’s back in town, then you don’t know how protective and controlling of an older brother I am. Also maybe I’m just here to see my favorite sister-in-law.” He nudged her with the last line.

Emma blushed and broke their eye contact. “We’re not married.”

“And more fool is my brother for it.” Emma shuffled her feet awkwardly, so Liam pasted on, “I’ve always wanted an in-law who’s in the law.”

Emma shoved him in the shoulder as he preened at his own joke. They then both fell silent and watched the interaction between Killian and his ex-girlfriend. Killian’s mouth was set in a stern line while Milah talked. He occasionally nodded or shook his head, but his expression refused to change.

“Is he going to be okay?” Emma asked shyly.

Liam jerked his head to look at her. “Oh, Emma. My little brother is strong, stronger than I ever give him credit for. Seeing Milah again is tough, but he’ll be just fine.”

He used his arm still around her shoulder to pull her into a proper hug. As they separated, Emma finally caught Killian’s eye. Killian muttered something to Milah who nodded and he stood and walked over to his brother and girlfriend. Killian wrapped an elbow around Emma’s arm and pulled her into the hallway.

“Killian, I’m so sorry that I didn’t tell you on the phone but I didn’t—”

Whatever explanation Emma had prepared was lost as Killian kissed her roughly.

“You—had me—worried—over—the phone,” he murmured, placing kisses all over her face between the words. “Bloody hell, love.”

“I’m sorry,” Emma giggled as he continued peppering her with kisses. “I didn’t know how well ‘your ex showed up at Granny’s’ would go over. Killian, take it easy.”

He pulled back and grinned lazily at her.

“How—how are you?” she questioned tentatively.

His entire face dropped, and he leaned his head forward to rest on her shoulder. “I’ll be all right, lass, don’t worry about me.” He sighed and Emma shivered as his warm breath skimmed her arm. “It’s—a lot to take in right now, I’m not going to lie. I didn’t really expect to see Mil—her ever again and, quite honestly, did not want to. But now all those feelings, everything unresolved from that situation is back and I—I—”

Hearing him choke on his words, Emma wrapped her arms around his back and yanked him closer. He slid his arms around her back and returned the hug. His breath puffed against her neck softly until he sucked in a large breath.

“Why is she here?”

“Still not certain of that. The conversation isn’t over. I just had to come reprimand someone for scaring a man half to death over the phone because she’s a fan of the dramatics.”

Emma smirked. “Your reprimanding tactics aren’t very effective. And I’m the sheriff. If anyone’s going to be doing any reprimanding, it’ll be me.”

“Well, Sheriff, looks like you’re doing a poor job. Granny will probably file a public disturbance complaint after all this excitement at the diner.”

“Damn. I was looking forward to spending the evening with my boyfriend, but I guess I’ll have to stay late filling out all the paperwork.”

“Don’t you dare.” He brushed a strand of hair over her shoulder and let his hand rest on her cheek, his thumb stroking it lightly. “Something tells me your boyfriend is having a bit of a rough day and would like nothing more than to curl up with you on the couch.”

“Hm, demanding man.” Emma pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “If that’s the plan, I better get to work or I will be there all night.”

“And I shall see you at home later.” Killian pressed his lips against hers softly, his hand never leaving her face, then pulled back to look into her eyes. “I adore you, Emma Swan.”

She blushed. “I should invite more of your exes into town.”

He huffed and nudged her towards the exit of Granny’s. “Cheeky.”

As he watched her trot towards the door, he took another deep breath and prepared to face Milah a second time.

As Killian wove his way through the crowd of the festival, he spotted the sheriff’s deputy, David.

“David, mate!” he called.

David looked up and scanned the crowd for him. “Killian, hi!”

Killian ducked through the outer edge of the crowd and landed next to David. David clapped him on the shoulder. “Good work putting this together,” Killian said.

David puffed out his chest. “Most of it is Mary Margaret. But I can position a mean hay bale.”

“Is this your handiwork?” Killian joked, gesturing to a hay bale that had been knocked from its original place. David grumbled and fixed the bale. “Where is the lovely Mary Margaret?”

“Running some games for the children. The rest of my clan has run off to somewhere.”

“Aye, I saw your daughter a while ago.”

“Emma?” David asked, surprised.

“Er, no. Little Annie. We spoke for a few minutes.”

David nodded. “I was hoping you’d say Emma. Might explain why she ran off. But Annie misses you.”

“And I miss the little goose. Is something wrong with Emma?”

“Other than the obvious?” David laughed before stopping abruptly. “She just asked me to take over playing sheriff while she took a break. Usually she’s unstoppable at these events.”

“Do you want me to go look for her? See if she’s okay?”

“No, no.” David narrowed his eyes as he inspected the younger man. “Killian, what’s going on?”

“I made a mistake, David, in regards to your daughter. And now I know that I made a mistake and what a huge mistake it was, so I plan on doing everything in my power to rectify it. I hope it’s not too late.”

David observed Killian for a few more seconds before his face broke into a wide grin and he placed his hand back onto his shoulder. “I knew that you’d figure it out.”

Killian smiled weakly back at him. “I’m surprised I’m not staring at the barrel of your gun.”

“Oh, if you ever hurt Emma again, you will be. But for now, I’ll just let the manly weight of my hand do all the talking. I know that you weren’t the only one who had problems that they needed to work through. The shotgun would’ve been if you’d taken much longer.”

“I’m sorry that it took me this long. I think—I think I get what Emma was saying that night. And she was right, some part of me did wonder what could’ve happened with Milah and if I would be happier if I’d tracked Milah down. But now I know.”

“And what do you plan to do?”

“Beg? Grovel? Apologize until my voice goes away? Whatever it takes, as long as she’ll listen.”

David’s grin widened. “You’re a good man, Killian Jones. You don’t deserve my daughter, but you’re the closest I could possibly find.”

Killian nodded solemnly. “Thanks, Dave. Now, do you want me to go find her?”

“Maybe give her some time. She probably just got overwhelmed by the crowd.”

“Aye. Enjoy the rest of the festival.” Killian walked away from the older man, step even bouncier than after the conversation with Milah.

Emma and Killian were well on their way to becoming an official ampersand couple in their small town of Storybrooke, Maine. Emma had moved in with him nine months into their relationship when Killian had asked suspiciously close to her parents threatening to charge rent and they would be seen at any and all town events hand-in-hand, usually helping Emma’s parents who always seemed to end up in charge of everything.

Emma’s parents, David & Mary Margaret Nolan (the town’s bona fide ampersand couple), were Storybrooke’s version of a fairytale royal couple, with only one stain on two spotless records. When they’d been just eighteen years old, Mary Margaret had gotten pregnant. She’d dreamed of being a teacher and was already going to college, and she knew that she wouldn’t be able to raise a child while going through school. So they made arrangements for Emma to be adopted and raised by the Swans, hoping their baby would have a better life.

Emma stayed with the Swans for the early years of her life but went into the foster care system when they had to give her up to make room for their own child. She’d bounced around from place to place until she was approached by a private investigator who gave her information on how to contact her birth parents. With a great deal of deliberation and a fair amount of liquid courage, Emma eventually called the Nolans and ended up in Storybrooke in an attempt to form a bond with her parents.

Now, three-and-a-half years after being approached by the private investigator, Emma was the deputy and knew most of the people in the small town of Storybrooke. And, of course, most of them knew Emma.

In fact, the town knew her so well that a mug of hot cocoa sprinkled with cinnamon was already waiting for her when she stepped into Granny’s on a Thursday morning at the same time as she came in every weekday.

“Thanks, Granny!” she called to the old woman who gave her a quick wave before turning back to the customers who were ordering.

Emma took a seat at the counter and wrapped her hand around the mug of hot cocoa. Granny’s actual granddaughter, Ruby, strutted out of the kitchen carrying a tray of plates. She placed them down at a table before, wielding her order pad, she headed over to Emma.

“Hey, Ems. What’ll it be?”

“Pancakes today.”

Ruby cocked an eyebrow at her. “That all?” Emma nodded. “Your pirate not joining you today?”

“You’re never going to let him live down that costume, are you? And his monster of a boss is making him work early mornings at the docks.” The two women smirked, both knowing that Killian’s boss was his own brother, Liam, who had been promoted a few years back. “He’ll be by at lunchtime.”

“Well, I’m sure I don’t have to tell you, but that man is something. Between Killian, Liam, and Graham, Storybrooke is not hurting in the hot, accented guys department.”

“I won’t tell Regina that you didn’t put Robin on that list,” Emma retorted. “Speaking of you and accents, how is your thing with the lovely Belle?”

Ruby gasped. “Emma, a woman of high moral character does not kiss and tell.” She paused and grinned salaciously. “Good thing I’m not of high moral character, and I can tell you that there has been quite a bit more than kissing. But alas,” the waitress sighed dramatically, “she wants to make sure everything is completely finalized with Gold before anything goes public. So it’s sticking to the library back room and vacant rooms in Granny’s inn for now.”

“Remind me never to stay in that inn ever again.”

Ruby replied with a smirk. “Like you’ll ever need a place to stay in Storybrooke now that you’ve shacked up with Killian and are following your parents down the path to perfect, domestic bliss. God, I can practically hear the wedding bells and babies crying now.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, we’ve only been living together for two months. Don’t go picking out your bridesmaid dress!”

Ruby’s eyes lit up. “So I’m going to be a bridesmaid?”

Emma rolled her eyes but smiled good-naturedly. “I wouldn’t have anyone else. But seriously, Ruby, two months. It’s not time to learn the wedding march on the organ.”

“Ha! Have you seen the way that man looks at you? Even after the two years you made him chase after you? I’m surprised he didn’t have a ring on the first date.”

Emma blushed and looked down sheepishly.

Admittedly, she had made Killian work quite a bit before she allowed him to “court” her as he so mockingly liked to put it sometimes. She hadn’t been in Storybrooke for a week before she ran into Killian while wandering at the docks to clear her head (she was meeting her parents at twenty-four years old, which can be a lot to handle). She’d immediately been struck by his blue eyes, dark hair, and sauntering gait but had declined any advances as she was still trying to figure out how to be a daughter. Even after she was well-integrated into Storybrooke’s cloth, she continued to turn down any overtures for a date. Finally, over two years after their meeting, she’d asked him on a date and hadn’t regretted it since.

“Oversentimental dork,” Emma muttered.

“Don’t forget hot.”

The bell over the door dinged, and Ruby’s eyes snapped to the opening. “I’ve got to get back to my job. Your pancakes will be here soon.”

