sinningtamer · 6 months ago
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thinking about prey species hybrids being preds and visa versa…
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ikilledamanforthisurl · 1 year ago
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who's lila yammerings (i should be asleep
thinking about Who's Lila again and i really do love how the three layers of the mystery as broken down by Flaw Peacock includes kindof commentary to the "all interpretations are equally valid/correct" writing copout that isn't just the opposite statement or a rebuke of it, but also something that ties it all in with the rest of the game's infohazard/memetic properties themes. like yes, broke = all interps are valid + woke = there IS a correct answer as this is a mystery, but also bespoke = the correct interpretation comes from the unconscious mind of all people, a zeitgeist, et cetera.
it can be equally as much of a copout- because break it down, what tf does that imply? that the interpretation that takes us at large is the most correct? so the most popular theories, and that the most widely accepted aspects of the game, are what is true? whichever red herring that turns out to be when it is handed to the public? it can totally be a copout. not for lack of effort or intelligence or artistry, as FP's video is nearly 8 hours for a reason, but also it can be copout. a REALLY COOL copout though. i can't picture of any other story that i know that does this, nor could i think of a better story to do it.
because it's all about the cultural zeitgeist and memetic properties. beliefs and feelings and ideas and superstitions that trend. Lila is the mystery but she is also a demon, she is also a trauma, she is also a metaphor, she is also a delusion, she is all of these things, but above all else she is what YOU hear she is. the most popular, most widely accepted interpretations are what get shared, and spread the furthest. unrelated people hear about it, maybe give these opinions the time of day for a quick read, and Lila has fully cemented herself in those people's brains as that interpretation, even if alllll that information they just took in winds up being dead noise that the brain scraps entirely with time. she WAS there, however fleeting, as is her abiding by her, or the, laws of memetics
and to me, this is the interpretation. but that doesn't change how people at large are viewing her and i certainly wouldn't know better as i haven't bothered looking into it. idk yall im not gonna ask. regardless she is whatever we first thought she was, and unless you dig deeper and find out more, she's infected you thus. just like how the Dada Dog was originally just some guy's silly drawing, but evolved into an alt-right symbol of actual genuine murderers. somebody took the Dada Dog and maybe unintentionally recontexutalised it when putting it next to their personal dangerous rhetoric, and their ilk ate it up like flies to the point that there was nothing left of the Dog but the picked clean, bare bones of its lineart and sombre expression
my best guess are that there are three layers to the current zeitgeist of Lila as well. 1. the unknowing crowd, who have maybe seen a few pictures at most and maybe a little bit of the game, assuming she's a trauma metaphor characterised as a paranormal thing possessing dear William. 2. the initiated, knowing a little more and who may lean towards her being a demon taking advantage of kids with issues. and 3. whoever was insane enough to dig this deep and grasp that she is exactly what we think she is
Conclusion: Poor William
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gingeredmink · 11 months ago
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doodle of sona, might be seeing him around more. really wish anything did anything for this body [caffeine, pain killers, sleep aids. just no peace for the petty huh]
minor vent, this is more a reflection of own issues and zero negative feelings towards others.
it kinda stung drawing fanart [actually taking a while/putting in effort n shit] for certain devs and getting zero reaction then immediately seeing them gushing at a bunch of other people's stuff. happened repeatedly and was like welp, this is gonna do wonders for my inferiority complex huh. again, absolutely not trying to put them in a bad light, was just not fun to experience.
not bothered now, just got thought and had to scratch brain itch. actually something inside broke and remember next to nothing now, and if anything here's a problem it's probs that.
on a much lighter note for balance, this happened
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recurring-polynya · 2 years ago
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Writing/Art Update 3/14/2023
So. The fanfic.
Man, when I started writing fanfic, I would just think up a story and write it, no plan, only write. It was fun. I think most people write fanfic this way. Anyway, I don't know if my brain broke, or if I just used up all my good material, or what, but the more fanfic I wrote, the more work it takes. I am now a regular outliner, even though I hate it. Anyway, I have reached a new level of Using Things I Learned in English class, in the sense that I think I'm going to actually make a second (third?) draft.
I hate this for me.
Anyway, the upshot is that I've got, like, 90% of the scenes written. There are still 4 that need endings (including the final one), and I think I might need a few more scenes, but I'm not sure exactly what they should be. I have some notes for what they might be. I realized while writing this that the penultimate scene/chapter of a fanfic is often the most important one, and I'm not happy with the one I have, so I gotta figure that out.
In any case, though, the problem I have at the moment is that, partially as a consequence of writing this thing one sentence at a time, is that it's not necessarily coherent. The first thing I need to do is actually read it, top to bottom. Some of the scenes need to get moved around chronologically (I knew this when I wrote them). I need to figure out if this thing has any sort of trajectory or arc to it. If I can do that, I think it will help me figure out what scenes I still need, and how to end the ones I need to end. I am mildly embarrassed, but I think I am going to start yet another doc for this, but maybe if I call it a "draft", it won't be so bad.
I feel like once I get to the other side of this process, I'll have the end in sight and I'll feel a lot better about this thing, but it's very intimidating at the moment. Among the worst writing feelings I have is "there is something wrong with this story and I don't know how to fix it" and I know I have to pass through that valley.
Weekly numbers: Current word count is 15,457 (which includes a few hundred trash words). I guess I didn't write down my exact word count last week, but that somewhere on the order of +2000-2400. I guess that also includes some that were pasted over from the original doc. It doesn't really matter, a lot of those words were hard fought, and I feel okay about the amount of effort I put in this week, especially considering I had other stuff going on. I also wrote 500 words on the spicy fanfic.
I said I was going to draw this week and I didn't do a lot, but I did do a couple of Mike Mignola skull studies. Little P said these were "some cool skulls, Mom", which was nice, since she hated my Menos ("I don't like the hands. I don't like the witch nose. I don't like them.") Anyway, a lot of improvement between sketch 1 and sketch 2 and I finally found an excuse to use my "photocopy error" brushes. Gonna try to do a few more of these, maybe even see if I can manage to do an actual drawing in this style.
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Hrrrnnnngggh, did I promise you a preview this week? This would be easier if I had already read the fanfic, the thing I have been dreading.
UGH, brb.
Okay, I'm back, I found one that'll do. If you missed it last week, this story is about the time Rukia and Renji spent at the District 70 Consolidated Shinigami Recruitment Station, trying to get pre-approval to travel north and take the Shin'ou Entrance Exams. The title is either going to be Go Places or Stay with Me, Go Places, I haven't decided yet. Either way, it's after the New Pornographers song that I listened to incessantly while writing this.
They have each been given a set of practice clothing-- sturdy cotton kimonos and hakama. Even though she’s wearing the smallest set Mr. Mochida had, Rukia’s hakama are pulled up under her armpits and still drag on the ground. This is somewhat humiliating.
Renji, on the other hand, looks perfect in his, like whoever invented hakama did so with him in mind. Furthermore, he’s holding an actual wooden practice sword like he died with one in his hands. Renji has been habitually picking up sticks and swinging them around the entire time she’s known him. It is obvious to Rukia that he belongs here, that he was meant for this. His face looks like all his dreams have finally come true.
Mr. Mochida holds his own sword expertly and calmly. “Go ahead,” he says, patiently. 
Renji runs at him swinging.
Mr. Mochida blocks the blow, pushing Renji off to one side. He shakes out his sword arm. “Good. Again.”
Renji has no skill at swords, but he has a lot of enthusiasm, and he has a lot of strength. Mr. Mochida doesn’t seem to have even broken a sweat by the time Renji is panting and exhausted, but he claps her friend on the shoulder and tells him he has a lot of talent.
Don’t tell him that! Rukia wants to scream. He’ll be unbearable!
“You’re next, Miss Rukia.”
Renji comes to take her place on the sidelines as Rukia takes up her own sword. It’s puny compared to the one Renji carries, and it’s still too long for her.
“You can do it,” he tells her. “You just have to push part of yourself into the sword, make it stronger.”
She nods, as if that makes any damn sense.
Rukia tries to imitate Mr. Mochida’s stance, knees slightly bent. She contemplates the weapon in her hands. It’s not a rock or a shard of glass or even a shiv. It’s just for practice, but it’s the size and shape of a weapon and you can certainly hurt someone with it. You and me, Rukia thinks at the sword. We can do some damage, you and me.
Push part of yourself into the sword. Maybe that’s not such nonsense after all.
She charges.
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naumin · 2 years ago
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2022 in review
in an effort to blog about art on my art blog more i will be writing a post covering my work in 2022 and maybe some aspirations going forward into 2023
2022 was the year of learning to paint! at the beginning i was really frustrated, a lot of my pieces were very hit or miss and i couldnt tell why some sucked and some fuckd. i nibbled at some online courses for fundamentals, James Gurney’s Color & Light book and Marco Bucci’s painting videos, and was looking for a mentor at one point but i think i stopped cuz i broke my thumb briefly lol
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a piece from december 2021 that is just a bit random and i think representative of my stabbing in the dark
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studying...
in June i split a schoolism sub with emma and it was an amazing decision. i think if you have limited time to practice drawing or dont know where to go the best thing is to take a course, and ive taken cheap or free courses online but the tutors on schoolism are top of the industry and the quality of their teaching is stellar imo. literally felt my brain explode with knowledge they are the best of the best. i finished the painting workout course with wouter tulp and ive dipped in and out of numerous others since then. its cool bcus u can study at your own pace.
July was artfight, i did talk about it here so not gonna repeat myself heh
then i was really busy with my MA, its been so fun and so exhausting. a year is so short and i want to try all the printing techniques and ceramics and everything cry. but hey now i know indesign and can make my own zines and stuff which is amazing. i also tabled at my first market :) i did really like it and would love to do more, dont want to put pressure on myself to do that this year but at least wanna visit them and scope out the audiences and stuff.
school really is making me appreciate traditional art again, tbh it is nothing like digital. you just cant get that chaos or physical resistance from your materials in digital, everything is very deliberate and constructed and almost predictable. ive started to incorporate more traditional work into my pieces where i can, especially photobashing. i can use photos i offhandedly took years ago and it feels really nice to get to repurpose them.
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a spread from my school project, a book about one of my passions (i chose the story of how i got into elden ring!!!) i made it from paper cutting, photobashing, and digital. (im going to sell pdf and physical copies in the new year)
so circling back to the start of the year, i think you can see marked progress in my illustrations that ive posted here. i think i learned a lot about techniques within a painting but i want to learn more about pictorial composition bcus my default tends to be 3:4, portrait, charas centre, and i want to break that habit and tell more effective stories :)
over the past 2 years ive been incorporating more realism into the characters i draw and trying to be really deliberate with what features, proportions etc they have.
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a 2021 isa and a 2022 isa
i think i want to maintain this level of detail because its descriptive enough for my needs but i want to push it to be more dynamic and stylised. i really admire the way disney animators like jin kim do it. its because im not confident enough with structure and anatomy to really play with it.
on the other hand with life drawing i really want to do more realism and capture exactly whats in front of me because i think i rely on style as a crutch too much hahaha.
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from december. proud of these!!!
thats whats on my mind really. again really dont want to put any undue pressure on myself and i am going to be really busy until october at least. i am seriously proud of my progress in 2022. and im really looking forward to playing bloodborne x
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reallygrossstuff · 2 years ago
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day one, dirk strider sluttification?
It ended up being brain ghost dirk instead of dirk prime, but hopefully this suffices!
“...you’re gonna have to tell me what I’m looking at here, Jake.”
“What do you mean? It’s all perfectly straightforward, I think.”
Dirk hadn’t been around to Jake’s house for a while, but he wasn’t surprised things hadn’t changed much. It would make it easy to find the heat gun he’d left behind, but it also made the one prominent difference much easier to spot, not that it was subtle in the first place.
In Jake’s preferred armchair, sat sideways across Jake’s lap, was a second Dirk. His face was identical down to the freckles, he wore his hair exactly the same, he even had identical shades perched on his nose - though his pair lacked the small red light indicating Hal’s potential presence in them.
“Jake, there’s two of me,” Dirk deadpanned, fighting the skin-crawling sensation of seeing an unaccounted splinter.
“Well, technically it’s something more than two! How many of you do you have running around out there right now? But no, I suppose you haven’t met this one yet, hm. Say hello, Dirk, it’s only polite.” Jake gave a slight nudge against the new Dirk’s ribs, as if giving him permission.