“Thanks, Ruby.”

Emma glanced towards the door to see the newcomer and frowned. Storybrooke rarely had visitors, so the fact that she did not recognize the brunette woman standing in the entrance at all caused her ears to perk up (figuratively speaking).

“Excuse me,” the woman said, striding up to Ruby. “I was told that this is the place to go to find a place to stay.”

“Oh, yes. Granny Lucas, the woman over there, runs this diner and the local inn. We can make arrangements for you to get a room. How long are you staying?”

The woman wrung her hands together. “I’m—not certain, actually. I’m actually here to find someone that I haven’t seen in a long time.”

That really got Emma’s attention.

“Oh, well, Granny knows almost everyone in this town so she—”

Emma slid a few stools over so she was next to the new woman. “Hi. I’m sorry for eavesdropping, but I heard you were looking for someone. We don’t get that many new people in this town, so it’s always something of interest. I’m the sheriff, by the way.”

The woman jumped a bit at Emma’s intrusion but turned to her with bright eyes. “Oh, the sheriff! You will be able to help me. I’m looking for this man. He’d be about thirty years old by now. Probably works at the docks. Killian Jones, brother of Liam Jones?”

Emma’s jaw dropped a slight amount. “Killian? He’s m—I know him. If you don’t mind my asking, how do you know him?”

“Oh, we used to travel together, years ago.”

Emma’s stomach dropped. “Oh, okay. And what was your name again?”

“I’m Milah. Milah Cassidy.”

#ouat #once upon a time #cs ff #cs fanfic #captain swan #captain swan fanfiction #cs fanfiction #beardetective writing

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iphoenixrising · 7 years

Text

Doctor!Tim Drabble

ll because of my lovely @satire-please. Ah, also Yang12 left a comment on the AO3 version of this thing and is a doctor. I got a cookie, so I did a little research hoping for another ;) Ah, sorry if some of it is inaccurate and terribly edited since I’m running on Tim’s usual sleep-deprivation slowly being worn down by immense amounts of coffee.

“Please. He cannot die”

And this? This is going to get him killed eventually.

(But it’s not like that possibility is going to stop him, is it? He’s already too far gone)

His body moves through the dark recesses of the Narrows, Gotham’s notorious underground, and he’s very, very lucky he got Steph’s dark purple scrubs today instead of his usual blue, or he would have stood out ever more than usual against the darkness.

And while he’s trying to breathe, trying to push his body faster, trying to fucking get there, he’s not thinking about the potential slew of criminals that would probably love to take him down for his shoes and wallet; he tries not to think about the hundreds of kids all over this part of town that hadn’t seen a doctor ever. He tries not to think about the drug addicts and petty crooks trying to feed their families.

He tries very hard not to think.

Instead, he focuses on the burn of his calves and thighs and lungs where he feels like he can’t get a full breath and not because he’s running his ass off. He feels the handle of his doctor’s bag probably permanently embedded in his palm from the grip (because he needs it and no one is going to take it, oh fuck no).

He tries to maintain his usual logical progression of thoughts, the next steps in the process, the possible deviations and plans contingencies depending on what he falls into once he fucking gets there.

He’s up in the air, jumping over the bus bench and subsequent homeless patron already asleep, landing it without pausing.

The text still on the main screen of his phone is terrifying, burning in his pocket as much as his calves are.

Three more blocks.

And of course he knew what could happen, what has already happened, what the dangers are, what strains are put on the body. In the last year, he’s learned with real hands-on experience that there are no lines in their world. No one to call time. No one to stop it from happening. He knows the statistics and probabilities, he’s made the calculations himself, given them the numbers because, you know, he needs them to understand. He needs them to know.

And he almost skids past the alleyway, chest heaving, legs trembling slightly with the twelve block sprint.

Robin’s body reacts instinctively to possible danger, arm raised to throw something potentially fatal before he seems to realize who’s already moving into their space.

Tim falls hard to his knees, muscle in his jaw twitching with how hard his teeth are clenched.

“Deets, Rob,” and he can’t pause, he can’t take a second to look at Nightwing’s closed eyes and slack features, he can’t just be the terrified boyfriend that wants to grip the hand and beg for some sign of life.

He’s never been able to be that guy.

No matter how much he secretly wanted to be.

Robin (Damian) eases down slightly when the bag snaps open and gloves are automatic, when hands rip into the skin-tight bodysuit, and the motions are smooth, unhurried, knowledgeable, just like when Robin throws a punch or a kick, when he takes down the wicked.

And even though he feels this man to be an interloper, an intruder, an outsider, to their world, he cannot help but be relieved (grateful) at watching things happen quickly.

“Crane...The Scarecrow—”

“Gas? Some other fear agent?” He cuts in, ripping open antiseptic wipes and cleaning the blood (while for some reason, the ABCDEs— Airway, Breathing, Circulation, Disability, Exposure— keep running over his singed nerves).

“Possibly,” Robin admits low and graveled (because he feels guilty and Tim gets the picture of what probably happened), “he was wearing his re-breather, but Crane had his scythe, he could have-”

Robin pauses abruptly, one gloved hand coming up to his ear, tapping the comm to on.

Tim goes back to it, assessing the deep slice bisecting Nightwing’s thorax (and things like aortic disruption slap him in the face with the bruises of more blunt trauma), but a few seconds with the stethoscope gives him enough to know he’s not going to have to be worried about aortic trauma or pneumothorax. While he’s taking care of the laceration, he’s thinking about the effect of fear toxin and what kind of things N will have to deal with once he regains consciousness and—

“The Doctor,” is Robin’s reply to something, filtering around his running thoughts. “He is prepping N for transport.”

Am I? And with the stitches already started, he guesses he is.

“Do you have an antidote for the toxin?” Is the next thought, turning to Robin briefly. The rancid smell of old fish sticks finally filters in now that he’s not in frantic save my boyfriend mode. If the Red Hood was here, he would probably be worse, but at least Kory and Roy would take good care of him while he was away.

“Administered,” Robin answers shortly, listening to whoever is on the other side of the comm.

As the last necessary stitch is done, Nightwing jerks to awareness (not that he would necessarily be able to tell with the whiteouts but muscles tensing isn’t really something he’d be able to miss this close).

“Hey, hey, it’s me okay?” He tries while tying off and pulling out gauze pads, “Nightwing, can you hear me?”

The gloved hand finding his ankle is all the answer he needs.

“You were hurt in a fight with the Scarecrow. Do you remember anything?”

A huff of air, something that ends on a pained noise.

“I know, I know. I’ve got you so far. Robin gave you the antidote, so you just need to relax. We’re out of sight.”

And his fingers tremble just slightly when he pulls one glove off and reaches to touch the spot on the domino to slide the whiteout lenses up so he can see those dazed blue eyes looking right at him.

His smile might be shaky but at least the adrenaline has finally worn the fuck off and the hand around his ankle tightens again.

If he’d have known Robin was talking to Batman (you know, the motherfucking Batman), he would have made more of an effort to get the hell gone after making sure Nightwing wasn’t in any immediate peril.

When the rumbling sound of oh shit, run hits the mouth of the alley, Dr. Drake has an oh shit moment because he realizes who is providing transport tonight (and if he hadn’t been completely focused on Dick and the possible problems fear toxin could cause, he would have already been ghost).

Because he hasn’t met the Batman and hadn’t seen Bruce Wayne, his neighbor, since his parents were murdered a few months after he’d turned twelve. Bruce was the first person other than police to show up at his door once word Jack and Janet Drake weren’t coming back from overseas (where he learned a guy name the Obeah Man had poisoned them both) and offer him a place in Wayne Manor until CPS could figure out what to do with him.

He’d spent a night in Wayne Manor, supposedly between Jason and Dami’s run as Robin, and went back to the Drake Estate the next day.

(And maybe he’d secretly hoped Bruce Wayne would have offered him a place since, you know, orphans and such, but he always understood it was too soon after Jason died…he remembered the down spiral of the Batman, of how close he’d come to dying so many times before the JLA got Dick involved).

He’d known back then too but hadn’t felt any need to tell the billionaire/vigilante about his mounds of evidence. He’d gone into the system while caretakers kept the Estate and Drake Industries running.

This time he’d face the Batman who was probably seriously annoyed someone else outside “the family” knew the big secret.

It’s not the meeting he’d been looking forward to. You know, ever. As long as he stayed away from the vigilante, just catered to Nightwing and the Red Hood, kept himself firmly in the role of civilian, he’d hoped maybe Batman could overlook him, ignore him, whatever. But the imposing shadow falls over them while he’s working at the last vestiges of bandages around N’s upper body and checking the dilation of his pupils at intervals.

“Shit,” he manages very, very softly, slowly raising both gloved hands, palm out in the whole I surrender, don’t kick my ass motion he’s got going on. Slowly, he eases away from Nightwing while Robin already crosses the dirty alleyway to put himself right in front of the Dark Knight to apparently take the blame for calling in a civilian.

The two only get about sixty seconds of banter before Nightwing comes to abrupt, terrifying fear-toxined consciousness and takes Tim down to the ground with one leap (not that it isn’t a stretch or anything). His eyes are a wild, insane blue while he wraps both hands around Tim’s throat and proceeds to use all his vigilante experience to strangle him.

Tim gets barely a breath to hold before the hands, those hands, the ones that held him with absurd tenderness, that mapped out his body, that gripped his hips, that gave and took pleasure, that defended Gotham from the worst type of criminal, the hands Tim would stupidly hold on to once Nightwing finally passed out for the night/day, when those hands constricted his airway and show him the real danger behind the exterior.

He only gets a heartbeat or two before the shadow of the Bat was right over Nightwing’s shoulder, moving with incredible speed to catch Nightwing’s shoulder in an unbreakable grip and throw him the hell off Tim.

Robin, for as much as he seriously hates Tim, is still there, gripping the surgeon under the arms while he’s trying to get some air back into his body, pulling him up and away from where the Batman is facing off with Nightwing.

And even dizzy, almost unconscious himself, he can see the fine trembling of Nightwing’s muscles, the glint off his teeth white in the night.

It might be the lack of oxygen, but the two fighting looks like fast and furious swishes taking pieces out of the darkness, or it could be the way Robin is trying to drag him up to the side of the building so he can use the grapple and get Tim the hell out of there.

Either way, Crane’s fear toxin could hit Nightwing’s heart, accelerate it to the point of ventricular fibrillation and…

Woozy, he pulls out of Robin’s hands as the shortest vigilante fires his grapple, and manages to stumble forward on shaky legs, calling out a series of numbers.

Eight numbers.

Nightwing would know. Would know the year, the date, the day. Would know it was the same day he met a small boy who thought he was the world.

Like he’d thrown a switch, Nightwing stops long enough to stare at him, long enough for the flapping suit to still, and the bandage over his chest seem that much more white.

“It seems like everything is wrong and dangerous and scary,” he hurries regardless of the owfuck that is his treachea since his heavily compromised significant other pauses, “your brain is telling you these things, but I swear. Dick, I swear, it’s just me. It’s me and B and Little D, okay? Whatever you’re seeing is just the fear chemicals in your brain. It’s not real. I wouldn’t lie to you about this.”

He barely feels the gloved hand gripping the scrub top, pulling him back a step with real strength, but below the domino, Robin’s face is frozen in a stern scowl, the younger vigilante putting himself in front of Tim without a hitch.

“Grayson,” is the low entreaty, “he does not lie. Crane’s scythe was poisoned. And you...you fool. I should have been the one to take that hit. I was the one too slow. I underestimated him and we both know it. You should have let me—”

And a shuddering breath, Nightwing closes his eyes, muscles trembling finely while his pants fill up the alleyway.

The Batman, however, doesn’t move, doesn’t even seem to be breathing. “With us?”

“I...Boss, the toxin—”

And who knew what kind of hallucinations are right there in N’s frontal lobe for the toxin to play with. Who knew what kind of monsters were right there?

The Batman did apparently.

“Sorry, Dick.”

Tim just blinks and the Batman is just that fast because he only sees a blur where the back of the gauntleted hand takes out N’s lower jaw with enough force to topple the struggling vigilante.

“Get in,” is the only thing he registers while watching the Batman load Nightwing’s unconscious body into the front seat (and yes, he’s staring at it a little dazed because it’s the fucking Batmobile) while Robin hops into the back.

“Wh—? I’m sorry?” He manages hoarsely, coming out of his nerdgasm.

The way the cowl turns toward him gives the impression of impending doom. He’s pretty sure that Batman does really like to repeat himself.

“Get. In.”

Welp, okay. Getting in then.

He manages to maneuver Nightwing’s unconscious body around so they can share the front seat, his significant other pretty much laying on top of him with both Tim’s arms around him to keep them both in the seat when they reach impossible speeds. He manages to get one arm high enough to keep two fingers on the meaty beat at N’s jugular.

And the rumble of his thighs, the glass dome overhead, all of it just amazing (but would be life affirming if his boyfriend wasn’t fear-toxined as fuck and could come to and kick his ass easily at any possible second).

Before they reach the outskirts of Gotham, Robin leans forward from the emergency back-seat and starts tying a blindfold around his eyes, taking the nearly imperceptible nod from the Batman as some secret language (who knew, maybe they kidnap civilians all the time?). He doesn’t flinch away, doesn’t try to fight it, just shifts his grip on Nightwing and tries to swallow past the ache in his throat.

Both Bats are silent on the fast and furious ride, and he doesn’t say a word since the pulse under his fingers is steady at sixty-seven beats per minute. (And it’s nice, not hitting tachycardia right about now. Shit, now he jinxed himself).

“I understand you found out,” is the first thing he’s heard when the car finally slows and rolls to a final stop.

“Are we speaking the same language?” He asks, turning his head even with the blindfold, “found out? I mean, he told you, didn’t he?”

There’s a “tt,” loud enough to be obvious before the feel of air and movement behind them. The top has retracted and Robin already out.

Movement from beside him is the Batman leaping out, talking while he comes around the front of the car. Tim tracks him even if the echo might be messing with his equilibrium, “they told me you figured it out when Dick was in the cape.”

Abruptly, the blindfold is jerked off, and it’s literally a bat cave. It’s a bat cave.

A Bat Cave.

His inner fanboy is almost comatose.

He gets it together when Nightwing is pulled out of his arm, and the cowl moves in a subtle “here boy, heel,” motion.

Pet Doctor it is then.

Tim scrambles out over the side of the car, his “vigilante only” doctor’s bag with him as he breathes and tries to take it all in.

There’s a huge dinosaur and a penny the size of a small building. He pretty much drools over the massive supercomputer across the room, and bites down on his lip hard when they pass a massive workbench of microscopes, beakers, and more fun things than he’d had in the last year as an Attending. Still, he has to give them props for having state-of-the-art equipment in their contained medical area.

Once he steps across the curtain, he’s on his game, stepping into the role.

The Batman is laying Nightwing out while Tim does a quick scrub up before re-gloving. He’s turning on devices, ripping the suit further to attach the pads so he’s got a familiar litany of beeping and brightly colored read-outs.

He takes a step to the side, eyes wandering over the wall of containers, guessing at which one had saline IV bags to try flushing the drug out faster.

He’s already got tubing and a labeled clear bag without the Bats bothering to stop him.

Well, since he’s right on the edge of his nerves anyway, the unavoidable word vomit starts up anyway, “Crane is pretty consistent with the building blocks of his fear toxins. That makes it easier to treat, something to neutralize one of the components is enough to knock out most of the formula. The patient might experience more subtle hallucinations, but that’s about it. The full effects are gone within twenty minutes or so. I mean, if you’ve got a little—”

“How do you know all this?” Is Robin’s voice from the bottom of the gurney. “I believed you to be a surgeon.”

“I have other hobbies,” is his short comeback while focusing on getting the IV home. “Dating vigilantes is one of the more mild ones.”

And yes. Just yes. He sees the smallest quirk to the Batman’s mouth and totally gives himself a gold star.

But it’s just like back in his bedroom when he admitted to the truth, it’s something that has to come out because...because he has to make sure they know. It doesn’t matter if they believe, if he has no other part in their world other than patching up potentially lethal injuries and giving two former Robins a perch free of all this. So he pauses once the IV is taped down, looking up at the cowled crime fighter and then at his sidekick (son) with eyes dark and a straight spine. With his purple scrubs, he looks so utterly badass.

“I’ve never told anyone. I wouldn’t do that, not with all the good you guys do for Gotham.” His gloved hands are braced on the rails by Nightwing’s bicep. “I’ve seen first-hand what these crazy assholes will do to innocent people. I’ve had enough of them on my fucking table to get why you guys are fighting the good fight.” A little softer even with his half-hoarse voice anyway, “Gotham is lucky to have you.”

The creepy Bat-stillness just makes him take in a painful breath, go back to the massive wall-o-medical-supplies to pull out drawers until he finds the right sealed trays he needs. “So. I mean, I won’t tell anyone. Your secret is safe, Mr. Wayne.”

In his peripheral, Robin doesn’t really twitch, but it’s a close thing.

The quirk to the Batman’s mouth gets sharper, and while he’s attaching the tube to the syringe, a gloved hand rises, makes a few presses before the cowl is swept off over the lower half of the face to reveal disheveled dark hair and electric blue eyes, eyes that missed nothing. Eyes that saw it all.

Tim almost drops the syringe when he’s looking at Bruce Wayne in the Batsuit.

Best.

Reveal.

In.

History.

When he realizes his mouth is hanging open in shock (and wow, he’s never getting an invite back to the BAT CAVE. Good job him), his jaw click shut and he goes right back to drawing blood out of the crook of his boyfriend’s arm.

“Bruce,” the crime fighter replies. “ It’s nice to see you again, Tim.”

And just like that, Robin pulls off the domino to become Damian Wayne, his expression neutral, but the head nod is really more than he would have ever imagined.

Tim looks from one to another while pressing a cotton ball on the tiny wound, holding up a blood sample in his other hand that he fully intended to take over to that workbench and analyze. He fully intended to talk out the components, to use the very expensive and handy-as-hell equipment, give Batm—Bruce—B—the full breakdown and give a comparison of possible ways to counter the effects.

And well, yes, he was already moving that way, sliding on a conveniently placed stool, picking out a blank slide from the box caddy-cornered to the microscope, and to putting a sample on a blank slide to study. It wouldn’t take him long to figure out what they needed to know to synthesize another cure more specialized to this strain of toxin and—

Divesting himself of gloves and gauntlets, cape and the body suit somewhere along the way, Bruce is moving into the secondary work space, taking the syringe to get his own sample and start-up with warming the equipment to get to work.

Apparently at some point, he his life his Wonderland proportions because he’s about to do the legwork on the Scarecrow’s fear toxin with the real Batman.

It’s another foot in their world, another step closer to danger and possible horrible death, the stupid things Dick and Jason worry about all the time, their paranoia just another reason his locks are new and suddenly his windows are oddly reinforced.

Even though it’s a terrifying thing, to be thrown into their world where the odds will always be stacked against them, where there’s little more than pain and fear and bad guys and hard nights, he’s oddly can’t find anything wrong with sitting his ass right here and picking out the four major building blocks while Bruce is pulling together what they would need to counteract them.

When Dick’s heart picks up abruptly, quickly, the phrase ventricular fibrillation, he’s the one across the room like a shot, throwing himself up on the gurney to straddle Dick’s hips and use both palms over his heart to try slowing the fluttering rhythm the hard way the antidote goes through the final few minutes of preparation.

If he babbles stupid things about how no, you don’t get to do this and you’re not going to lay down and die on me and fight, Dick. Fucking FIGHT!, neither Bruce or Damian say a word about it, not while Damian grips Dick’s bicep, face furrowed and closed-off and Bruce hurries the process, eyes moving from Tim on Dick’s chest to the final countdown until the antidote is ready.

“Please, babe,” he finally breathes out, husky voice catching while his shoulders and arms start feeling the strain. “Please.”

Dick’s body jerks once, a sharp spasm that almost throws him off, but Tim hangs on long enough for Bruce to shove the syringe in Dick’s neck and push the plunger.

Thirty seconds.

He tastes copper in the back of his mouth.

One minute.

The machines are blaring as a side note, but fuck, he can’t give up. Bruce is staunch beside him, Damian unconsciously leaning closer.

Two minutes.

And the beats even out, slow down to the steady rhythm of his hands.

Dick’s whole body seems to go slack under his thighs.

Even as he eases off with chest compressions, all three of them let out a hard, deep sigh of relief. He unwinds his stethoscope free hand gripping Dick’s shoulder like a lifeline while he presses the disc right over the calming heart. He doesn’t ease up for long, aching minutes, even when Bruce and Damian step away.

“I assume coffee and dinner wouldn’t be remiss at the moment, Master Timothy.”