“Sup.” The uncanniness broke down slightly as the new Dirk moved, his motions a touch too choreographed, as if designed to be appealing to watch. “I’m Brain Ghost Dirk, Jake made me.”
“I did do that!” Jake shot one of his goofy grins, patting Brain Ghost Dirk appreciatively on the hip as he drew him closer in. “Once you said we needed space, Clementine, I thought, there’s no reason to keep a spare in my back pocket when there was an open space here. So I hoped a little harder, spent some time at the drawing board, and here he is!”
“Yeah, I can see that.” With the uncanny valley traversed, Dirk felt a little more steady on his feet - more willing to bring up the other question he had. “Why’s he dressed like that, though?”
Aside from his movements, Brain Ghost Dirk had another even more obvious difference to Dirk. Where Dirk’s clothes were almost identical to what he’d worn at sixteen, the clone was dressed as if to club - tight orange gogo shorts clung to his hips, and a snug top covered only a third of his chest, leaving a large swathe of lightly-tanned skin exposed. A cropped jacket was wrapped around his shoulders, the fabric a very particular shade of green matched by the lace choker accentuating his throat. Dirk couldn’t see a single hair anywhere below the ghost’s chin, his body smooth from his chest, down the length of his bare legs, all the way to his gleaming white high-tops.
“Ah, that! It’s only fair I get something nice to look at, isn’t it? And Dirk enjoys it, of course.”
“Does he.” Dirk levelled his unimpressed look at the ghost, trying to bore through his nonchalance.
“Oh, obviously. Go on, moppet, you love putting in some extra effort, don’t you?”
If the target wasn’t an estranged splinter, Dirk didn’t think he would have noticed the change these words had on him. Jake’s eyes flared with glittering gold as he asked, and even through the shades Dirk could see that same glow reflected in his doppelganger’s eyes. His whole posture shifted incrementally, leaning more into Jake’s space, the hand on Jake’s chest slipping slightly lower. “Can’t think of much I like more,” the brain ghost murmured, pitched low in a way Dirk never would have tried even when he was the one dating Jake.
“See?” Jake’s attention turned away from Brain Ghost Dirk the next instant, like he lost interest the moment he knew the man was still his to guide. “Nothing much else to say on the matter, is there?”
“I, uh, I guess not.” Dirk resisted the urge to take a step back, even if the reminder of Jake’s power was... distressing, to say the least. “So I’ll just... go grab that heat gun, huh?”
“Go right ahead!” Jake waved in the general direction of Dirk’s old workroom. “I haven’t touched that old cave, haven’t needed the space, so even odds it’ll be wherever you left it.” Nodding, Dirk started to leave, but Jake called out his name a moment later to halt him. “Also, ah, maybe consider leaving through the back door when you go? Only Dirk and I are about to have a moment, and I’d rather not be interrupted.”
“You are, huh?”
Jake grinned, just as wide but somehow not as bright as his more common beguiling looks. That same gold glint caught in his eye, and without instruction Brain Ghost Dirk tucked in closer against Jake’s chest. His lips played idly under Jake’s jaw, the hand on his chest now drawing slow, inquisitive circles against Jake’s treasure trail. “Yes, I rather think we are.”
Dirk nodded stiffly, turning to go where he’d been directed. He heard the murmur of voices behind him, and wondered for a moment to turn around and see exactly what use Jake got out of his replacement boyfriend... but he knew some things couldn’t be unseen, so he left the room before any more noises could reach his ears.
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theonewiththefanfics · 4 years ago
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Thick And Thin (one-shot)
Synopsis: He never thought his wife would ever even think about divorce. They had problems, which is why they were at marriage counselling. But he never knew her heart had broken a long time ago. And he’d been the one to break it before they even got together.
Pairing: Harry Styles x fem!Reader
Genre: aaaaaaannnnggggssssttt baby, just wanted to write something that’d rip your heart out :)
Warnings: swearing, pain, kinda depressive (??), can’t think of anything else really, but please let me know if there is, also not my best work lol :D
Word count: 7102 (let’s start off the New Year with loads of pain :) )
Italics are flashbacks
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“I want a divorce.” 
           Never in Harry’s life did he think he’d have to hear those words. Not after everything they’d been through, not after all of the effort he’d been putting in to save their relationship.
           Those words had not only stunned him but their marriage councillor, the woman’s mouth open mid-word, as she tried to comprehend what was happening. Harry was fairing even worse. It was like his brain was short-circuiting, synapses broken and no longer sending any signals. 
           “Mrs Styles, I know it’s difficult,” the therapist tried to diffuse the situation. “But the reason you’re here is to avoid this specifically.”
           “I don’t remember how you smell anymore,” Y/N continued not listening to the woman, voice like a black void, but her Y/E/C eyes rimmed with tears. “Or taste. I don’t remember how it feels to have you pressed up against me or what it’s like to hear your voice. I… I don’t have anything to cling onto anymore.”
           “It’s why we're here!” he cried through clenched teeth, slipping on his knees before her, hands grasping Y/N’s in a vice-like grip. “It’s why we’re trying.”
           The laugh she let out was detached and without any love. “We tried it your way, Harry.” She’d never called him Harry before. It was always Lover. “And it’s not working for me. It hasn’t from the start. We’re… we’re so unhappy. And I don’t want that for you or for me. We deserve happiness. But I don’t think we can give that to one another anymore.” She took in a shaky breath, looking down at Harry’s hands in her lap. “When I thought of it, at first I felt horrible. I wanted to throw myself off somewhere, but the more I sat on that thought, the more relieved I felt.”
           He couldn’t believe what he was hearing, didn’t want to believe it. “Relieved?” The word felt like acid in his mouth.
           “Yes,” she nodded. “Relieved. Because this choice won’t make us hurt one another anymore. This gives us a chance to have a fresh start.”
           “I don’t want a fresh start! We said – we said through thick and thin.” He was grasping onto the last straw he could find. “This is the thin, but we’ll get through it.”
           “Harry, I already broke through the thin. And now I’m drowning. And when the thick comes, I’ll either be frozen under it and watch you walk further, or I’ll surface somewhere, and I don’t know on which side of the shore I’m gonna be on and where you’ll be. And if you try to get me, you’ll start drowning too. I don’t want that.”
           “But that’s what marriage is! Going through the tough shit together!”
“Harry… I already asked Lionel to draw up the papers. The first draft is done.”
           His blood froze in his veins.
           “When you said to sit down and write one thing that makes me happy about the relationship,” Y/N was looking at the therapist now, “about the person, I – I couldn’t. Because I kept thinking back to the start, to the beginning. That’s what made me happy. But now…” She glanced at Harry. “If there was one thing, I couldn’t do to you, not in a moment like this, is lie. I just… I don’t remember how to be happy with you.”
***
They’d started out as the cliché of best-friends-lose-contact-only-to-be-reunited-and-not-let-their-chance-pass-by-and-fall-in-love. She was ten when she’d moved in next door to him and he was twelve when he’d seen the three vans full up to the house, a little girl hopping out from one of them. Harry watched as she rushed up the doorstep and put in a key, unlocking it and a new chapter of her life with it. Little did he know she’d unlocked a new chapter of his life as well.
She was the new kid at school, and despite the fact that he was a year above, he sat down next to her at lunch.
“ ’M ‘arry,” he said through a mouthful of a sandwich. “Saw you move in yesterday.”
“Yeah,” she nodded. “I’m Y/N.”
And that was the start of a blooming friendship.
On her eleventh birthday, he gave her a handmade bracelet. She gave him a kiss on the cheek as a thank you, making Harry blush all shades of pink and red.
He was thirteen when he had his first real kiss on his birthday. Y/N had simply tried to peck him on the cheek, but he’d turned his head, and her mouth had ended up on his. She’d walked away with a shy smile and ears on fire.
She was thirteen when a boy first asked her out. Harry was the first person she told him about it. That was the first time his heart broke.
When he was fifteen, he got his first girlfriend. Y/N was fourteen when her heart broke for the first time.
           And then he'd gone on X-factor and with that forgotten about her. She called him, texted him, messaged him on social media, but usually, she’d maybe get only one picture or a small ‘miss you too’ as a response. So, after a whole year apart, she gave up. What was the point of trying to save anything when he didn’t want to?
           He moved on and became an international superstar. Y/N moved on and graduated top of her class, got into her first-choice university, and graduated with a first as well. He had some relationships here and there, while Y/N had had a steady relationship since the second year of uni, but when she decided to go to a different one for her masters they amicably broke up.
           Eight years later she was sitting at a café in London, laughing with her ex-boyfriend and catching up, as he explained how what Criminal Minds showed wasn’t really what was taught in his criminology degree classes.
           “I’m still saying I dated real-life Spencer Reid,” Y/N chuckled, sipping on her gingerbread latte. “Don’t give a shit, I need something to flex with.”
           Harry had then walked inside the café, shaking off the snow from his boots when a familiar laugh he hadn’t heard in ages invaded his senses. It was almost like he’d stepped into a dream. 
           When his green eyes befell on the owner of the voice, he had to take a double-take. Somehow in his brain, he’d expected the fifteen-year-old teenager, a t-shirt of his face on her body, as she’d cheered him on when he’d gone onto his first concert as part of One Direction to be sitting in the chair, not the grown-up woman.
           He’d still checked in with Y/N through what she posted on her social media, but as much as he’d promised not to have the celebrity life sweep him away, it had. Harry sometimes had two concerts a day, and he barely had a moment to take a bite of food. And he hated to admit it, but Y/N simply slipped from his life. And he didn’t bother to put in the effort to pull her back.
           A huge wave of guilt and longing rushed through his body as he glanced at the woman, her face lit up by joy as she and the man before her continued on with their conversation.
           Someone tapped on his shoulder, making him turn around and face another customer. “You gonna order anything?”
           For a moment Harry stuttered. He could walk away without inserting himself back into Y/N’s life, but he didn’t want that. He’d missed her. Harry didn’t even realise how much he’d missed her.
           “You go ahead.” He motioned with his hand. “I’m still thinking.”
           Harry took in a deep breath and then walked towards where the pair was sitting. 
           The man’s eyes flitted up to see who was towering over Y/N, only for them to widen, and his mouth hang open. 
A sense of pride filled Harry's chest at the reaction and maybe quenched a little bit of the jealousy invading his body. He used to be the one who made Y/N laugh until she had to tell him to stop or she’d pee herself. He was back to take up the role.
           “You okay there, Dan?” she chuckled. “Don’t tell me there’s a ghost behind my back. I told him not to walk out of the flat wit –“ Y/N had turned around and almost choked on her drink. “Oh my god, Harry! Oh – hi!” She jumped up hugging him, feeling how his body shook with laughter at her reaction, strong arms weaving around her middle. “Holy shit, it’s really you!”
           “Yeah, ‘s me. Who else?”
           “I didn’t know you were back in the UK.”
           A warmth spread through his chest, as he reluctantly pulled away from the hug. “Been checking in on me?”
           Y/N rolled her eyes, sitting back down, but pulling up a third chair for Harry to sit upon. “Dan’s a huge fan.” She motioned with her head to the man. “When we first started dating, I thought he was only doing it because we used to be friends, and he hoped I’d set you up or something.”
           Harry masked the choke of envy by clearing his throat and letting out an awkward chuckle. “Hope I’m not interrupting a date or something.”
           “A catch-up date, but not a date date.” Dan lifted his brows at Y/N, who gave him a ‘don’t start this’ look to which he threw up his hands in surrender. “I’m just making conversation.”
           “You’re being annoying, that’s what you are.” Y/N flicked a crumb from the table towards him. 
           It was in that moment that it truly hit how much he’d missed, and it hit him hard he no longer knew the person who once was his best friend.
           “You’re different,” Harry said, looking over at her trying to keep the lump in his throat from making his voice break. 
           Y/N shrugged, eyes twinkling. “I mean it has been almost a decade. I do hope I don’t look the same as I did then. Otherwise, the pain of braces was of no use.”
           “No,” he chuckled shaking his head. “’S not that… It’s like you’re a different person.”
           “I grew up,” she said, sipping on the last bits of her drink. “ ’M not the same fifteen-year-old you saw last.”
           He nodded and bit his lip. But the thing was, Harry wasn’t the stupid sixteen-year-old that left the fifteen-year-old her either. This time, he wouldn’t let the chance at happiness pass him by when he could’ve had it all along. 