Blinking because he’d been kind of lost counting Dick’s heartbeat and staring down at his closed eyes, he turns to a slightly older Alfred Pennyworth. The man still striking in his professional suit, a calm eye in the storm.

“Coffee?” He repeats dumbly, almost desperately, several of his vertebrae cracking sharply (and there’s no clock so he has no idea how long he’s been leaning over his vigilante boyfriend/patient, just listening to his heartbeat).

“Indeed,” the butler cajoles with an easy, pleasant air, “perhaps the homemade pizza would also be to your liking, Sir?”

“Coffee and pizza?”

Yup. Count him in.

Free food and caffeine is always a win.

Bruce and Damian sit at a workbench with him and the three of them devour enough to make Alfred Pennyworth look please enough to bring more.

Somehow, between the sixth slice and bottom of his third cup of coffee, he somehow wedges himself under the medical gurney Dick’s laying on to sleep the sleep of the just and highly over-worked while the steady beat of the heart monitor lulls him further under. If someone (like Damian) throws a blanket over him before they go upstairs for the night, well, the surveillance footage of the Bat Cave accessed later by the Red Hood would never show it.

#doctor!tim #tim drake #dick grayson #bruce wayne #damian wayne #this was fun #mentions of Dickjaytim #my fic #my writing #long post

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nicholasbock · 7 years

Text

A Journal of Juror Number 2 in the case of The State vs. Francis Thomas

Preface

I want you to know, before reading the following that I was not permitted to take notes during the entirety of the trial. In truth, I only meant this to be read by my girlfriend once the trial was over. She was asking me what was happening and I had to tell her repeatedly that I couldn’t talk about it. I hoped this would make up for it and realized that others may want to read it.

I did however, keep in the spirit of not taking notes. Once I wrote the day’s log, I DID NOT go back to re-read it. I never went back to refer to a previous entry because I felt that it was not in line with the judge’s decision to not take notes. I only just now realized that I think only the court clerk ever officially told us we couldn’t take notes as per the judge. But whatever. Because I wanted to keep the fact that I didn’t reread what I wrote in spirit, I didn’t edit the following. Forgive me for any spelling errors or name inconsistancies.

My time in jury selection began on Tuesday and lasted until Thursday. The first day of actual court was on the following Monday. I should note that I tried to listen to all the reasons people tried to get out of duty. The biggest one to win was having a vacation the following week. I think it’s important to note that while I didn’t actively try to be picked, I certainly wasn’t going to try and get out of it.

Day 1

Last week was dedicated to jury selection to which I was chosen as juror number 2. Today, Monday the 17th of April, was opening statements and initial testimonies of officers and forensics - including one expert on fingerprints who explained in great detail the methods used to find fingerprints and ultimately find the knife used in the stabbing to be undecipherable.

The state side consists of a well dressed woman who is very direct and seemingly very focused but definitely exaggerates the attack and a large man who has -to date- dropped his pen twice, a thumb drive, and a post-it (the last of which he ignored (I saw him see it but didn’t pick it up)). This man also can’t seem to grasp the fact that after he has an article tagged in by the clerk, she is obligated to show it to Judge Ahto. This man has repeatedly held his hand out to take it from the clerk only to realize that the judge now has it. I have a low opinion of him.

The state’s opening statement offered no motive, just the stance that the defendant repeatedly stabbed the victim with the intent to kill. They made no mention of how the other victim, the mother of the defendant, got her wounds; one on her leg and one elsewhere (I believe it was the hand).

On the defendant side, there is the defendant, Francis Thomas(?) and the attorney whose name I missed. I have no solid opinion of them as it is the state’s purpose to find the guilt in the defendant and therefore will talk more than the defence. The defendant seems remorseful in the few times I’ve made eye contact with him, but that’s not a fact to base an opinion on.

Their opening statement consisted of the protective son who attacked the victim, Edward Mindi, because EM was constantly harming his mother. Her last name is Jai(sp?)

The facts are that there are blood droplets leading from the main bedroom -where the attack took place- to the laundry room by way of the front hall. However, at some point, someone who was bleeding -either EM or Jai- went up to the family room, placed the knife on the counter, dropped off a bloody shirt and moved to the couch.

When the cops came, FT was outside, without a shirt which was later revealed and had some blood, but was mostly ripped. I imagine it will be proven that the shirt was ripped while FT was wrestling EM away from FT’s mother, Jai.

As for timeline, it was stated by the defense, and therefore should be taken as the basis for fact (since it’s innocent until proven guilty) that one of the kids in the house was being punished by staying in his room by EM. Jai had made dinner and fetched the boy. EM became enraged due to her undermining him and dragged her into the room. At this point FT got up, peaked into the Master Bedroom and saw his mother held against the wall by her throat by EM who had a knife in his hand. The altercation took place in which FT gained control and stabbed EM repeatedly. The photos don’t seem at all that deep, but I’m hoping to find out exactly how deep in the days to come. It should be noted that at some point I developed the theory that it was in fact Jai that did the stabbing. Knowing how fights go, it is very unlikely that an altercation with a knife would result in only one of them actually being injured. FT has no wounds and no signs of struggle, except his ripped shirt. FT wouldn’t want to have his mother arrested so he kept quiet and EM would gain twofold by declaring FT as the attacker; he wouldn’t admit that the damage was caused by a woman (if he is a wife-beater that would be too embarrassing) and it would get Jai and FT away from each other which would give EM more control over Jai. I should note, I have yet to meet Jai or EM so this is completely speculation at this point. I should note that EM is also innocent until proven guilty in my book, and therefore the belief that he has been attacking Jai is only there to establish a basis for these initial theories. Once EM is on the stand or his character is more established, I can make further judgement.

Continuing the timeline, Jai separated the two and told FT to wait outside. Conflicting accounts say that EM called 911 (from state) or that one of the kids called (from defense).

The first responder had dashcam footage of his arrival. Both FT and Jai were outside. The victim, EM emerged from the house, the cops checked up on him, turned their weapons on FT and arrested him with no difficulty. The defense has pointed out on numerous occasions that the area is wooded and dark at that time. I suspect he will make the case that the defendant could have ran and easily escaped. From the inside footage, FT was calm but shaking. I assume he was shaking due to the cold but it could be from shock. He didn’t look afraid and he was calm.

There are a number of puzzles. For one, both sides spoke of the door to the master bedroom being broken. No one has made a claim on who broke it. What’s more odd is that there were two ways into the master bedroom. Was the other way obstructed? Based on what I saw and how far the lock plate flew, I have to assume that it was EM who busted it in since FT is lanky - it is possible, but more likely EM. Where does that fit in the timeline?

The defense has shown on multiple occasions that the door to the master bedroom has had a number of locks prior to the previous deadbolt. I believe he will make the case that EM has broken in before.

In addition, when the cops came, one kid was asleep. Who could sleep through a stabbing?

There was a picture of the bedroom and much farther than the door could possibly hit there looked to be a dent in the wall. This was from the pic that included the diamond shaped window, but just the frame of it. I want to look more closely at it to correctly identify it.

And finally, while EM had photographs of the injuries taken while in the hospital, Jai refused. I can think of three possible reasons for this; either she just didn’t want to be photographed for personal reasons, she didn’t want to implicate FT as the stabber due to their mother/son relationship and the fact that it was most likely an accident, or she was afraid that EM would take any assistance to the police as an attack against him.

Day 2

Today was mostly a wasted day. The jurors were ready by 8:30 but the first witness didn’t show until 9. We were brought out and a supposition of facts was read. In it it was revealed that the blue shirt, the one that was ripped and was FT’s, contained traces of blood that belonged to EM and one that belonged to a female. Jai must have refused DNA tests. Obviously it is believed that the female blood was hers.

A nurse was called in but offered no new insight. Her role, I imagine, was just to prove that EM was definitely in the hospital. She counted the wounds to be 17 but when she gave locations, I must have missed one. I counted 16. She said two wound by one ear, one by the other. One on the head, five on the left shoulder, five on the left back, one on the arm and one on the hand.

The only other thing to take away fro today is that once again, the male lawyer on the state side spoke and as he approached the nurse, he slammed into the partition right in front of me that made it vibrate. I’m not sure I mentioned it before, but this is the second time he has done this. It’s not that I’m looking for reasons to not like the guy, quite the opposite in fact. It’s just that he does so unapologetically. Maybe it’s a social awkwardness, I’m not sure.

Completely unrelated, while the judge was reading from a page, I noticed a considerable amount of shaking. At first I thought it was a mild case of Parkinson’s but when I brought it up with the other jurors it was revealed that the judge was over 80. This was surprising. His skin seems so smooth; no wrinkles. As for his facial hair, I just assumed that he was a civil war reenactor in his down time, not that he actually lived through it. Naturally, that was an old man joke. In truth, I like the judge. So far he is my favorite player.

Day 3

Today was all about the victim, Edward Mindy. His testimony revealed that he was married when he first met FT’s mother, Jai (whose first name is apparently Mignon). She knew of the relationship. At the start of their relationship, they lived alone. FT and his brother was in Africa and EM was helping Jai bring them to America.

Once FT was here, it was revealed that there had been a growing number of problems with FT. He was sent to live with his uncle at one point and completely abandoned the next. As EM tells it, the defendant was smoking in the house, watching pornography, drinking, and being a general disruption to the other boys in the house. He compared FT to a nephew who was also very welcome in the household, JS.

It was then revealed that Jai was having an affair and would stay out late. EM would argue about it with her. Oddly, FT had sent him a text that was directed to his mother in which FT called his mother a prostitute and generally attacked her character. It was EM’s testimony that he told FT not to talk to his mother like that. I presume, if this did happen, that FT’s goal was to elicit an emotional response from EM. In truth, it’s looking more and more likely that FT did in fact commit the stabbing. We have yet to hear from either Jai or FT himself so I’ll reserve any judgement until after.

In regard to character, EM seems respectable and only trying to keep a calm house. The lines for both property and parenting is a bit hazy. They both seem to own the house, but it was stated that before that the house belonged to Jai. The attorney representing the defendant, a bully of a man when pitted against EM, had said before that Jai was angered with EM because he wasn’t contributing to the family. Based on the testimony, I didn’t see that to be true. No one argued the statement that EM was taking the one kid to soccer practice. For that reason, I can only assume he was doing his best to be a good parent.

When FT was homeless - and I genuinely believe that EM thought FT was bouncing from house to house between other family members - he texted EM to ask to sit and discuss his return. When the text messages were read aloud, EM seemed genuinely eager to help under the condition that they first discuss it as a family and certain rules are established. EM tried to stress the fact that he was part of the family.

During the defendant’s attorney’s time with the victim, he attacked, and yes, it was an attack, the victim trying to get him to admit that the reason he had a problem with FT was because he hadn’t gained control over all aspects of the issue. The attorney would try and force a selfish facade onto EM. The texts revealed too much of EM’s personality for me to believe that.

On the night of the attack, EM said gave the following sequence of events; he was home all day until it was time to take one kid to soccer practice. The practice was called short on account of an approaching storm. He went home. At some point he stopped an argument between the two youngest over an issue about Pokemon cards. He sent them to their room as punishment for the argument. Jai got home around 8:30 even though she said she would be home by 4. They began to have an argument about Jai letting the kids out of their rooms. This argument escalated to include EM’s belief that the reason she was late was because she was with another man. When Jai wanted to push the argument, he backed off and went to the room saying that he didn’t want to argue that point with the kids around. Jai followed and locked the door to the master bedroom behind her. The argument escalated and Jai was in the attacking position. EM grabbed her hands and moved to get around her to leave the room. At this point, FT broke the door, rushed in, and began stabbing EM. He wrestled the knife away and FT fled outside. According to him, the knife was dropped in the bedroom. EM then walked down the hall, took his bloody shirt off by the island in the kitchen area, called 911 (confirmed by audio of the 911 call) and laid down on the couch. At some point someone had gotten him a towel, presumably Jai.

It should be noted that there was some blood leading into the laundry room. EM says he did not go that way and I can only assume that the blood belonged to Jai. As of yet, Jai’s injuries have not been explained.

Probably not worth mentioning, the defendant’s collar and lapel was not set this morning. His attorney must have noticed but did not address it. This leads me to believe that he, the attorney, sees the defendant as a job and not a person who should look well dressed in a formal setting.

Possibly relevant is the fact that EM seems well educated and articulate. He knows what he should say and how he should say it. This isn’t proof of guilt, of course, but it is of note.

As for wild speculation, it may be that Jai wanted EM’s money and conspired with FT who was the one to do the actual killing. I was hoping to see EM’s will to know if Jai was on it. Though now that I think of it, even if she wasn’t, their son would get everything and because he’s underage, it would go to her.

And finally, there’s the puzzle of how the knife ended up on the island. The last place it was remembered to be was in the bedroom.

Day 4

There are far too many redundancies in this case. Today several people were called in to accurately discuss the wounds sustained by EM and Jai. Aside from that, no new evidence was presented. What questions I had remain.

I was surprised when the state rested. Essentially they declared their side of the case as done. As it is, I am leaning more to the state’s side. There appears to be a history of FT being a problem to the household; something the judge has stressed shouldn’t necessarily act as proof of guilt for this instance. The defence’s one move so far has been to show EM as a controlling man who will do what he has to to keep everyone in his life in line to the point of taking ownership for things that aren’t his. Based on what I’ve seen, this is far from the truth.

Before I forget again, yesterday the defense read something out of a binder that the judge said would have to be marked. I’m not sure if it was. As of now, I have even forgotten what the document was. It could have been the email exchange between EM and Jai. I simply don’t remember. The court clerk said I should ask the judge about it during deliberation. I don’t think I’ll remember in the moment.

At this time, I don’t think Jai wants to or will testify. I assume that because she cares for both parties she doesn’t want to condemn either of them. However, it has been revealed that she was sleeping around and while that doesn’t directly point to a lack of love for EM, it may. This is telling in that she won’t testify in favor of her son because she knows he committed the crime - and because she doesn’t outright hate EM, she won’t lie under oath against him.

There are far too many possibilities. Yes, all signs point to FT having committed the crime and that he has held an animosity towards EM for a long while and that he has simply been hiding it; fangs behind a smile, if you will. But without FT or Jai up there talking, there’s no way of really knowing.

I will say that yesterday, during EM’s testimony, I made sure to watch FT and noticed him staring, something he hasn’t done with the other witnesses. It wasn’t a simple listening to the recount, it was a stare. Not necessarily a death stare, but it’s clear FT wanted to hear what EM had to say. At one point FT shook his head in disagreement with what EM was saying.

I really want to hear from Jai, know how she got her wounds, and whether it was her who moved the knife or if it was FT or if it was EM, absentmindedly.

Ultimately, I wish they would stop with the redundancies. I guess the one piece of information of note that was received today was the fact that one wound had broken a rib. This is significant, as the trauma doctor and expert explained, because it was one of the first ribs located just under the neck. These are thicker bones and, more importantly, harder to break.

It means that it is most likely that FT did the stabbing, which was never denied since the beginning but it takes away the possibility of Jai being the true attacker and everyone simply covering that up.

With that, the only pertinent question was whether EM was abusive or not. I don’t think he was, but it can’t be ruled out yet. I’m waiting to hear what defense has to say next week.

Day 5

Today was the long awaited testimony of Ms. Jai, corrected to Njie. Njie is the mother of the defendant. She made mention throughout her testimony to how controlling EM was. I have to say that hers is more believable than EM’s. Where EM had made a point to explain in detail the events, Njie’s was more chaotic. EM’s was straight forward; Njie was in a stance to attack and he held her hands when FT burst through the door and began stabbing his back. Njie’s was chaotic and more in line with an actual struggle for life. She fell a couple of times, couldn’t tell if what EM had was a knife or not, there was wrestling, she jumped on EM’s back, doesn’t quite remember how she got cut, etc.

The point is, in a struggle, or rather, in the fights that I have been in, it’s easy to lose track of what happened. It would be easy for her to not remember what EM easily did. Now, it could be that EM was more aware because he was the one being aggressively attacked but I don’t believe so. I’ll list the HARD facts that helped develop my belief on the sequence of events.

First, when Njie met EM, he had started a law firm, I believe it was his, but he could have simply joined one. By the end, he was out of work, meaning that he failed. This meant that he was being supported by the very woman he referred to as a prostitute (in their native tongue, “chuggar”). She was getting tired of his rule, first complying with his wishes then acting against him; he had lost control over the relationship. EM once removed FT’s door, a show of dominance - fitting that Karma had FT have to remove EM’s door to stop the attack. The knife was found on the kitchen island right next to EM’s bloodied shirt. This is a large indicator that it was EM who brought the knife into the kitchen.

Soft facts; technically, EM’s initial law firm is a soft fact. There was no proof that he was actually going to work. Still, he wasn’t working at the end so even if he was pretending to go to work, my analysis stands. Njie had mentioned a lot on her culture. She explained that family comes first and youths were to do what the elders asked. To my belief this also means that a man’s voice has more weight than a woman’s. To the point, EM may have felt it was his right to command the family.

When the cops came, EM had told Njie in their native language not to say anything. Are we to believe that the reason she didn’t (which we know she didn’t) was because he had told her not to? We would have to be convinced on how controlling he is. Unless more proof is given to his character, this will be difficult to determine. It was implied by Ms. Njie that EM’s threats continued until today. This cannot be developed and therefore must be assumed as hearsay and therefore irrelevant.

There are several issues with her testimony. The first being on how she admitted to her raising FT - that she “spoiled him rotten.” One has to ask “how rotten? Rotten enough to commit murder for not getting what he wanted?”

Second, she admitted to re-entering the residence after the life-threatening event to “change her clothes”. Who the hell would do that? I mean, she denied the forensic photographer pictures of the wound on her leg - something I feel is terribly important - because they were too close to her genitalia so she must be overly concerned with her appearances and embarrassment. Embarrassment, being the key; as she let EM stay as long as he did because she didn’t want to be embarrassed for being without a man; as she has testified.

Third, nearly two and a half years later, at the initial court hearing, she ended up in a car with EM in a hotel parking lot where Njie’s new roommate, Rachel, was called in to mediate their interaction. Who, in their right mind would ever get into a car with the very same person she will testify tried to murder her and then commit suicide after (which is what she testified he was yelling at her)?

The importance to her wound, which she indicated was on the inner thigh - the most important piece of evidence in my opinion - is this; INNER THIGH not outer. That is NOT a defensive wound. That wound could not have happened in a struggle. She would have been cut on the outer thigh, on her outer arms, on her hands, if she raised her hands at all, she could have been cut on her inner arms, or the sides of her chest, but the inner thigh? That’s insanely unlikely. That must have been a deliberate cut. As she stated, she doesn’t remember much about the fight. I believe that EM, with knife in his hand, held her throat and made the inner thigh his first cut; an area close to her genitalia, a symbol of sexual control. She was panicked and didn’t register it as she was gasping for air and trying to call out for help. No, this is the strongest indicator that she was attacked by EM and proof that I would make a great lawyer/detective; just sayin’.

The next testimony was that of Rachel, Njie’s new roommate who mediated the meeting between Njie and EM. It was entirely pointless. For reals.

And finally, the funniest moment for today was when State prosecutor was grilling Njie, and I mean she (the prosecutor) had her fangs out similar to how the defence attorney attacked EM. At one point, the defence objected and asked to approach the judge. I overheard him (the defence attorney) begin his objection when the lady state prosecutor said “hold on” to interject. The defence said “this is my objection, don’t tell me to hold on.” I laughed a bit and unfortunately Ms. Njie saw me. I felt guilty, considering her son is on trial for attempted murder and her testimony was full of tears. Still, though, it was funny.

Also, on the subject of Njie, she is a truly beautiful black woman with a sense of class. Unfortunately, she decided to wear a wig that made her look Romulan.

Day 6

Today the defence rested. It was after FT’s testimony. He was clearly nervous which is in line to his mother’s testimony that her son was timid at best. The defense lawyer made it known that FT stutters from time to time, which he did.

One of the most surprising things FT said was that he did not break the door to get into the room. According to him, it was already broken. With evidence across the bedroom that it was, definitely broken in, this would mean that the mess was just left there for however long it has been. During Njie’s testimony she admitted to closing the door, but she kept saying that the door was broken before hand. It was believed that she was referring to the holes where previous locks had been; two above the current one, that is now broken. Now I feel she actually meant that the door had been broken into before. I’m nearly convinced that EM is a controlling man and probably a rapist as well, breaking in doors. She had testified in passing that he watched her sleep, standing over her. She said this in between questions and I didn’t mention it until now because it was not part of the questions asked. I will keep it only as a possibility but she may have been attacking EM’s character.

I want to see that one image of the room near the diamond window. I believe that there was a dent in the wall. If there is one, this could have happened during the incident or beforehand and is proof of his temper.

I will say that FT’s testimony does sit in line with what I initially believed; that FT couldn’t have broken that door open. I definitely believe it was EM.