***
           He sat across from Y/N at the large marble table and watched, heart bleeding out in his chest as she put her signature on the papers, her attorney fishing out something from his briefcase and handing it to her under the table. He saw her shoulders shudder before she placed a maroon rectangle with a golden inscription on it in her own purse. Harry wanted to vomit. It was her new passport, where her surname no longer matched his, where he no longer existed, inscribed into the document as her spouse. 
           “Mr Styles?” Y/N’s lawyer pushed the papers his way, the pen laying atop them. “’S your turn.”
           ‘Your turn’, as if it was a game of spin the bottle or UNO. 
           “Don’t make me,” he choked out, pleading with Y/N one last time. “Please don’t make me do this. Don’t make me give up on us.”
           Her words were worse than a knife to his soul. “You can’t give up on something that’s no longer there.”
           When they’d been at the stage of negotiation, he’d kept pushing for giving her at least half of his income, to give her one of the houses they owned together, but she’d turned everything down.
           “I didn’t marry you for your money, Harry.” He’d expected her voice to be full of venom, but it wasn’t. It was sad, resigned. “I don’t want what you’ve earned.”
           “Let me give you at least something.”
           “I don’t want anything from you. If it makes you feel any better, you can donate whatever amount you wanted to give me. I don’t care. All I want from this is for you to sign the papers.”
           “And if I can’t?”
           Y/N sighed, looking down at the table. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”
           That’s when her attorney had cleared his throat. “Mrs Sty – Y/L/N. Legally, according to the prenup, you are entitled to half of Mr Styles estate as well as twenty percent of all his earnings.”
           But Y/N just shook her head. “I only signed those documents because that’s what he and his agent wanted. I never asked for it or anything or the sort. Donate it, for all I care. Buy a new house, Harry I literally don’t want to know what you do with your money.” Y/N took in a sharp breath and calmed herself down. It’d been the first time Harry had heard any sort of emotion from her since she'd spoken those horrible words. “I just want this over with.”
           And now, he was at the moment of the end. He just never thought their story would end with broken hearts and ripped up futures.
His handwriting was barely legible at best of times, but right now it seemed as if a toddler had tried to forge it with how much his hand shook. When the pen dropped, so did his shoulders, and he saw Y/N’s drop as well.
           Harry’s with weight from the love lost, Y/N’s with relief, for now their broken hearts wouldn’t hurt one another no longer.
           His lawyer handed him over a new passport as well, where Y/N was no longer written as his spouse. The urge to rip it to shreds was almost uncontainable. He hated it more than the divorce papers.
***
           They’d been dating for a little over two years when he decided to propose, only every plan he had was miserably ruined by some outside force.
           The first time he’d decided he’d do it at a romantic dinner. Harry had found out Y/N wasn’t a fan of huge romantic gestures, so he wouldn’t get on one knee and draw everyone’s attention. He’d simply take her hand in his, kiss her fingers and ask. 
           But as they’d sat at the table enjoying their meal and talking, he noticed Y/N become quieter and quieter. A frown morphed on his face.
           “You alright, Lovie?”
           “Umm,” Y/N’s brow creased even more, and she dropped her fork. “I umm I don’t know. ‘M feeling kind of funky?”
           “What’dya mean?”
           “I – “ Y/N opened her mouth but didn’t manage to get anything else out as she jumped up and rushed towards the ladies room.
           Harry quickly dropped his own utensils and rushed after her, not bothering with the yells of the woman who was looking at herself in the mirror, while his girlfriend threw up her guts inside one of the toilets.
           A member of the staff had run to see what all the commotion was about, but when he saw Y/N half inside a stall, half outside, Harry’s hands keeping her hair away from her face, he went back out and immediately grabbed the first aid kit they had in the kitchen, handing it to Harry along with a cold wet towel.
           Y/N shuddered, leaning against the stall wall sweat glistening on her face, as he pressed the damp cloth against her skin. She gave him half a smile. “Told you not to get the shrimp.”
           “I’ll get the cab, Lovie.” He smoothed away the once meticulously styled hair, which was now stuck to her damp skin. 
           But she shook her head. “Not yet.”
           “Why?”
           “Because I’m about to puke again.”
           In the end, she threw up two more times, her stomach really not agreeing with the entrée. The waiters kept apologising the whole time, and the chef had stopped cooking, the restaurant immediately taking action and refunding everyone who’d ordered anything with shrimps in them.
           When they’d gotten back home, Y/N was so tired and felt so sick, Harry could only help her get out of the dress, clean her up with a warm towel and wrap her up in her favourite pyjamas before curling up together on his bed and falling asleep, making sure if there was a moment, she felt nauseous again, he was by her side. She needed his help more than he needed to propose.
***
           He threw himself into his work like a madman. Day and night, he was either at a studio, on a filming lot, in between meetings or interviews. The media buzzed about how his marriage had fallen apart, even though Y/N hadn’t made a statement or spoken a word to anyone, and neither had Harry. But he guessed the emptiness of his ring finger gave everything away.
           He refused, however, to speak on it. As painful as it was, he was still in love with Y/N. She hadn’t chosen to be in the spotlight, it was Harry’s world, not hers, so he respected her decision to be quiet and remained so himself, save for one single post his management had asked for him to put up. It'd also been the last time he'd spoken to her.
All he received was a simple text message 'do what you have to do'.
           A couple of months down the line though, something came up, and Harry couldn’t keep his tongue behind his teeth.
           It was an article in The Sun, a photograph of Y/N plastered all over the front page with the words ‘Gold-digger Y/L/N finally seen out after divorce with Harry Styles.” He’d snatched the paper right off the stand and flipped it open, frantic green eyes scanning the words.
           ‘Despite it only being two months since the two childhood ex-best friends broke up, Y/N Y/L/N was already seen in the company of a man, sharing a drink, and giving one another flirtatious smiles. An inside source tells us, how she hadn’t even been that upset about the divorce and has been going out and having fun with many male companions, one of them being her ex-boyfriend from university times.’ 
           ‘Harry Styles, known for his time in the pop boyband One Direction and for his solo endeavours in music as well as dabbling in acting, broke everyone’s belief in true love after being seen in public without a ring. This prompted an announcement that the four-year relationship and two-year marriage to who was once his best friend had ended and the two had decided to get a divorce. Although the post showed a picture of their silhouettes holding one another with their foreheads together, and his statement showed nothing but love and respect for his then-wife, sources say Y/N had been controlling and obsessive over her then-husband and hadn’t wanted him to leave to pursue his career, stifling his growth.’
           He didn’t bother to read any further, as he pulled out his phone, calling Jeff immediately to figure out how to make all of it go away, how to do at least one thing right.
           “They’re dragging her name through the mud!” he sneered, not even caring he was bumping shoulders with people, and if the paparazzi would dare spin a story of the state he was in at that moment, he’d sue each and every one of them personally. “I have to do something. Fuck, Jeff, I love her! I can’t let them paint her like this. Y/N – “ he choked back a lump. “She never asked for this. Didn’t ask for anything. And that man – that was Dan, okay. I know him. Yes, he’s her ex, but they don’t know anything!”
           “Harry I’ve sent them cease-and-desist letters already.” Jeff tried to ease him. “But… she’s no longer your concern Har.”
           The words hit him like a bullet and ripped a hole in his chest just like one of them would. “You might still love her,” Jeff’s voice was solemn. “But Y/N is no longer yours to protect.”
           “I can’t just let them talk shit about her,” Harry whispered back.
           His friend sighed on the other side of the line. “I know. Which is why we’ll deal with it. But you have to start letting her go.”
***
The second time Harry wanted to propose was about a month later, and Christmas was right around the corner. They’d decided that Christmas Eve would be spent with his sister, her boyfriend and Anne, while Christmas Day they’d go to Y/N’s side of the family. 
Although they’d settled on one gift each, Harry had been carrying around that small box for what felt like an eternity. And it wouldn’t really be a gift, given how he’d wrap it and hang it in the tree.
“It’s an ornament,” he’d say to her, a smug smile on his lips, as Y/N would roll her eyes at him. “Just because it has your name on it, doesn’t mean it’s immediately a present.”
And then she’d open it, and would gasp, and Harry would slide down on his knee, press a kiss to her ring-free finger before asking that fateful question. 
But just like before, his plan didn’t come to fruition. 
           He’d asked his mother to hang up the little box, so there was no chance of Y/N seeing it in his hands, but what he hadn’t thought of was Gemma’s boyfriend had decided on the exact same plan of action.
           When Michal had dropped down on his knee, Harry’s sister’s trembling hand in his, he couldn’t do that to them. As much as he wanted to marry Y/N, he couldn’t take away Gemma’s moment. So while Y/N was preoccupied with looking at the gleaming diamond on Gemma’s finger, Harry plucked down the box from where it’d hung and placed it on the side no one could see, before he could put it in his bag.
           “ ’M sorry, honey,” Anne had said to him over coffee the next morning. “I didn’t know Michal would do that.”
           He’d just shaken his head, no hurt in his heart. “Great minds think alike. Our moment will come. ‘M happy for Gem. Besides, if he hadn’t done that anytime soon, I would’ve needed to have a stern talking.” 
***
           What his sister said to him made him think he had to be living in a simulation, because it couldn’t be true. Y/N couldn’t be getting married. Not this soon. Not ever. Not to someone who wasn’t him. It had been barely a year since he’d signed the death sentence to his own happiness.
           Harry shook his head. “You’re lying. Tell me you’re lying, Gem.”
           “I’m not.” Her voice broke as she said it. “I saw her at a café. Saw the ring… the man who gave it to her. Harry, I’m so sorry.”
           His mind reeled with questions he wasn’t sure he wanted answers to. Was that why she’d really divorced him? Had she been cheating on him and just needed an excuse out of their relationship to jump into the new one? He was away so much on their relationship, he wouldn’t have been surprised if someone else had swooped in and tried to win her heart.
Harry’s mind was one of the greatest things he’d been blessed him, but also one of the worst curses bestowed upon him, as it weaved a story of Y/N and the man who’d now put a gleaming ring on her finger.
           He was away, like always, doing something he could do another time. She was on her own, keeping their bed warm with just her body, fighting for their relationship on her own, while he made plans once more to go to a different part of the world and leave her behind again.
           Y/N pulled herself out of the bed, sighing and rubbing her face. She opened their closet only to be greeted with Harry’s half empty. Maybe that was the moment she decided to find someone who’d fill it and wouldn’t leave it permanently empty, Harry conjured up.
           She’d dress in a soft jumper and some jeans, a large cardigan hanging over her body and would go to a café for her morning drink. And that’s where she’d meet him. The stranger that would take her out of the lonely life she’d been living. The stranger that would make a smile bloom on her face and her heart stutter once more. The stranger who would show her the love Y/N deserved to have.
           Harry had to shake his head to get rid of the thoughts before they ventured into a worse territory.
           No. Y/N wasn’t like that. No matter what, she would never cheat on him. She had enough dignity for herself and respect for him, even though in his own mind, Harry didn’t think he deserved it. 
           Although he didn’t have a right to, nor was it the sanest move (and if someone saw him doing it, there would probably be a slew of articles), Harry got into his car and drove to where Y/N’s apartment was, and when she opened the door after hearing seven loud knocks, he stepped inside without even waiting for her to invite him. 
           “You’re getting married?”
           She crossed her arms. “It’s none of your concern.”
           “It’s been barely a year! I refuse to believe you’ve moved on so fast.”
           Maybe he was kidding himself, and Y/N truly had, but as much as their marriage had fallen apart, he did have the honour of having known her and having figured some things out deeper than others would.
           Y//N scoffed. “I was proposed to. And I said yes.” The words were like venom entering his veins. “If I wasn’t, then I wouldn’t have agreed to it. And as I already said – it is none of your concern.”
           Harry stood there, watching as she dragged a hand down her face, eyes flitting everywhere he wasn’t. It told him everything he needed to know.
           “You’re not happy,” he whispered stepping forward and reaching for her hand. “I know how you shine when you’re truly happy. This isn’t it. Why are you doing this?”
           “That doesn’t matter.”          
           Harry was so confused, at a complete loss at what Y/N was saying. “So, you’ll what? Get married to him and be miserable? Why the hell did you divorce me then?”
Y/N sighed. “Being unhappy with him isn’t as unbearable as being unhappy with you. Because with you, I know what it feels like to truly fully loved. Which is why it broke me when you stopped.”
           “I never stopped!” Harry whisper yelled, anger coursing through his veins at her words, because they were lies. “Why do you think I dragged us to marriage counselling? Why do you think I kept fighting for us? For you?! You were the one that gave up!” 
           “You weren’t there when I needed you.” 
           Harry blinked rapidly, not understanding what she meant.
           “You left me for ten years. You forgot all about me until that day at the café. Not once did you message me or call me or even send fucking snail mail. I was the one putting in all the effort, I was the one who was trying to keep you in my life, but you didn’t want it. Just like it was when we were married.”
           Rage bubbled under the surface, but he kept it at bay. That was not how he’d get Y/N back. “How?” he asked calmly. “How did I not want it?”
She scoffed shaking her head. “It was the same as it was ten years ago. With the movie, the new album... You were always at the studio or hanging out with your castmates. When I asked for you to free up one night, one single night, you didn’t come back until three AM, drunk off your ass, and I had to take care of you. I asked for one night. And you didn’t even give me that. So forgive me for not feeling like you still loved me.”
           “Why didn’t you talk to me then?!”
           “I did!” This was the first time he’d ever heard Y/N yell, before kneading her lips tightly together and then continuing more quietly. “But you never heard me. Not really. You heard what I asked, and promised to be there, but when the time came… something more important always came up. Something that always deserved to have the promise you gave me to be broken.” Y/N gave him a sad smile. “Do you remember when you first asked me out? And I said no?”
           Harry nodded. “You said that we just got one another back and didn’t want to have anything rip us apart again. Didn’t even want to chance it.”
           “And you said it was exactly why I should give us a chance. That we’d finally found one another again and shouldn’t let the opportunity go…” She tilted her head. “Guess we should’ve listened to me. I included.”
           He couldn’t believe her. “Is that really your takeaway here? You were right?”
           “But I was.” Y/N shrugged. “Look at where we are now. You forgot me for basically ten years.” She shrugged, stepping away. “Give it some time, and you’ll forget me for the rest of your life. Besides, we’ve not known one another longer than we have. So, it shouldn’t be that hard.”
           “Why did you then? Go out with me?” Harry swallowed the lump in his throat. “Get married to me?”
           For a moment Y/N just looked at him, Y/E/C eyes boring into his green ones. “Because I’d once again convinced myself I was important to you, just like I did when we were teens. And in my head, I had dreamt up that maybe I’d be important enough for you not to forget me.”
***
The third time did the charm though.
           They were both sleepy, under the covers of Harry’s bed, eyes barely keeping open as they were determined to finish Elf.
           Y/N had her cheek pressed against his chest, bare body next to his naked one. She hated sleeping in pyjamas (unless they were staying over at one of their parent’s places,) because she said it made her feel like the clothes were suffocating her. Harry didn’t like sleeping with pyjamas because all he wanted was to fully feel the skin of his lover next to his. 
           Snow fell behind the large windows of his London penthouse apartment, covering the city in a white blanket. It rarely snowed there, so he watched with warmth in his heart as the flakes fluttered to the ground.
           It was all so calm, so serene, that Harry realised that’d been the moment he’d been waiting for. No need for fancy dinners or present it as a loud gift. Being together was a gift enough.
           “Lovie?” he asked, nose hidden in her hair. “You awake?”
           All he received in answer was a small hum. She was on the verge of passing out, but this was the moment, so, he whispered the question, voice so low as if he was asking the dark to marry him not Y/N.
           He couldn’t look at her, afraid of what she might say, afraid she might say no, think back to the times he wasn’t there for her, think of all the reasons why he wasn’t good enough for her, and would only bring her sorrow. 
           “Lover.” Her voice was as soft as a summer’s morning. “Look at me. Please.”
           It was one of the most frightening things in his life, as he did so. 
           Y/E/C eyes met green. What he saw on her face allowed his heart to calm down a little.
           “Is the Sun the closest star to us?”
           That he hadn’t expected. “What?”
           “Does it rise in the East and set in the West?”
           “Y-yes?”
           Her hand cupped his cheek, and he melted against her. “Then why are you asking me a question you know the answer will be the same as to those?”
           “Can I put the ring on your finger then?” He was more excited than about anything in his life.
           Y/N shook her head, bringing his lips to brush against hers. “Don’t need a ring. Just need you to kiss me.”
***
           The wedding was far away from the city so that no one from the press could even think about following her or her entourage. The guest list was small, compared to the three hundred people Harry’s and her wedding had had.
           Anne had told him not to go. He wasn’t invited, and neither was she or Gemma, for obvious reasons. As much as Y/N loved them, she knew it’d hurt the two women, but it would hurt Harry more. So seeing her stepping out of the car, dressed in a cream wedding gown, a veil covering her face, made flashbacks appear behind Harry’s eyelids.
           She’d worn an off-white gown before as well, dusty rose to be exact. And Harry’s bow tie had matched it. Y/N had never liked the thought of wearing white at her wedding. 
           “Listen, if it’s white, I’ll most definitely spill something on it,” she’d told him as both of them had been flipping through some wedding magazines. “You know me. But if it’s some other colour, there’s a bigger chance no one will notice when that happens.”
           It didn’t seem right to him. It was like a bad fever-dream like he’d had that one time, and Y/N had had to listen to him babble about the hallucinations dancing in front of him because of the high temperature.
           Her gaze remained on the ground, or maybe on the bucket of white roses in her hands. She hated white roses.
           A woman in a pale blue dress straightened out the back of Y/N’s dress and the train of it, and he watched as her mother came to stand beside her daughter, giving her an elbow to grasp onto.
           All he wanted was for Y/N to be happy, and it hurt to think it wasn’t with him because Harry believed it was supposed to be him. 
           He took in a shaky breath and got out of the car just as Y/N had walked up the steps and disappeared behind the double doors.
           It was going to be him.
***
Harry knew he wasn’t the best husband in the world. He was away for a lot of time, and as conceited of an excuse it was, his job did entail going out to parties, mingling with other people living the high life, and being seen with certain celebs.
           Y/N was never one for it. She always supported Harry, but she didn’t like going out and spending time with people who didn’t care for her existence. Well, maybe they did, but only in a sense that she’d been the lucky bitch who’d snagged up the Harry Styles.
           But if there was something Harry did was love, and he loved wholeheartedly, which is why it absolutely destroyed him when he’d gotten back home one evening and heard Y/N crying in their bathroom.
           She’d never tell him, but it was because no longer did his pillow smell like him. Harry had been away for so long, that the essence of him that’d soaked into their sheets was no longer there. And it broke her to pieces.
           When he’d get home, he’d be so tired, he’d crash on the couch, only tiptoeing his way into their shared room to go to his closet and get some clean clothes in the morning. He’d look over at his sleeping wife and allow a blissful smile to bloom on his face at the sight.
           He was so lucky to have Y/N back in his life. He was so lucky she’d accepted him and fallen for him as he’d fallen for her. He’d silently move over and press a kiss to her temple, before going back down and off to work once more. Only he wouldn’t see the dried tears on her cheeks.
           So, when he’d found her curled up in the tub, hands in her hair, face hidden by her knees, frame trembling like leaves in a storm, he instantly dropped to his knees, ignoring the sharp pain shooting through his bones, as he pulled Y/N into him.
           “I can’t, Harry,” she choked out, shaking her head. He knew it was bad. She never called him by his name. “I can’t do this. I’m so alone. Even when you’re here, I’m alone.”
           Harry had had his heart broken before, and always he wondered afterwards if someone took it out of his chest at that moment, what kind of a sound would it make. Or maybe it wouldn’t. Maybe it’d be as silent as the tears running down his face at Y/N’s confession.      
           “Maybe,” he swallowed harshly trying to keep his whole body from shaking, from showing the fear her statement instilled in him. “Maybe we need couple’s therapy.”
           “What?” her eyebrows had shot up to the middle of the forehead.
           “Y/N, we’re clearly having problems. I – I know I need to work on things, but you’re also not telling me how you’re feeling. Maybe we just need some help.”
           She didn’t really know what to respond. In her mind, Y/N had somehow conjured up an image that if she ever got married, they’d be happy. Sure, they’d fight and have rows, but they’d always be able to work things out on their own. Not once in her life, did she ever think she’d need to go and see a marriage counsellor to help her save her marriage.
           Her own parents much like Harry’s had gotten divorced. Hers had tried therapy. It’d been their last resort. It didn't work. So, when he’d mentioned it to her, that’s what made her decide it was truly over. 
           Y/N nodded, bringing him in for a hug, and felt his body melt into hers with relief.
She’d try, for Harry, but her mind was already made up.
***
           So he stood outside the doors, listening for the line of ‘if there is anyone who opposes this union speak up now, or forever hold your peace’. His hand grasped the handle, ready to push, but… he couldn’t. He’d ruined her happy ever after once before. He couldn’t do that again to her.
           Tears streamed down his face as he pocketed his hands and ventured away from the ceremony. The ceremony where the love of his life was promising to cherish someone else, to fight through thick and thin with someone else, to make someone else happy, while her own happiness suffered.
           Harry sat in his car, waiting for her to exit, a smile on her face as she’d hold the hand of who now was her husband. That'd be the moment he'd let go of her. But when the doors sprung open, she was alone, hands clutching onto the front of her dress, as she rushed down the steps and back inside the car she’d arrived in.
           For a second he sat in his vehicle, stunned beyond belief at what had happened, at what, as horrible as it sounded, he hoped had happened. When a man, hand in his hair ran outside as well, the same woman in the pale blue dress rushing out with him, Harry knew.
           He was basically a madman on the road, breaking almost every possible law as he tried to catch up to the car Y/N had jumped in. 
           His mind raced with the possibilities of where she could’ve gone. The airport, her family’s summer house in Winchester, honestly anywhere in the world, but Harry shut up his mind, and allowed his heart to make the decision.
           It didn’t seem like Y/N had premeditated fleeing from her wedding, which meant she’d need her stuff. And that meant going to her apartment as quickly as possible before someone came to look for her.
           The way he parked was probably illegal leaving the car basically in the middle of the road, but Harry didn’t care much as he frantically rushed up the steps of her apartment complex. He was scared that if he knocked, she wouldn’t open, thinking it might be someone from the wedding, but he didn’t need to be afraid of it, as he saw Y/N, her hair still styled as it had been for the ceremony, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, a suitcase in hand exiting from the flat.
           “Why didn’t you do it?” he breathlessly asked, startling her and making her drop the keys.
           Y/N’s eyebrows furrowed. “What? What are you doing here?”
           Harry stepped closer, hand cupping her cheek, insides trembling from all of the emotions coursing through his body. “Why didn’t you do it? Marry him? Why didn’t you say yes?”
           “I – “ Y/N choked on her words. “I couldn’t say yes. It didn’t feel right.”
           “Why?”
           “Because it wasn’t you, I was saying yes to.”
           That was all Harry needed to kiss her like he'd done once before. And this time, he wasn’t going to let her go. He’d made that mistake twice. He would never repeat it again.
           “I love you,” he cried through a laugh. “I love you. I love you. I love you. And I’m never letting you slip through my fingers ever again.”
           “How can you even think about loving me again after what I did to us?” she asked, pulling away from his lips.
           Harry chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re talking like I ever stopped. Through thick and thin. It’s what we promised. Think and thin, my Lovie."
***
           A sixteen-year-old Harry and a fifteen-year-old Y/N laid outside in the grass of Harry’s garden; eyes trained onto the dark night starlit sky above. It was the day before his life changed forever as did hers.
           “Do you believe in soulmates?” Harry asked, trying to catch a glimpse of a shooting star.
           Y/N scrunched up her nose. “No. I don’t think I do. And I don’t think I want one.”
           “Why not?”
           “What if they’re old and in their thirties? Or dead?”
           Harry snorted at her response.
           “And you?” Y/N turned her head to look at him. “Do you believe in soulmates?
           He bit his lip and nodded. “I think I do. I think it’s two people who’ve been brought together, and no matter what happens will find their way to one another. Through thick and thin.”
"And what if one of them breaks the other's heart?"
"That's the thin." He looked at her. "And you don't give up then. It's when you need to love them even more."