One of the thing the defence did was point out the plates of food. The one identified to be FT’s was chicken legs and rice. The defence lawyer then asked how the defendant eats his chicken legs; to which the defendant replies “Well, I’m Vegan now, but when I ate chicken legs, I ate it by hand” -indicating that no knife was needed.

Tomorrow is summations, changes, and deliberations. If I am one of the 12 to deliberate I have to try and remember to look at all of the interior pictures. I’d be looking for plates of food in the bedroom - sans knife, the wall and possible dent (keeping in mind that it may have happened in the struggle), and anything else that may have been missed.

I also want to see the medical records for Njie’s wounds. Hopefully they will give a more precise location of where the wound was.

Either way, I’ve already decided my beliefs on the facts. Again, it all comes down to Njie’s wounds. I’m sure we will all agree that FT would never intentionally hurt his mother and vice versa. The must mean that it was a deliberate cut made by EM or, if it WAS an accidental cut, it would have had to happen when Njie was jumping on EM’s back. Either way, it is proof that EM had the knife in his hand at some point. In his testimony, he didn’t have the knife; FT was the sole attacker.

Day 7

The dumbbell you stupid, stupid man! But first…

It is unfortunate to think that in the span of several weeks we were vetted, we listened to several versions of the same story, decided our beliefs on the facts; and now two of us will be chosen to step down as jurors. Their opinions used for nothing. I doubt they would let them stay in the audience if chosen to leave. How will the trial turn out? How would they know?

Today was summations and the lists of charges - as read by the judge in a grudgingly slow pace. It’s funny that during the prosecutor’s summation she both broke my armchair thesis and gave me a whole new one.

I’m not sure I mentioned this, but I enjoy the old armchair detective radio programs from the ‘30s and ‘40s. Basically, the group of suspects take their case to the detective who is often in a parlor or a library, sipping some sort of cognac and smoking a cigar or pipe (though I don’t remember any with a cigarette). Detective Nero Wolfe was always my favorite.

In these programs, a ton of evidence would be explained to Wolfe and at the end, he would sherlock himself and answer. It’s always a single piece of evidence that was the definitive proof. “Men empty your pockets, women overturn your purses” to quote Tim Curry from Clue.

The point is the set-up is just like jury duty. We’re presented all this evidence and all we need is an anchor. Mine was the cut on Njie’s leg. It was so perfectly evident. Unfortunately, during the state’s summation, the lady lawyer explained that Miss Njie pointed to her inner leg when in fact it was the outer. During deliberations I found that the medical record was not admitted into evidence. I lost my case based on doubt.

However, a new piece popped up just as quickly as the last one left. The state prosecutor was flashing all the evidence and all the photos and she had brought out the one of the busted door. If you remember, this was always puzzling, even until the end when FT denied breaking in. In fact, one of the first thing I noted was that FT was too small to break down a door; having broken into abandoned buildings in my youth, I can attest that it took two of us kicking in roughly the same spot.

Then, there it was… That damned dumbbell. Mocking me. Here is a 10 pound weight just sitting in the middle of a hall. The family had a clutter, no doubt about that. But it was organized. It was in piles in corners and on tv stands. This weight was sitting right by the broken door.

The only one who testified that the door was broken into that day was EM. He heard Njie lock the door. He heard FT break it open and, as the defence pointed out in his summation, didn’t turn to see what the noise was.

But why would it be there? Why a dumbbell? BECAUSE IT WAS USED AS A DOOR STOP!!!!!! The door had been broken for a while and they kept it shut with the weight. If it was a stop to keep the door open for air circulation, it would have been on the other side and farther up than it actually was. It is in the perfect place to prove that it was pushed aside when FT opened the door.

I was smiling. Actively, in the middle of her summation. I had to jolt myself out of looking like I just cracked the case. But the feeling was empowering.Too bad it didn’t last.

After the judge trudged through all of the charges and what each of them meant and what factors were required to be fulfilled, and the repetition of several definitions, we deliberated.

I was ready. I voted Not Guilty to all charges on account of EM being a lying bastard who was hungry for control and possibly sexually abused Njie. My mind was made up and everyone agreed. Except one… And with their statement, another joined. The two couldn’t see how a knife just appeared in EM’s hand. They believe that FT MUST have brought it in from the kitchen and therefore, it was premeditated.

My jaw dropped. They had a point, they did. But there was no proof. By law, the defendant is innocent unless proven without a reasonable doubt to be guilty. But the one defendant has “a feeling” that it must have happened a certain way.

In truth, there is no way of knowing. Maybe FT did bring that knife in. Maybe EM brought his plate into the room, but brought it back out before the cops came, or most likely, the knife was always in that clutter of a room. The fact that we don’t know proves that there is, in fact a reasonable doubt. Whether they want to define it as such or not.

I then challenged EM’s credibility by explaining that his testimony as farce from the moment FT “broke down the door.” I used the dumbbell. i was met with a bunch of un-enthusiastic “yeahs” and the one who wanted to plead guilty came back with a “that wasn’t presented by the lawyers.” Like that matters!!! It’s proof! So what if they didn’t say it! I did!

I’ve watched as the fat prosecutor dropped two pens, a thumb drive, and a post-it, the last of which he acknowledged and decided not to pick up. I can tell you that the defendant has three dress socks; striped blue, blue, and black! I flat out told you that there were fifteen seats in a fourteen person jury room! I HAVE been paying attention. You’re going to deny me a crucial observation because I didn’t list it in front of the judge while wearing a tie?

At this time, we decided to call it a day; leaving me without the armchair reveal. I am so terribly frustrated and I don’t believe I’m allowed to bring in any notes on what to say to this person. This is torture. Luckily, there’s those in the room who are more even tempered than I am and can articulate their positions better than I can.

I’m hoping this ends tomorrow. I’ve run out of good clothes to wear.

It’s 1:20. I can’t sleep. I have to remember to look at the bedroom pics again. I want proof that EM was in fact sleeping there. I think Njie testified that she was in one room and he was on the other side of the house. This would explain why there were those locks removed and why he had to break down the door. She never gave him a key. I really believe he is a sexual predator.

“ He would come in and watch me sleep” Ms Njie said this in passing. Come in from where? Was he not sleeping in that bed? Also, I have to remind them that James Saho had a room not located on the floor plan. Were there other areas of the house not shown on the floor plan?

Day 8

Today was a travesty. Our foreman/woman was sick yesterday and today she was out entirely. Her position was forfeit and one of the alternatives was selected to join. This woman voted for a guilty verdict. Those of us who voted Not Guilty; our hearts collectively dropped. Not only did we now have to start all over, but the ratio shifted from 10 of 12 to 9 of 12. We were further from agreement because of it.

In addition to this level of suckage, because our foreperson had left, it fell to me, juror number 2; fitting for my account, I suppose. But to be honest, I have a tendency to raise my voice. To say it bluntly, I am short-tempered. I’ve been working on my anger for a long while now and have made a lot of headway. But here, in this terribly inescapable situation, I was forced to keep everyone level headed. How am I supposed to do that? I was shouting. I yelled. I tried not to raise my voice unless it was to gain control of the conversation, but I did yell at them. I’ll have to remember to apologize tomorrow.

Things heated up, people were in tears and many of us wanted to just write the note saying that we cannot agree. Which we ultimately did. The judge read my note. He explained that he needed a confirmation note. We were ushered back into the small, now claustrophobic, and terribly hot room of the deliberation room.

Maybe it was guilt, but we agreed to give it one more day. I doubt it will do any good.

Day 9

I have on the warmest dress clothes I own. It is over 70 degrees outside. I have nothing else to wear for my final day (part 3). The road I would take is closed so I had to go the long way. I checked with my GPS and it said I should get there with 10 minutes to spare. I decided that was enough time to grab breakfast and some munchkins for the group. I was wrong. I called the court clerk and told her I was on my way, rushed up the stairs, and into the small room. I apologized extensively before realizing that I was not the last one there. At least there’s that, right?

Deliberation began as expected. I forced myself not to say anything right away and instead focused on being the foreman, rather than someone with an opinion. When things became heated, we all agreed to take a five minute break. At this time, I apologized to the disagreers for my raised yelling at them yesterday.

I explained to them, at some point, that I think they were wrong to have come into the deliberation room with their minds made up. We as a group were supposed to decide the facts, not individually. One of them seemed receptive, the other had shut down.

One of the jurors, a very well spoken man who could contain his temper better than I could, asked that we slowly go over every event of the incident in the effort to gain traction and move from there. Although I truly believed that these two - oh, I should mention that we managed to persuade one of them, he agreed that self defense had become a possibility, and in fact a probability which added to our side of the ratio - but I believed that these other two were not about to change their mind, it was pretty clear. And I say that because they were unwilling to offer proof to their claim. In reality, I believe it boiled down to them not wanting to be wrong.

However, this well spoken juror had a plan and I believed that if anything could work, a breakdown of everything we listened to for the past several weeks would be it. I pushed for it. It seems it was too late. People were talking over each other and it was clear that these two “didn’t want to be treated like a child” with our slow breakdown.

One person lashed out at them and I was quick to try and quell it. I failed. Arguments broke out and everything became personal attacks. My voice was not loud enough to quiet the anger and frustration in that room.

We had to write the note saying that we could not agree. Luckily, that same well spoken man and a few others asked me to include the fact that we couldn’t agree on five of the seven charges. Here, in hindsight, that was a brilliant move.

Had we left it as a general disagreement, no progress towards the ruling would have been made, but since we did, the judge agreed to rule those two charges out.

The first charge was the largest; attempted murder. We all agreed that Francis Thomas did not go into the bedroom with the intent to kill Edward Mendy.

This was where the largest part of our disagreement came from. One side argued that FT did go in to cause bodily harm but not to kill. The rest of us agreed that it either was or could possibly have been self defense or the defense of his mother. And how they couldn’t see that is beyond me, again, one of them clearly shut down whether they wanted to admit it or not.

The second was to Terroristic Threats. This was a no brainer. There was no proof of any threats.

Still, as the new foreman, it was to me to read our verdict (do you see why I was so concerned with my appearance?). I had to walk into that courtroom, look the defendant in the eyes, look at his mother in the eyes, and try to hide my personal sense of failure for not ruling on the other five.

I looked to the judge. He asked me what charges we did agree upon. “Your honor, we have come to an agreement on count one; Attempted Murder” Now I was focused on the page, but after walking out at the end of the day I came across our remaining alternative who said that when I said that, the defence lawyer pumped his fist in victory. Continuing, I then told the judge “and on the sixth count of Terroristic Threats.”