Tags (crossed out wouldn’t take):
Everything tags: @lumelgy @palaiasaurus64 @supernaturalbaesduh @breezy1415 @crazy--me @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @sea040561 @staryeyedgirl @deathbyarabbit @s-c-a-r-e-d-po-t-t-e-r @reblogger-not-a-blogger @m-a-t-91 @dalilx @i-need-a-hero-i-need-a-loki @maladaptive-ninja-returns @averyrogers83 @in-the-end-im-still-trash @gallifreyansass @dewy-biitch @avxgers @unlikelygalaxygiver @magicwithaknife @ollyoxenfrees @bnhvrdy @tvwhoresblog @celebsimagines @thatkindofgurl​ @sj-thefan​ @teenwolflover28 @lestersglitterglue​ @im-squished​
Harry Styles tags: @sarcasticallywitty15​ @breezykpop​ @girlboss99​ @harrystylesdoesntknowiexist​ @alliyjane​ @sirtommyholland​
A/N: Happy 2021 everyone! Hopefully things are better this year, and everyone stays safe and sound.
P.S. my tags are always open :)
P.S.S. please don’t repost my fics on other platforms without specific written permission. Reblogs are a okay :)
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daryl-dixon-daydreams · 4 years ago
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Words: 3,208 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: Alexandria Warnings: None really! A/N: This is part of a series! Find the previous parts on the Masterlist! Summary: Y/N and Daryl hide from the world for a day.
Your name: submit What is this?
Surprisingly, you were the first to wake up again. Daryl was still wrapped around you, deeply asleep and you laid there for a little while, appreciating his weight, his warmth, his smell, before you began to stir. He shifted a little as you turned over so you were facing him. You smiled at the peaceful expression on his face and couldn’t help pressing a kiss to his lips.
“Mmm.” He responded with a sleepy noise and by more tightly pulling you into him. You pressed another kiss to his lips and his strong arms pulled you over on top of him as he rolled onto his back, holding you firmly against him, his eyes still closed.
“G’morning,” you whispered. You ran your fingers through his hair, pushing it away from his face and he leaned into the contact and sighed again. “I’ve never seen you this sleepy or relaxed,” you commented softly.
His hands ran down from your shoulder blades and pressed into the small of your back. “Mhm. Well, I ain’t ever had ya layin’ on top of me,” he said, the realization striking him suddenly as he said it aloud. He held you more tightly and you grinned. He still hadn’t opened his eyes.
“No,” you agreed, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck. “You haven’t.” You pressed another one closer to his jawline and then noticed that his eyes were wide open now. You grinned at the reaction.
He glanced at you and met your eyes, which were crinkled at the corners in a smile.
“What’re ya doin’?” he drawled, eyeing you carefully.
“Nothing,” you said innocently, gently moving aside his shirt just a tiny bit to expose some of the skin next to his collarbone. You pressed a kiss there, too.
He let out an exhale that had the edge of a growl to it and you laughed.
“I’m just trying to wake you up,” you said sweetly.
He playfully flung you off him, down onto the bed beside him and leaned up on his elbow. “I’m awake, woman. Trust me.”
You bit your bottom lip and grinned at him again. You reached out pushed his hair out of his face again, giving him a fond and somewhat disbelieving look. “Daryl Dixon,” you said, shaking your head.
He nervously pressed his lips together and shrugged, relishing the feeling of your hand now resting gently on the side of his neck. He looked suddenly insecure and boyish. He hummed a vague, questioning noise and you sat up and peered down at him. “You drive me crazy. In the best ways,” you said. You climbed out of bed, grabbed some clothes, and went into the bathroom to get ready for the day.
Daryl was left, anxiously drumming his fingers against his stomach where they rested, thinking about the feeling when you had just kissed up his neck, along his collarbone. He felt that familiar swell of warmth and pushed a frustrated hand back into his hair. He wanted that. He wanted more than that… but opening up in that way was hard… and this was all so new—at least in reality. In truth and despite his previous best efforts, he had fantasized about you doing just that and a lot more for so long, but he found that now it was happening he was worried about doing or saying the wrong thing or—or you discovering that he wasn’t enough for you or wasn’t who you thought he was—or any number of stupid things his brain insisted on fixating on.
You emerged from the bathroom, bright-eyed and content, as he was struggling through these thoughts and he sat up abruptly, drawing a smile from you. But you noticed he looked worried and you paused.
“What is it?” you asked him, starting back toward him on the bed.
He ducked his head and shook it, his mouth twitching to one side as he was thinking. “S’nothin’,” he drawled.
You crossed the space to him and sank back down on the bed beside him. “Doesn’t look like nothing.”
“Nah,” he said dismissively. “S’nothin’.” You were inclined to still worry, except that he reached out and rested his hand on your knee gently, his thumb tracing circles on the denim of your jeans so lightly it was like a whisper or a breeze.
You smiled at him and rested your hand on top of his, giving him a warm smile that always startled him, the way it went through him to his core. “I wish we could just have a day,” you said. “One day. Where we don’t have to think about The Saviors, or talk about them, or have nightmares about them… or worry about what’s coming.”
“We can,” he said. “Of course we can.”
You gave him a skeptical look and let out a wry laugh. “But—everyone is here. And the whole reason they came—”
“Ya. I know. But we can have a day. You of all people deserves one,” he said.
You shrugged and sighed, your eyes turning down toward the floor. “You do.”
“Because I was a dumbass and didn’t listen to ya and got taken? Nah.”
“Hey—” You quickly reached out for him, your hands landing on his sides. “Quit that. You had your reasons,” you soothed.
He avoided your eyes for a moment, struggling again with regret and guilt. You saw it in his eyes as the turmoil crested in them, and you decided to break it off before he tumbled too far down that deep, dark well. You sat up on your knees and clasped his face, gently turning it so he would look at you. Your eyes flickered between his. “Kiss me,” you said softly.
Daryl felt a burst of electricity in his chest and there was no way he could or would ever want to deny that request. His arm snaked around your lower back and he easily pulled you into him, loving the way your arms naturally looped around his neck and how the smile on your lips grew the closer you got to him. He flattened his hand out on your lower back, the gentle pressure secure and comforting, and with the other he smoothed your hair away from your face before gently clasping it.
He watched with amazement as your eyes closed and your lips were already parting softly in anticipation, even before he leaned in and pressed his to them. Each time your lips met his it felt like the first time all over again, goosebumps and tingles raising on your arms and running up your back, electricity sparking on your tongue. And you moved so easily together, like you were one. You kissed each other hungrily, the way you should when you had been waiting so long. Daryl’s fingers tangled in the ends of your hair and he could feel you smiling into the kiss. He still found it bewildering that this was even happening, that you wanted this, and his heart ached with how much he wanted you too. It was so easy for him to get lost in you, and that scared him, but at the same time it told him this was right where he should be.
When you finally broke apart you were smiling at him still and you bit your bottom lip as you looked at him, your fingers grazing along the stubble on his strong jaw, the light in your eyes staggering. Daryl looked back at you like you were something precious to him, and you were.
“What are we doing with our one day, then?” you asked him, running your fingers through his wavy hair, twisting a strand around one finger.
Daryl’s mouth curved in a small smile. “I say not a damn thing,” he drawled. You grinned at him.
“That sounds perfect.”
The next instant you let out a surprised squeak and laughed as he pulled you back down on top of him on the bed. His arms wrapped around you and you settled in against the crook of his neck. His fingers traced up the gentle curve of your spine and followed the edge of your shoulder blade, drawing light circles around your back.
“What’d you do? Before all of this,” he asked you. You could feel the reverberation of his deep voice in his chest.
“Does it matter?” you asked quietly.
“Mmm. I dunno. Sometimes it does.”
“I don’t think it matters anymore,” you said quietly. “I’m not the same person.”
Daryl’s hand ran down your spine. He let his fingers memorize the curve of your back as he thought about his past. Somehow just holding you made remembering the worst parts of it more bearable. “Ya. I guess thas true. I ain’t either.”
You leaned up so you could look down at him. “I have a question,” you said. Daryl’s eyes caught yours and he took in the sparking light in them.
“Alright,” he said, feeling a little nervous, but not entirely sure why. You never pressed him for anything.
“When did you know?”
One of his eyebrows quirked up in a question.
“That—that you had feelings for me beyond friendship,” you said.
“Mmm,” Daryl hummed thoughtfully. He absently chewed his bottom-lip as he thought about the history of all your interactions together. “I dunno. Part of me knew right away I think. When I watched you punch Spencer out,” he said, glancing back over at you, one corner of his mouth turning up in amusement.
“Oh, God,” you said, putting a hand over your face and laughing.
“But then it was like… I don’t know. It felt like—like every time I saw you it was more. That damn dress ya had on at Aaron and Eric’s. When ya walked over when neither of us could sleep, always with a book in your hand. Feeling almost frantic when ya went outside the walls and came back with that gash in your arm. Even when ya wouldn’t stop drinking outta that damn whiskey bottle and ya pushed me in the pond.” You grinned, and he took it in. “The hospital run when ya saved both our asses. When ya finally came and had dinner with our group. I don’t know. Was like it happened gradually and all at once at the same time.” He gulped a little nervously. “But when they took me and threw me in that cell, the worst thing about it was the thought that I might never see ya again and thinkin’ he was gonna get to ya, or maybe already had ya. Never even crossed my mind that ya’d come back on your own, put yourself back there with him. And seein’ ya open that door—” Daryl broke off and shook his head, avoiding your eyes now.
Your heart ached and you clasped his face and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Daryl smoothed a hand from your shoulder down your arm gently and looked back over at you. “What about you? When’d ya know?” he asked. It still felt impossible.
You smiled at the archer and bit your bottom lip. “When you fell through that rotten floor,” you said.
His blue eyes narrowed in a classic Daryl Dixon stare. “Ya serious?”
“Mhm,” you nodded, grinning at him.
“…Can ya pick a different time?” he asked, drawing laughter from you.
“No!” You laughed and ran your fingers back through his hair, loving how he closed his eyes and leaned into your touch. “It was being stuck out there in that house with you. Just—passing the time together. And then, of course… those assholes showed up. And you just—you were so worried about me.”
Daryl’s eyes were open again and fixed on your face. He nodded. “Ya. I was. I am.”
“I know,” you said softly. “But we’re okay.”
He nodded and grabbed your hand, flattening his palm out against yours, looking at how small yours looked compared to his before lacing his fingers with yours. “Mhm. S’weird. Even though we’re about to kick a fuckin’ hornet nest with those Saviors… I think this is the happiest I’ve ever been,” he said, almost realizing it himself just as he said it.
You grinned at him again. “Me too.”
Daryl pulled you in for a deep kiss that left you breathless.
You spent the day wandering from nothing to nothing, content just to be with each other, talking and laughing, questioning one another about anything that popped in your mind, pretending that everything looming ahead simply wasn’t. That evening, Daryl had his feet up on the coffee table in front of the couch and you were laying with your head in his lap, a book in your hands. He was simply leaning back and enjoying the weight of you close to him, his hand resting on the bare skin of your upper arm, tracing the long scar he had stitched for you as was becoming a habit.
You lowered your book suddenly and marked the page, tossing it down onto the table. You turned and took in Daryl’s relaxed shoulders, his head resting gently back against the couch. He cocked one eye open at you as you shifted and straddled over his lap with a warm smile on your face, running your hands down his sides and letting out a satisfied and content hum of a sigh.
His blue eyes opened and fixated on your face. He straightened up, his hands flying to gently rest on your hips. He was studying you and you saw him turning something over in his mind. You waited patiently. He loved that about you. You didn’t pressure him and yet you could always sense when he had something on his mind.
He nervously chewed his lip for a moment, which always killed you. “Listen—this mornin’…”
You gave him a questioning look. “Mhm?”
“It’s not like—It ain’t that I didn’t want—I do want—” He broke off, his eyes guarded just a little, and you just gave him time.
You suddenly realized what he was struggling with, the intimacy of your kisses. “Hey. It’s okay,” you said softly. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Daryl.”
He looked up at you, surprise on his countenance. This was uncharted territory for him. Bringing it up again, he’d almost expected you to be angry or upset or sad or to needle him, to think he had rejected the intimacy—but why? Had you ever been unreasonable with him or treated him unkindly? Never. Not once. You were constantly patient, supportive, caring, tender… When he’d first met you, he recognized your standoffish and disconnected attitude was a guard. He knew it immediately because he did it himself. But underneath that, with patience and time he was happy to put in, he realized you were soft underneath. You gave a shit about him, and really about everyone else. For all your talk about hating people, your actions seemed to constantly affirm the opposite. And you were especially thoughtful, sweet, tender to him. Just him.
But Daryl’s whole life he had been taught that being treated nicely was conditional—and it was conditional on him and his behavior. He was trained to expect blowback at every turn. But being with you was never like that, and now that you were trying to be more together, he was discovering how much he still needed to unlearn.
He seemed lost in his thoughts for a long moment, struggling to process everything. You slipped your fingers into his hair and his eyes closed at your touch. “I’m right here. Still here. And I’m not going anywhere,” you said. “This goes at whatever pace you need it to go. And it goes wherever you want it to.”
He gulped and his eyes flitted open again. He studied your expression. “I just—it’s hard for me to—” He broke off again, giving you a look eyes that seemed fill with uncertainty. “There are some things I haven’t told ya yet.”
You considered him carefully and nodded. “I know.” You sighed and looped your arms around his neck. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about any of that. This is just you and me,” you said.
Daryl’s heart raced from your words and your touch and he shook his head just a little, giving you a puzzled look. “How the hell—how’d I pull this off?” he asked, his fingers finding your hair again.
You laughed and peered back at him earnestly. “I’ve been asking myself the same damn thing since you grabbed me and kissed me back. To think I’d find someone like you now, in this world, and after purposely closing myself off the way I did… Doesn’t seem to make any sense.”
Daryl’s lips crashed back down onto yours and you were lost in each other again. The heat between the two of you was building and you were reeling with the sensation of him when there was obnoxiously a knock at the door.
Daryl’s lips left yours and you let out a small disappointed noise. “Noooo…” You sighed. “Ugh.” You shut your eyes and leaned your forehead against his. “Who the hell is that?”
Daryl’s hands were on your waist. “I dunno, but I’m gonna kill ‘em,” he joked, eliciting a laugh from you before he slipped out from underneath you, placing you gently down on the couch. He grabbed his bow, and went to the door.
He pulled it open to see Maggie on the top step. “Hi,” she said. “Sorry. Just—didn’t see you or Y/N today and just wanted to make sure everything was alright. Especially after last night,” she said, referring to the nightmare you had. “Sorry again about breakin’ the door in… and the guns…”
“S’alright. We’re all good,” Daryl said.
“Good,” she said, her smile widening. She gave him a knowing look and the archer felt his cheeks growing pink. “Well, I think tomorrow mornin’ we’re all gonna meet again and then I think Rick and the others are planning to head back to Alexandria. Get things goin’.”
“Alright. We’ll be there,” Daryl said. “Your trailer?” Maggie nodded. “Alright.”
“Night,” Maggie said, giving him a fond look, absently smoothing her hand over her stomach.
Daryl shut the door behind her and you laughed as he rushed back to the couch and playfully sunk down over you. You grinned up at him as he smoothed the hair away from your face, his body hovering over yours.
“Today was a good day,” you said through your smile.
He nudged his nose up in a nod to you. “One of the best,” he agreed. Then he captured your lips in a deep kiss again.
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happyandticklish · 3 years ago
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Wake Up Call
Notes: For the anon request. I know the time in which I’m accomplishing some of these fics is taking longer, which is mostly due to needing to do life stuff along with this, but I still have a lot of fun writing them! Hope you enjoy~
Summary: Sometimes Nico has a hard time getting up in the morning, but Will has just the thing to help. 
Warm sunlight filtered through his vision, making the boy squint his eyes in vague irritation. The lull of sleep tugged at him, and Nico groaned, turning around to hide his face in his boyfriend’s chest. He wondered what time it was. Whatever the answer, certainly too early to be awake. He wrapped his arms around the other, tugging him closer as he allowed unconsciousness to drag him under once more.
“Hey there,” a voice whispered into his hair, followed by a gentle kiss. “How’d you sleep?”
“Still trying to,” Nico grumbled in response, the effort of forming the words already too much for his jumbled mind. Waking up next to Will was becoming a more and more common occurrence—but really, could you blame Nico when the former happened to be the most comfortable pillow in the whole camp? “What time is it?”
Nico felt Will shift against him as he checked the clock on the wall. Vaguely, Nico assessed that the two were curled up in one of the many cots in the infirmary. He wasn’t sure entirely how they had got there, but he was certain it was a location they were not supposed to be in.
“Eh… seven,” Will replied, squinting a bit at the numbers.
“Seven?!” Nico exclaimed, his words ringing with disgust. “And you woke me up why exactly?”
“Oh, so you wanna be the one to explain to Chiron why the two of us were in here?” Will asked, arching an eyebrow at the other.
“You’re a doctor,” Nico pointed out, his words mumbled as he attempted to put himself back in the peaceful state he had been in before. “It’s an infirmary. What’s the problem?”
“The ‘problem’ is that I’m not supposed to be here overnight, and definitely not with a child of Hades in tow.”
“Mmm.”
Will sighed resignedly as he took in the other, the latter of which was clearly holding no intentions of moving. Seven was too late already. Technically, the others should be showing up around now, but his cabin had a habit of arriving late to opening time. He glanced anxiously towards the door, and then back down at his dozing boyfriend. However, as he did so he took in the way his shirt had rucked up in the fitful shifting of the night, revealing a pale sliver of his stomach. With his arms wrapped around Will’s neck and his eyes shut, he was entirely vulnerable to the idea formulating in Will’s mind.
“Nico~” he sing-songed, his hand drifting slowly down to his sides from where it had rested on the other’s back. “I really think you should get up now.”
Nico grunted, hardly taking in his words in his hazy state of mind.
Will grinned, almost pleased that the other had left him with such an open oppurtunity. “Alright then. But just remember, what happens next is on you.”
Nico twitched when fingers drew lightly up his side, pushing his shirt further up. A small smile slid onto his features as the tracing turned into light scratching. “No,” he muttered under his breath, though he declined to block the touch, choosing instead to merely hold onto the blond tighter. “Will…”
“Hmm?”
“C’mon—” Nico was squirming now, the light sensations making his already fuzzy brain turn to mush. “I-It—don’t!”
“You’re not making any sense, I’m afraid,” Will tsked, walking his fingers down to his stomach and scribbling lightly over the skin. “You’re gonna have to use complete sentences if you want me to understand what you’re saying.”
Nico squeezed his eyes shut, choked giggles escaping him despite himself. He attempted to draw his legs up, but with the way he was pressed against Will, curling up was impossible. That left his stomach entirely vulnerable to attack; it wasn’t his worst spot, but it was inexplicably unbearable in its own way.
“Wihihill!”
“Nico.”
Whatever Nico’s next sentence might have been, it broke off into frustrated garbling as the scribbling turned into playful poking. 
“C’mon Nico,” Will teased, increasing the frenzy of the pokes so that Nico squeaked, his arm almost coming down to block him before grabbing around Will’s neck once more. “You know how to end this. You don’t want to get caught like this, do you?”
The idea of anyone seeing him in such a state was one that normally Nico would revolt at instantly. In the moment, however, he found that he was too tired to think about future consequences when the appeal of staying in the warm, comfortable bed, laughing into Will’s embrace, was as strong as it was. It had been a while since Will had pulled anything like this with the other, and Nico wasn’t rushing to end it so soon.
Will seemed to pick up on Nico’s reluctance, raising an eyebrow. “Oh, I see. Are you enjoying yourself, Mr. Ghost King? Hmm? Do you like being tickled, is that what it is?”
Warmth spread across Nico’s features, his stomach erupting into nerves at the revelation. It didn’t help that Will had slowed down the tickling in order for him to answer. “I—uh, no, of course not.” He fiddled with the back of Will’s shirt as he answered, still hiding his face in the hopes that it come somehow make the conversation easier to accomplish.
“Really?” Will’s words were laced with doubt. One hand rubbed up and down his side, a switch from the tickling from seconds before, in what was most likely meant to be a comforting gesture. Nico couldn’t help but twitch and tense every time his hand strayed too far from his path, however. “Because I couldn’t help but notice that you didn’t try to stop me once while I was tickling you.”
Nico froze, his heart racing as he was caught in his lie. He opened his mouth, struggling to find some way to get himself out of the situation he had led himself into. Before he could, however, Will interjected hurriedly.
“It’s okay if you do, you know,” Will reassured him. “You don’t have to be ashamed of it or anything. Lots of people like to be tickled—it’s a normal way of showing and receiving affection. Not to mention,” he added slowly, gently tweaking his side so that the other let out a startled yelp. “You’re awfully cute all giggly and squirmy like this.”
Nico’s blush worsened, but relief coursed through him with a cool assurance. After a moment of hesitating silence, he muttered, “I don’t… not like it. What, uh, what you were doing, I mean.”
Will blinked, having not expected such an honest answer. Gratitude zipped through him, spreading a pleasant warmth throughout his body. He knew the other probably wouldn’t have been as open with him if it wasn’t still the early hours of the morning, and for a moment, he worried that Nico was going to be angry with him for prompting the confession. But as he watched the curled in position of the other, his gaze focused intently anywhere but Will, he realized that Nico was more nervous than anything else, as though he were worried that Will was going to be the angry one.
“Hey.” Nico frowned as Will sat up, grasping his hand firmly. “Thanks. For telling me that is. It means a lot to me that you were willing to share this with me.”
“Oh,” Nico replied slowly, unfurling from his position with a confused stare. “Yeah, uh, no problem. I guess. You’re not… I mean, you don’t think it’s weird?”
“Nico, you summon people from the dead. Your chauffeur is a zombie. We live in a world of myth and monsters, and you still think that playing with the Pokémon versions of that is cooler. Liking tickling is the least weird thing about you.”
“Thanks,” Nico replied dryly.
Will pulled him closer, kissing the tips of his fingers lightly. Nico wrinkled his nose at the affectionate gesture, but there was a faint pink dusted across his features all the same. “This is just one more thing about you to love. And you know what the best part about all of this is?”
“What?” Nico asked hesitantly, trying not to focus on Will’s face, let alone his lips, inches away from his own.
“I get to do this whenever I want to!”
Hands were shoved suddenly under Nico’s shirt, climbing his sides and sneaking under his arms. Nico squawked, caught off guard by the sudden attack, and flailed back in an unsuccessful attempt to retreat. “Wihihill! Wahahahait!”
“No, I don’t think I will. I’m having too much fun, you see. Besides, I thought you said you liked it. Do you really want me to stop?”
Nico blushed, giggling uncontrollably as he attempted to tug Will’s arms away from his armpits. “Thahahat’s nahahahat fahahair!” he squeaked, falling backwards on the bed at last in an act of desperation. His hands were holding Will’s wrists loosely, tugging every once in a while unsuccessfully. His head was thrown back in a wild grin as carefree laughter spilled from his lips. Will’s heart swooped unsteadily in his chest, the sight of Nico like this first thing in the morning too much for him to handle. Consequently, he almost didn’t notice the voice ringing through the infirmary seconds later, echoing in the hall.
“Will? Are you in there? I thought I heard a noise.”
Will nearly gave himself whiplash from how fast he jerked back from the other, pulling Nico onto his chest on accident as the other’s hands were still locked about his arms. Nico’s face had dropped into that of cautious alarm, but there was still light dancing in his eyes, casting a content glow to his face.
Will cursed, letting out a disappointed groan. “Kayla. Dammit. We should probably get out of here so I don’t get you in trouble.”
“Me in trouble?” Nico exclaimed indignantly as Will pulled him off the bed, each of them struggling to kick the covers off of themselves. “Wasn’t it your idea to come here in the first—”
“Details, details,” Will interrupted quickly. “Now, do you want to get caught or not?”
Nico sighed, but followed him in a run as the two attempted to sneak out through the back doors.
In the end, Kayla ended up catching them and the two got put on Pegasus detail for the next two weeks. But Will decided it was all worth it, in the end, if it meant he got to hear the other’s laughter once more.
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nanami-says · 4 years ago
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Part V (2/3): chapters 58~60
Chapter 58
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[About Sukuna’s fingers resonating with one another]
"The ones that possess an immense presence. The ones that are hiding. The ones that are already taken in by cursed spirits."
⇒ "1) The ones with too big presences. 2) The ones holding their breath. 3) The ones already absorbed by cursed spirits."
I added the numbers for explanation purposes, see below. 