“On the first count, how did the jury decide?”

“Our verdict is Not Guilty.” We all heard the defendant’s mother break into tears. I looked over and almost lost my own composure. I went back to focus on the pages in my hand. The judge them polled all of us to confirm our ruling. When we all agreed, not guilty, he moved onto the sixth count. I noticed that after I read “Not Guilty,” he didn’t poll us. I imagine the court was satisfied regardless.

We were then dismissed and I had drinks with two of the jurors. One of them, he may have been the youngest of us, I knew was a very passionate man towards this case. he had that younger sense of righteousness that I admittedly have lost. At times his overly sense of justice irked me. When I, as foreman, was trying to gain control of circular arguments or disputes, he would attack me to let them finish. His reasoning was sound, I agree. I imagine he felt as I did; that a ratio of 10 to 2 would make our pushing the disagreers to change their mind would make it seem like an attack and by my trying to quiet them I was, in essence, invalidating them and taking away their right to voice their opinion. He was right, and I was not trying to do that. My only goal was to keep people from the point of name-calling and yelling, that we reached yesterday. I feel I was largely successful today, mostly because it only took us half the day to decide that nothing else was going to change.

The other juror only had coffee. I had a fondness for her as we had walked with each other to the parking lot down down the road and would vent some frustrations between each other. It was fitting to sit there with her and vent one last time before agreeing that since the largest charge of attempted murder was solved, if the case wasn’t entirely dismissed and would go to retrial, the leg work was done to find the defendant not guilty on the remaining charges.

I had not expected all of this to happen. I did not expect to walk away with a new cluster of friends. I certainly wasn’t expecting to be surrounded by so many strong emotions from my fellow jurors. This truly was an experience - and one I hope everyone has at least once in their life.

#jury duty #state vs francis thomas

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soft-sarcasm · 6 years

Text

PARK JIMIN: ALL THESE SELFLESS ENDEAVOURS.

Pairing: park jimin x reader.

Summary: ever the epitome of selflessness, jimin takes in upon himself to being the release to your tension.

Genre: smut, a bit of fluff, oral sex, ass play.

Word count: 4,3+k.

a/n: i really apologise for any spelling errors as I'm doing all of my writing on a programme that doesn't have spell check and I only had the time to skim edit them. I hope you guys like this senseless Jimin smut that I have had floating around for a little while, thanks so much reading!

The numbing pain in your head had begun to transcend through your body, causing everything to not exactly ache, but definitely hum with discomfort as you shuffled in your seat in search of some sort of relief from your current ailment. The foot space given by the oversized slab of wood that currently worked as yours and four other students' work space gave little way for you fully stretch out your legs that over the course of the past three hours of immobility had gone stiff and rigid.

You knew the remedy for this ailment, a quick stretch, a pace around the florescent lit library that you had been haunting for the past few days during you yearly routine of preparing for exams. All you would have to do was stand up, maybe go and fetch that refill of water that your mouth had been begging for, for the last twenty minutes. But that would mean giving up and finally conceding that maybe you just wouldn't be able to retain the paragraph you had been stuck re-reading for twenty minutes. It would also mean that perhaps you should just call it a day after over nine hours and return to your apartment in shame. Solidarity was what kept you in your painfully hunched position, tracing over the words that were determined to simply filter out of your system as soon as you looked away like some unobtainable piece of dust that kept escaping your grasp every time you reached for it.

Your phone let out another shudder of activity, this being the fourth silent cue in the few passing minutes, letting you know that someone was trying quite persistently to catch your attention. So this was it, this was where you were ending today, staring at the same paragraph and falling victim to the number one enemy of the 21rst Century student; the cell phone. Sighing, you finally turned your neck that like the rest of you, had grown painfully stiff due to the lack of movement, and grabbed for the device to your left, leaning back as you swiped the screen and fully relinquished all self control.

You must of not been paying as much attention to your phone as you thought you had because while you had been expecting at least four messages to be waiting for you, you were not prepared for the amount being somewhere closer to 16 and all from the same contact.

Jim-Jim: almost finished practice and then I'll be coming through to yours. Delivered, 19:12.

Jim-Jim: can't wait to see you!!! Love you lots Delivered, 19:12.

Jim-Jim: what do you want to do tonight? Movies, food, sex? I'm down for it all! Delivered, 19:13.

Jim-Jim: especially that last one if you get what I mean. Delivered, 19:13.

Jim-Jim: of course you do because you're more dirty minded then me.Delivered 19:13.

Jim-Jim: but I just wanted to make sure that my comedy gold wasn't going to waste. Delivered, 19:14.

Jim-Jim: are you even getting this or am I talking to myself right now? Delivered, 19:17.

Jim-Jim: I'll take that as my answer. Delivered, 19:19.

Jim-Jim: pick up your phone!!!!!! I wanna talk to you!!!Delivered, 19:21.

Jim-Jim: wrapping up now, when will you be finished?? Delivered, 19:26.

Jim-Jim: babeessssssssssssss. Delivered, 19:26.

Jim-Jim: I get studying is important but you've been there since 10am! Give your boyfriend some attention over here! Delivered, 19:27.

Jim-Jim: I'm hungry, horny and tired. In that order and I wish for all of this to be rectified. Delivered, 19:29.

Jim-Jim: come on babe, you're not even going to reply to that pun??? Delivered, 19:31.

Jim-Jim: I don't even know who you are anymore!Delivered, 19:32.

Jim-Jim: I'll be at your place at 20, I really hope you're going to be making your way back there as well. Delivered, 19: 39.

You checked you watch to see that it was 5 to 8 and as the library was a bit farther than a five minute walk from the library, you'd be getting there after Jimin, something your boyfriend of just going two years would most likely not be very happy with. Not that it bothered you very much, your boyfriend wasn't always the most supportive when it came to your rather self-destructive method of overworking yourself during exam season, along with every season in between. It was trivial almost; that the main conflict that arose in your relationship was the constant argument surrounding each other's working habits and how much you each put into your respective fields.

You were constantly scolding Jimin for not taking better care of himself during promotions and comebacks and everything in between, but when he turned around and did the exact thing to you, you brushed it off. It was highly endearing, but sometimes you both took it a bit too far. But you had to be thankful that each other's wellbeing was what you bickered over, rather than something more disastrous.

By the time you had finished packing up and bundling yourself up to make the trip back, your phone buzzed, but you ignored it due to you not only having gloves on which made working a touch screen rather impossible, but you also knew what it was going to say; Jimin was home and you, evidently, were not. You paid it no mind though, trudging your way across the familiar streets that would lead you to your cosy apartment, which thanks to the blistering cold, you were currently aching for. It took you a little under 15 minutes to complete the journey to your front door, having to ensnare the finger tip of your glove in your mouth so that you could free your hand and punch in the familiar set of digits that you would grant you entrance into your home.

The entry way light turned on as you came in, taking the time to shed your excess layers and shoes now that you were surrounded by the comforting, artificially generated warmth of your apartment. It smelled lightly of the scented candle you had lit this morning and something more savoury that you could only distinguish as some sort of takeaway that you could only assume Jimin had ordered for the two of you.

"Jimin," You called slowly as you dropped down your bags in the living room and begun to make your way towards the kitchen, curious as why you hadn't received any sort of greeting when you knew he was here by the shoes at the door.

He barely looked at you when you crossed over the threshold leading into the kitchen, head bent down as he read the extra notes you had left on your countertop that morning in your rush to get a table at the library. He often took the time to read some of the work you were currently on, as a way to somehow connect with the set of activities you did apart from him. Using his concentration as a weapon, you sneaked up behind him, using your rather nifty ability of being light on your feet to your advantage as you slipped close enough to him so that you could sneak your wind cold hands underneath the layers of his mulberry sweater and white turtle neck to rest on his flat stomach.

The yelp that left his lips was comical to the extent that you even let out a small laugh as he lurched in your grip before spinning around to face you, an unimpressed glare lighting his eyes as he scowled at your humorous expression. "You little rascal," He bit at you, his irritation an obvious hoax as he wrapped you in his arms and pulled you to his chest.

"Who're you calling little?! I'll have you know that I'm a whole centimetre shorter then you and that goes away as soon as I put on shoes!" This was an overused argument, one that constantly remerged thanks to your taller height for a women and Jimin's equally limited one. During one particular night of excess drinking things had gotten a bit out of hand and competitive spirits had begun to boil as you both argued about who was in fact taller. The heated discussion had led to an actual, official measuring taking place, overseen by an equally fired up Jungkook who no matter the result, towered over both of. It had then been officially discerned that you were exactly a cm shorter then Jimin.

"That's a whole 10 mm that makes me big and you little, and that's enough for me." He chortled happily as you leaned into each other, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek as he smiled at you. "How did studying go?"

You instantly drooped, a look of defeat settling on your features, "No better than yesterday. I don't know what's going on! It's like my brain is literally just repelling every little bit of information I try to put into it. I spent twenty minutes rereading the same paragraph, that's just not me!"

Jimin hummed in understanding, putting his own hands on top of your own and giving them a sympathetic squeeze. "Sorry babe, I'm sure that must suck. But you also need to remember to not force yourself; I'm sure it'll come in time."

"But I don't have time," You groaned while removing yourself from him and instead retreating to sit on one of the many stools that lined the opposite side of the island. "There's so much assigned reading this semester and I can only assume there's going to be more in the second quarter. It's just- suffocating."

"I can imagine," Jimin empathised, pushing one of the stirfoam boxes filled the brim with some sort of noodles and meat so that it was now in front of you, ready for you to devour.

And devour you definitely did, before Jimin could even thinking about opening his own respective box you were already three mouthfuls in, inhaling the first taste of sustenance throughout the entire day. It seemed that Jimin was far too hungry himself to comment on your rampent appetite as he tucked into his meal with similar vigour though somehow in a more graceful manner then you would ever be able to muster.

"That was amazing," You finally sighed after emerging up from your final slurp of noodles, "Thanks love."

Jimin shrugged in response, twirling around the final remains of his own meal on his chopsticks, "I assumed that you hadn't eaten anything all day, I see I was right."

"I forgot to grab something this morning and getting something from the vending machines is like paying for cardboard, " Your face instantly creased in disgust at the thought of the less then desirable treats that the monster machine spat out on demand.

Your boyfriend made a small noise in answer as you moved to clear both of your cartens to the rubbish bin, thankful for the disposable containers that elemited the need to wash any plates. You were busy rinsing off yours and Jimin's metal chopsticks when you felt a kiss at the crease of your neck and arms looping around your waist so that you were being pulled back.