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"One of Sukuna's fingers was hidden by a cursed spirit. When Itadori consumed the finger in June, it released its cursed energy"
⇒ "The Sukuna fingers that had been absorbed were holding back their power [while] inside cursed spirits. Then they unleashed their cursed energy with Itadori's incarnation [of Sukuna] in June serving as a trigger."
Whelp. On top of extremely simplifying the explanation, they mixed up the kind of Sukuna finger involved here - it was very explicitly stated in the text that it was number 3) "absorbed" (assimilated) fingers, and not 2) "hiding" fingers. 
I guess saying that Itadori consumed the finger isn't wrong plot wise but it's actually referred to (here and many times more in the manga) as "incarnation"! The same word also gets used for the death painting brothers.
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[Megumi remembering a conversation with Gojou] 
"I was surprised you asked me to train you"
⇒ "It's rare for you to ask me for a practice, Megumi"
"To train you" wasn't wrong but Gojou saying "it's rare" here points to it either happening occasionally or having happened in the past and I'm not sure "I was surprised" quite conveys that. 
"Are you feeling pressure because of Yuji's growth?"
⇒ "Did you get impatient after getting surpassed by Yuuji?"
Gojou actually says that Yuuji has surpassed Megumi here! Quite a different nuance from just "Yuji's growth".
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"Megumi, your skill and potential are probably higher than Yuji's. All that’s left is the mental aspect"
⇒ “You know, Megumi, I think that both your real ability and potential are in no way inferior to Yuuji's. (...)"
Emphasis mine because pray tell, how does one reach the conclusion that "don't lose out to"/"aren't inferior to" equals to "are probably higher". “Skill” was fine btw but I’d probably go with “mindset” for the last line, personally.
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[Gojou explaining why he thinks Megumi doesn’t know how to make a serious effort giving the baseball game as an example]
“Why did you bunt? You sacrificed yourself so that Nobara could advance. Well, good for you"
⇒ "Why did you make a sacrifice bunt? Did you want to advance Nobara to the next base even if it meant you'd be out yourself? That's commendable"
The nuance for the last line was just different - the word used there usually is just used as praise, either genuine or ironic but imo “good for you” has a different meaning. Also he says “out”  but it’s written as “death” (although that is sometimes the case in baseball as well.)
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“But no matter how many allies you have around you, you'll always die alone"
⇒ “(...) when you die, you’re alone”
I tried to phrase it a bit closer to the original because I feel like the nuance may just be different for this line but can’t quite put a finger on the how.
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[Gojou to Megumi]
"To die and then win, and dying victoriously are two completely different things, Megumi"
⇒ "To win by dying and to win even if you die are completely different, Megumi"
Emphasis by Gege. Ngl, I had no clue what the English was trying to say here… This is most likely what the line actually meant.
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[Megumi regaining his consciousness after he blacked out from getting hit] 
 "How long was I out? Was my divine dog destroyed? No, my technique's finished"
Actually "my technique got undone". Putting it as "has finished" is imo both unclear and misleading. Similar situation as in ch. 1 (refer to part I).
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[Lead-up to Megumi using a domain expansion for the first time]
"A jujutsu sorcerer's growth never comes easy"
⇒ "The growth curve of a sorcerer isn’t always gentle"
Mostly, the line was more intricate in the original but also the grammatical construction used here that they mistranslated as "never" actually means "not always [necessarily]” instead.
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"Here we go!!"
Not really incorrect but it's kinda generic and I guess something like "I'm gonna do it!" is closer nuance wise. 
"With a firm base, skill and imagination, a person can change thanks to the slightest of events"
⇒ "A firm foundation, a handful of sense, and imagination. Then, [even] with a most insignificant opportunity, a person will change"
A pity they simplified "a handful of sense" into just "skill" here. Overall not really incorrect but I wanted to propose something that imo better conveys the original wording and vibe.
“Area expansion”
…”area”? What? Obviously this is actually “domain expansion”. I just don’t have words.
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“Think bigger! My technique’s interpretation!”
First sentence actually referred to the second one, so it’s actually something like “Expand it!! The technique’s interpretation!!”
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[Megumi to the cursed spirit after his shikigami deals it a finishing blow]
"Divine dog's claws even hurt it...You were no match!"
"(...) So something like piercing through you when you're not even paying attention was easy"
Less excitement, more dismissiveness, I’d say? Also, for the divine dog it’s actually specified that it’s “divine dog (totality)” and not just simply “divine dog”. The term appeared before in ch. 47.
Chapter 59
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[Megumi talking about what he considers the basic rule for human interactions in a flashback to his middle school years]
"Basically, you shouldn't cross any line that violates another person's dignity. You should acknowledge each other's mutual existence. That's the rule. You ignored it and fed your stupid ego"
⇒ "In short, it's drawing a line in order not to jeopardise one another's dignity; [it’s] a process through which both parties can coexist. That's what the "rule" is”. You broke it, throwing your weight around and forcing everyone to walk on eggshells around you”
For the first sentence, Megumi says “it’s drawing a line”, so the nuance here was probably closer to “creating boundaries” rather than “crossing boundaries” like in the official English release. For the second sentence, the original literally says “the process through which one another’s existence is achieved”, so rather than acknowledging each other’s existence the sentiment is probably closer to live and let live? For the last sentence, they once again simplified it to the barest bones.
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"I'll definitely tell Ikezawa and everyone today that we're not their lapdogs"
“You got this, Aida!”
"But we might be the next punching bags, so don't go overboard!"
Should be “Ikezawa and others'' and definitely “that I’m not their errand boy” for the smallest boy’s first line. If all of them were already being treated as errand boys like the way using the plural form here implies, the other student’s reply wouldn’t make sense.
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[After Tsumiki sees Megumi has beaten up delinquents once again]
“You said you wouldn’t pick fights anymore”
“You’re not my mom”
⇒ (...) “Don’t act like you’re my guardian”
Imo the distinction is significant because there’s a possibility that Tsumiki as the older of the two probably did feel responsible for Megumi to an extent and acted accordingly, as if she was his guardian. 
Also, he doesn’t actually say “mom” - this is not the first time where the official English release opts for a gendered phrase where the original uses a neutral form. (Like making Yuuji say his grandpa was like a dad to him when he actually said parent all the way back in ch. 2.) 
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[Megumi’s thoughts from back in the middle school]
"I hate bad guys with no brains and zero emotional capability. Walking around feeling proud. Disgusting."
⇒ "I hate bad people. The way they act like they’re superior, with their complete lack of imagination or sensitivity. Disgusting”
I guess I really dislike the way they worded it here, especially the “no brains” part since Megumi wasn’t really talking about intellect or smarts here but about imagination (and sensitivity), which he literally describes as being akin to "vacant lot", "empty lot", "raw land”, which is much more evocative.
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"I hate goody-goodies forgiving bad people, justifying mercy. Makes me wanna puke"
⇒ "I hate good people. The way they forgive such bad people and perceive that act of forgiveness as something noble. They make me sick"
Mhm, way to just simplify the heck out of the whole line. I’m extra bothered by their use of “goody-goodies” here since this is yet another appearance of a rather formal word for “good person” (善人/zennin) in the original and which I’ve observed to be a very important part of the world-building in jjk. I discuss it at length in various previous installments, with notable examples including: ch. 9 (Megumi about Yuuji and about the kind of people he wants to save - part I), ch. 31 (Nanami and Yuuji’s conversation in the aftermath of the Junpei incident - part III 2/2), ch. 36 (Panda about Yuuji - part IV 2/5).
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“Tsumiki, you’re a perfect example of a good person.”
See, the word he uses here to describe Tsumiki is the same as in the line above (善人) but because back then it got translated as “goody-goodies”, you’d never guess it since the vibes are just that different.
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[Megumi reminiscing about meeting Gojou for the first time]
"In the first grade, my dad and Tsumiki's mom got married and separated just as quickly"
⇒ "When I was in the first grade of elementary school my father and Tsumiki’s mother, our respective single parents, got together and disappeared into thin air"
The original doesn’t mention marriage OR separation. Heck, especially for the second one, it doesn’t even come close to mentioning it?? I have no clue where they got this from. 
What I put as “got together” can also be translated as “to have a liaison with (a man or a woman)” (among others). Since Tsumiki’s surname is also “Fushiguro” in middle school, it’s possible that they were actually married and many Japanese fans seem to think that as well but it’s not explicitly stated, at least not here, so those are most likely speculations. 
As for mysterious “separation”, the word used here actually means "disappearance (of people intentionally concealing their whereabouts); unexplained disappearance", so imo the whole section means their parents got together and at some point both disappeared. As we learn at one point in the manga Touji first and Tsumiki’s mum sometime later. 
(Btw, one fan scanlation used “evaporation” here instead and while this is another possible translation of the word in question, imo from the context it’s clear that the intended meaning was the “unexplained disappearance” instead.)
Lastly, Megumi uses kind of formal expressions when referring to both his own dad and Tsumiki’s mum, which imo is indicative of the emotional distance.
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[Tiny Megumi about teenager Gojou]
"A weirdo with white hair said"
⇒ "A suspicious man with white hair"
Needless to say, he doesn't actually call Gojou a weirdo.
[Gojou about Touji] 
"But he's a loser that just works for me. He left the family and had you."
⇒ "He's enough of a good-for-nothing to take aback even me. Basically, he left home and then had you."
Emphasis mine. Again, I literally have no clue where they got the translation they went with for this. “Works for me” - just what?? (Btw, one of the fan scans available for this had the latter part of this line mistakenly imply that Gojou had Megumi leave his house. The bit definitely referred to Touji leaving the Zen’in family.)
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"You're something your dad used against the Zen'in family. His trump card"
⇒ “You’re something your father kept as his strongest card against the Zen’in family”
A bit of a different nuance than “your dad used” suggests.
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"The divorce money makes sense now. I was sold to this Zen'in family"
⇒ "The mystery behind the funds for their disappearance got solved. Apparently, I was sold to this Zen’in family or something"
Again, the word for “divorce” doesn’t make an appearance ANYWHERE in this chapter, least of all this page. ...How. 
Once again - fan scans had this as money that also evaporated but neither it nor the official English release make sense, considering the line is followed up by “I was sold” as the explanation. So yeah, imo the first sentence definitely referred to the money Megumi considered necessary for Touji (and co’s) disappearance.
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[Gojou referring to Touji basically selling Megumi off]
"Sucks, doesn't it?"
"Yeah, it's annoying. Especially your attitude."
⇒ “It pisses you off, doesn’t it”
“Yeah, it does piss me off. Especially that lack of delicacy of yours”
I mentioned it multiple times but imo repetition in the original text tends to be done on purpose and as a device and imo this was another example where this was the case. Megumi borrows Gojou’s words here. (Which mean “to be irritated, “to be angry” and not “it sucks”.)
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[Megumi continuing about Gojou]
"But that annoying guy wrote off the situation with the Zen'in family. He made a promise that we would work as sorcerers in the future. We would be collateral and receive financial support from Jujutsu High in exchange."
⇒"This man pisses me off, but it was him who cancelled the deal with the Zen'in family, and made it so we would receive financial support from the technical college with me working as a sorcerer in the future [serving] as collateral for it”
I don’t know why they’d translate it as “we would work” here since who the “we” would be supposed to even entail other than Megumi himself? Surely not Tsumiki. Or Gojou. Also, putting the next bit as “we would be collateral” makes it sound kind of dehumanising to me, ngl, whereas Megumi was talking about his labour here.
Also, the same phrase for “pisses off” as above got used once again, which makes it three times in a row, so imo that was definitely a deliberate stylistic choice on Gege’s part.
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“Jujutsu sorcerers. How stupid.
⇒ "Sorcerers, what even. How nonsensical"
Just proposing an alternate wording.
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[Megumi about the curse Tsumiki got hit by]
"All we knew was that we didn't know anything. Tsumiki still sleeps."
The word used to describe Tsumiki’s state literally means “became bedridden”, which imo heavily implies she fell into a coma. “Still sleeps” is most likely a misunderstanding on the translator’s part since the word sounds like it’d mean that (but it doesn’t.)
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[Megumi about Tsumiki]
"Always smiling and saying nice things"
⇒ “Always smiling and spouting lip service”
Another case where the translator seems to have translated the word based on the way it’s written as opposed to checking the actual meaning. (The “nice things” phrase.)
"It's not a bad thing to not forgive people. Megumi, that's your way of showing kindness."