"Jimin," You near sang his name as he continued to press himself into you, "Is someone a bit excited?"

"I already told you I was horny," Jimin snarked against your skin, "Your lucky I let you eat, I was ready to get going as soon as you got home."

"Oh I'm so thankful that you allowed me such a luxury," Despite your rebuff you remained stationary, allowing Jimin to continue his descent, his hands moving lower until they were resting just near the top of your trousers.

Jimin made a small noise of recognition, hand now sliding directly over your clothed crotch, his own now pressed fully into you so that if you weren't aware of his current state, now you were, "You're welcome, now leave those things and pay me some attention."

"So needy," You tsked but still discarded the metal utensils to turn to him with a forcefully unimpressed expression that Jimin barely noticed by the way that he was focused on your lips as they spoke their rebuffs, "And what do you intend to do with my attention?"

Jimin's tongue ran over his teeth in contempletion, his mouth lowering so that it just barely grazed your own, "Focus it on something more pleasureable."

Before you could press for more clarification, your boyfriend was descending to his knees, popping the button of your jeans during the same movement. You gripped onto the granite edge behind you for support in a rather pitiful attempt to keep yourself from staggering under the weight of arousal in Jimin's eyes as he stared up at you while continuing to push down the thick material, your skin prickling against the cool air of exsposure.

There was little you could do to pretend that you weren't becoming increasingly riled up as a skilful finger ran down the front of your plain black underwear that had been chosen in the favour of comfort over aesthetic, but you still had a pretense to uphold, "Are you just going to admire or are you actually going to do something?"

"So bossy," Jimin cooed but complied nontheless as the same finger decided a different route of pushing past the increasingly damp fabric so that direct contact was made and suddenly your grip tightened tenfold. Jimin seemed to take pleasure in the uncontrollable reaction of your body near buckling forward into his barely tangible touch, "And so sensitive."

"Fuck you," You grated out, having to steele yourself against the sensation of Jimin's finger nearing closer to your enterance.

"Soon, but I'm a bit busy right now," He commented with little commitment, a finger suddenly sliding into to where you needed it most and you near crumbled, especially as he hooked upwards, "Unless you want me to stop?"

You instantly focused out of your haze long enough to send a splintering gaze, "Try."

Your single word threat seemed to be enough to send Jimin into movement and you could only assume that it was more so propelled by the memories of what happened the last time he had thought it would be a good idea to start something and stop halfway through. That was a particularly painfull week of Jimin's life. He pushed your underwear further out of the way to gain better access as he pressed his godly thick lips down against your clit and you sighed out in relief. Your hand instinctively want to his hair was he began to devour your, though it was more so for support then anything else as you were on the brink of collapse as another finger was added.

Jimin pulled away from you with a loud smask, his fingers never stilling their movements even as he smacked his lips together while looking up at you with a lethal innocence, "Sweet."

"Fuck," You breathed though in your current state it was boardering closer to a prayer then a curse because fuck Jimin looked positively sinful with the way he was currently tonguing at his lips and it seemed that only a prayer, a plea would be enough to save you.

You could only imagine what you looked like from Jimin's persepctive with your legs still caught in the confines of the jeans he had made no move to fully remove, all but completely clothed but also completely ruined. However you looked it seemed to bring him some sort of joy as he dived back in and a startled gasp was instantly ripped from your throat.

The first fragments of your release began to creep into your vision that blurred and splintered with each adminsitration of Jimin's expert tongue and twist of his fingers. His free hands raised to keep your hip in place. As if there was any chance of you being able to move with how tightly pressed he had you up against the granite to the point that you could feel the cool surface dig into your back in a way that at any other time you would find painful but were too far gone to even bother.

The threat of being completely submerged by the incoming inslaute of pleasure was enough to have you crying out, hands scrambling to find purchase on anything that promised support. "Fuck- I'm close, god dammit- fuck don't stop."

And then with only final plunge of Jimin's fingers and lash of his tongue; you were shattered. You were almost certain that you had been fragemented into a thousand-and-five pieces that bounced around the room like the slices of poginant black that floated through your vision as your system was completely overrun by the volatile sensation.

The look on Jimin's face as he reclaimed his standing was the epitome of contempt in a way that if you hadn't been so focused on reclaiming back your coherency, you would have said something clever to rebuke his satisfaction. Instead all you could do was watch as you attempted to pull back in the strings of your sanity that Jimin had so successfully unraveled while he kept himself busy sucking off the final traces of you off of his fingers.

"You did so well lovey," He cooed after deciding that there was nothing left of interest to find on his fingers, "I do love it when you come apart so quickly."

His taunting words were enough to rekindle the tendrele of heated pride that the ocean of pleasure had temporialy soothed. Jimin looked positively startled when you quickly pushed your jeans from your legs so that you were to free to all but launched yourself at him with enough force to have him slamming into the opposite side of the counter, his hands grappling for some sort of support as you fused your lips to his and forced his body against the surface.

You tore back for his mouth with a clash of teeth, the ends of your lips twisting like smoke at the ripples of surprise that swam alongside the overt desire in Jimin's eyes, a whimper escaping his swollen and near bruised lips as you reached for him through his trousers, "Shall we see how well you far, lovey?"

Jimin gaped for a response that never came as you made an artful show of pressing your body impossibly close to his as you made your descent to the ground. He let out a melodic gasp that resonated throughout the sterling space when you pushed his trousers down to the point the you could access his underwear and you nearly cooed. It was quite the spectical really, how quickly the plates in your relationship shifted, how only moments before it had been you in Jimin's position, knees near buckling as his cock was finally exsposed.

You trailed you fingers down the underside, enjoying the shudder that carried through Jimin's entire form as he pinned you down with both desperation and expectation, "Is there something you want Jimin?"

"Really?" Jimin managed to puff as your fingers circled in a threat to grip him but maintained their distance, "I didn't make you beg."

"True," You conceded, slightly tightening your hold a fraction as your expression of faux understanding instantly swirled into one of malicious mischeif, "But that was your own fault."

A pitiful sound escaped Jimin's lip without his approval as suddenly you brought your tongue to dance devishly across the head of his cock that cried tears of pre-realse in a call for you to take mercy, "And you say I'm the tease."

"You are a tease Jimin," You cooed, lashing your tongue out yet again, "I'm just a better one."

A near sob escaped Jimin as you abruptly took the crown into your mouth, his hips bucking on instict to fully bury himself but being stopped by your hands that held to keep them stationary. "Fuck- oh my fuck fine! Please god dammit, please, pleas-"

You mercifully cut off Jimin's pleas in favour of hearing him cry out as you moved to swallow him whole, your fingers running soothing circle on the sturdy flesh of his ass as your hands slipped to cup what you had told Jimin on multiple occassions was his best asset. Your throat stretched to accomodate to Jimin on instinct as you hummed in pleasure. You had admitted on one particularly wine fueled night that you got off on giving Jimin blowjobs almost as much as he got off recieving them. Jimin had taken many opportunities to use this fact to your disadvantage with crude goads and nudges but it seemed that in his current state of searching for nothing but relieve, he was in no fighting form.

You payed no mind into the cold bite of the tiles that had begun to dig into your knees or the fact that you had your own cum drying into your underwear, it was all forgotten in the haze of watching Jimin fall apart. If he had been sinful before on the floor before you, lips shinning with slick, now he the angel that you had called for guidance from. Dark hair a mess under his constant minstrations and mouth parted in a constant stream of pitiful noises and lackluster curses. You almost wished that you had taken the time to take off all of his clothes before dropping to your knees but the exspanse of smooth skin you could access would have to be enough.

You used your grip on his ass to push him further into your mouth and Jimin positively broke, his arms shaking under the weight of both having to support him against the counter and your toruture.

You moved one of your hands slightly closer to the part of his ass, a question that even in his world of endless pleasure Jimin seemed to understand as he instantly nodded, "Yes, yes, please.."

Your teeth scraped against his dick as you smiled, reaching up so Jimin could messily suck on your fingers which he quickly took in, eyes fluttering close as your digits become lost in the mess of his mouth. You coudn't help but moan yourself at the sight which caused Jimin to sob in turn, allowing your hand to drop back to its resting place on his ass. You continued your adminstrations to his dick even as you sout out his rim with one of your now sopping fingers, your ears purring at the satisfaction of Jimin's broken shout as you pushed through the tight ring of muscle.

Jimin's cock continued to hit the back of your throat just as your finger finally found its place inside of him, finding his prostate being all but second nature as you brushed over the bud of sensitive nerves. Jimin arched up, almost as if to get away from the pleasure only to be met with the tight confines of your mouth so that he was completely wrapped in a cage of pleasure.

You were almost certain you glanced silver liquidating at the edges of Jimin's eyes as he sobbed, "Oh fuck I'm cumming- fuck-"

It seemed that the weight of his climax seemed to render Jimin speechless as he came down your throat and you swallowed as you coaxed him through it. You kept your grip firm as he whimpered and shuddered, only slipping away when you were sure that it had passed and he wouldn't fall over.

"I love it when you come apart so quickly," You purred in a perfect imitation of Jimin as you moved back to sit, your knees sighing at the release.

"You know I can't last long with your fingers," Jimin huffed, tucking himself back into his underwear and wriggling the last bit out of his trousers so that he could comfortably take up the spot next to you.

You let a snarked laugh, "You seemed pretty eager to have them."

"They're just so good," Jimin's was almost mournful, hissing ever so slightly as the cold tiles touched his exposed skin. "Thanks though."

"Right back at you, I didn't realise how much I needed that," You admitted, grasping Jimin's hand in your own and resting your head to his shoulder, "I guess all this stress has made me a litte..."

"Tense?" Jimin offered with a soft playfulness that had you near smiling as you nodded, "Yeah I could tell, I thought you needed some release."

"Well I appreciate it, though let's not pretend that my release was the only reason you wanted to participate."

Jimin let out an insulted gasp, swatting at your bare thigh, "Of course it was! Was getting on my knees and getting you off not enough to prove that I only wanted to make you happy?"

"It was," You assured in contradication to the twirl of contempt in your gaze as you met Jimin's offended pine, "Until you pleaded for me to suck your cock, that gave away the whole 'selfless' act pretty quickly."

Jimin sniffed, retaining his indignation, "Nothing I do is ever appreciated around here."

"Oh no, of course I appreciate the way you so selflessly let me get on my knees and have you fuck my mouth."

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