⇒ “Not being able to forgive people isn’t a bad thing. That’s your kindness, Megumi”
It wasn’t just “not to forgive” but “not being able to forgive”! Which imo would imply the next line’s nuance was something similar to Tsumiki considering Megumi’s inability to forgive people to be something that stems from his kindness (e.g. because he can’t stand seeing injustice).
"Even spinning my short-comings in a positive light."
⇒ “She would affirm even my nature"
Imo this line was more of Tsumiki accepting Megumi as he is or at least that’s what the line says - makes sense with what I proposed for the line above too. Translating it the way they did in the official release kind of feels like overinterpreting.
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"But even she would get upset when I hurt somebody. I was annoyed by the hypocrisy"
⇒ "But even such Tsumiki would get genuinely angry (...). I would get annoyed thinking she was a stickler to the rules and a hypocrite"
Emphasis mine. The phrase that the translators seem to have skipped here and I translated as "stickler to the rules" literally means "to play it safe", "to avoid trouble at all cost". 
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"Yeah, I know. I was immature. I'm sorry so please wake up already"
“I’m sorry, I was a brat. I’ll apologise so just wake up already, stupid older sister”
Just a different nuance and tone for the whole line.
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"All I did was get rid of the Yasohachi bridge curse. My sister's sleeping curse is a separate matter."
⇒ "This Yasohachi bridge curse was probably only overlapping with it, and the curse that caused Tsumiki to fall into a coma probably hasn't been lifted"
The official English release makes it sound like sleeping (or more correctly, the coma) was the nature of the curse that Tsumiki was put under, whereas imo the original indicates it just as its effect, which is an important distinction.
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“As for the finger and Itadori…”
⇒ “What should I tell Itadori about the finger...”
The “tell”, “say” is only implied here but it’s pretty clear from the context that was the meaning. Also, he explicitly says “to Itadori” here.
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[After the Yasohachi bridge curse got defeated by Megumi who then retrieved the Sukuna finger from it] 
"All of sudden I feel a presence. Did the finger get out of the barrier? Whoever took out the finger bearer is quite formidable."
⇒ “The huge presence that appeared all of sudden... Did Sukuna's finger get out of the barrier? If it was a sorcerer that exorcised the finger's host, they must be quite good......."
Emphasis mine on bits that got cut out in the official release. Because Esou was facing off Nobara, he probably assumed it’s likely there may be other sorcerers present and imo that’s what this line also suggests.
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"Even so... The finger... Even if they fought against a special-grade and won, They more than likely didn't come out of it unscathed. I hope they're okay."
Just to clarify that the word used for “they” in the original indicates the speaker knows the people in question, so those were Nobara’s thoughts here.
 Chapter 60
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[Esou to Yuuji and Nobara after he activates his wing king technique]
“Start running and turn your backs to me”
“Run. With your backs turned to me” would fit better nuance and mood wise. (Esou didn’t want to show his back to anyone so now he’s’ forcing them to show theirs.)
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[Nobara to Yuuji after he scooped her up because she couldn’t run as fast as he could]
“I got your back”
“Okay”
“Okay” isn’t incorrect per se but the word has the nuance of “I’m counting on you”.
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[Nobara to Yuuji after he speeded through the forest while carrying her, allowing them to escape from Esou's technique]
"Well done, you deserve some praise"
“Yeah, yeah”
“Just kidding. Thanks!”
⇒ "You have my praise." (...)
Actually a set phrase! Spoken from a rather elevated/superior POV, which is why Nobara later reiterates that she’s genuinely thankful. Also, I probably would just go with a period for “Thanks”, imo nuance wise it didn’t require an exclamation mark and it’s not there in the original either.
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[Esou after Yuuji gets splashed with Kechizu’s blood]
"There's no need to worry. My younger brother's blood isn't the same quality as mine"
Actually "doesn't have the same properties like mine”.
"You wouldn't even die from mine unless you were drowned in it."
Much closer to something like "unless you were to bathe your whole body in it".
"But it does hurt like hell"
⇒ "But it does hurt to death"
Not really wrong meaning wise but in the original it was “to death” instead of “like hell”, which combined with a previous line was probably a wordplay. "You won't die but it does hurt to death"
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[Esou explaining how his and Kechizu’s shared technique works]
"If you take in one of our brother's blood and if one brother activates a technique"
Idk if it's clear here but it most likely doesn't matter which brother does which (could even be the same one). Also, definitely should’ve been “the” or “this” for technique, since Esou has just stated on the same page he’s now going to start laying out how a specific technique of he and his brother’s functions.  
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[Esou replying to Yuuji]
"Yes, the result is essentially poison. Our technique is 'decomposition'"
Should be “but what our technique is, is actually ‘decomposition’” nuance wise.
"It's activated now. In reality they'll be dead faster than that”
⇒ “Done with technique disclosure, so in reality (...)”
Emphasis mine. You know, the rule in jujutsu where if you explain your technique to your opponent, it gets a buff? “Activation” is just wrong here. 
While it’s not phrased as such, the phenomenon is first explained in ch. 20 during Nanami’s explanation to Yuuji (refer to part II 2/2). It also gets mentioned by name later in the manga but oftentimes the official release would either skip it or word it completely differently so it’s hard to tell, like in ch. 51, when Hanami realises Toudou has lied to him (part IV 5/5). 
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[The history of how cursed wombs came to be]
"[In the beginning of the Meiji era] there was a girl with special genetic makeup who bore a cursed-spirit child"
Actually “with an idiosyncrasy that allowed her to get pregnant with the child of a cursed spirit”! Imo an important distinction since it’s not certain whether her first child that gets discussed here was born prematurely or not and the following pregnancies were all aborted.
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"A child born of mixed blood - both cursed spirit and human.”
Skipped “grotesque child” at the end.
“It was a mysterious pregnancy. She would be ostracized by family and friends.”
⇒ "Starting from a pregnancy she had no recollection of, [followed by] the oppression from her kith and kin, it made her go insane"
This latter part of this section is filled to the brim with complicated language so I’m not entirely sure but I think this might’ve been the intended meaning of the line. The official translators were probably struggling with the vocabulary too, so they cut out some stuff entirely, to be precise - the go insane part. It’s the bit I’m not certain about myself but I scoured Japanese dictionaries and that’s the meaning that seemed to be the best fit among the options.  
Anyway, to reiterate - the bit about the pregnancy actually says that the girl herself didn’t even know (couldn’t remember) how it came to be. The part about the relatives doesn’t mention friends, it’s actually a set phrase that means “one's relatives by blood and marriage (in blood and law); one's kith and kin” - I went here with the latter since it’s shorter and fits the overall vibe of the line.
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“She would hold the corpse of the child and flee to a temple in the mountains. The temple was run by jujutsu sorcerers. However, her luck had run out."
⇒ “(...) However, this was when her luck run out”
Other than the nuance in the last line, this isn’t mistranslated but the whole section just flowed differently in the original and felt less disjointed.
Also! One of the scanlations I’ve seen had it misspelled as “Noshitori” but the evil sorcerer’s name is actually “Kamo Noritoshi” (and yes, it’s the same as the young Kamo but the “toshi” is written with different characters).
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"The child born from a cursed spirit and human would become a prisoner of intellectual curiosity"
⇒ "His [Kamo Noritoshi's] intellectual curiosity would be taken captive by children born between a cursed spirit and a human"
Very much the other way around. It's very clear in the original that the subject of the sentence was Kamo's intellectual curiosity and not the child.
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"Death painting wombs: numbers 1-3. Cursed objects worthy of special grade."
Closer to "cursed objects powerful enough to be classified as special grade"
"Did cursed energy originate from a mother's hatred? No..."
It's specified here as "did their cursed energy" instead (emphasis mine), and the question is actually left unanswered......................................................... So yeah, congrats on getting rid of this very intended ambiguity. It's something like "or was it maybe--"
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[About cursed wombs]
"For 150 years, with only the notion of one another's existence, they would survive, sealed away"
⇒ "For 150 years, they endured the seal, relying only on one another's existence"
"The notion" just doesn't capture the sentiment of the line at all, which imo is most likely the follow-up to the narrator's musings about the origin of the death painting's immense cursed energy. (See above.)
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"We're siding with that cursed spirit."
Actually "siding with them", read as "them" but written as "the cursed spirits" - probably plural as the original literally says "the side of the cursed spirits", so it possibly means cursed spirits as a whole as well, aside of Mahito and co specifically. Remember, the brothers are actually half-humans too. I explain in depth the “written as but read as” device in part IV 4/5 (ch. 48, Toudou’s “my friend” phenomenon).
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"The future that the cursed spirits have painted is more suited for us. But that's it. Forget about what we owe for our freedom"
Not incorrect per se but Chousou actually says “forget the debt we owe them of our incarnation”, which would make it yet another instance where the official English release has cut out the term entirely. (Emphasis mine.)
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[Nobara after stating that a technique that assures a win as long as it hits an opponent is indeed powerful]
"I'm a bad match for you!!"
Actually “the worst match [possible]” - more confidence in the line! 
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[Nobara to the death painting brothers after using Resonance on herself thus redirecting their attack back at them]
"Let's play a game of chicken, shall we?"
The actual wording is “contest of endurance”, I’m not entirely sure if the two have the same connotation.
[part v (3/3)]
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boymeetsweevil · 4 years ago
Text
SS6 - MYG, FLUFF, 2900w
For @bangtancentricsblogsmain​ because i wanted her to suffer :)
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At 3pm, on a Thursday, there’s a knock on Yoongi’s bedroom door. He had come through that very same door not an hour earlier to lock himself away from the world after a particularly draining day. After dropping his bag somewhere on the ground, he showered, removed his contacts, and pushed the laundry waiting to be folded over to the other half of his bed in record time.
Normally he would have joined his roommate and their mutual friend circle who were seated on the couch in the communal living room, eating snacks and watching a game. But this time he begged out with a quiet mumble about needing rest.
When Hoseok knocks, Yoongi makes a feeble sound to signal he’s still, unfortunately, awake.
“What,” Yoongi grumbles. 
He attempts to sit up on one pale elbow and then decides against it. Hoseok’s lips twitch up at how cranky Yoongi is pre-nap before sinking back down as his expression darkens into a pitying and somber mix.
“She’s here. And, uh, she’s asking for you.” Hoseok’s eyes dart back to some unseen spot in the living room.
“Tell her I’m asleep.”
“I know you’re not asleep, Yoongi!” Your voice rings from outside the bedroom and Hoseok cringes sympathetically.
“I’ll just leave,” Hoseok says when you shove your torso through the crack in the doorway.
You wait to start speaking until the bedroom door is shut and the noises from the TV outside wash away.
“Why haven’t you been answering my texts?”
“Sorry, I’ve been busy,” is all you get.
The backpack you carry drops unceremoniously to the ground with a thud and any dregs of sleep cloying to Yoongi’s brain vanish with the sound. It’s with a valiant effort that he shoves his face deeper into his pillow. You cock your head to look at your best friend and snort at him.
Yoongi’s glasses are skewed across his face. There are thin pink lines marring the left side of his face from lying pressed to the wrinkled sheets with glasses on. The platinum blond waves of his hair, normally coiffed styled, are squashed flat against his forehead. Rarely ever does he look this rumpled and it’s hilarious.
“That’s okay, I’ll just tell you what I wrote in the texts,” you say as you make your way further into Yoongi’s small room. 
A look down at your feet shows him that you’ve shoved your feet into the pair of bunny slippers he got for guests you when he and Hoseok first moved in almost a year ago.
“Basically,” you continue. “There’s good news and there’s bad news. Pick one.” You help yourself to his desk chair and swivel it so it faces him.
“Bad news first,” Yoongi says after some deliberation. He pulls the covers up to his chin more securely.
“Smart choice,” you nod sagely. “The bad news is I’m gonna have to paint your face.”
“What the hell,” Yoongi barks.
“But the good news is that I have a new job as a face painter at the kids’ section of the farmer’s market this season!”
“How is that good news for me?”
“It means I’ll be slightly less broke and I can stop asking you to buy me breakfast before our 9am.”
Yoongi doesn’t really know whether to laugh or to cry. Firstly, there’s no way in hell he’s letting you paint his face. You’ve always been shit at drawing and letting you showcase that on his skin doesn’t do him any favors. Secondly, he’s in his twenties and he doesn’t even go to the farmer’s market. There’s no reason for him to set foot on the town commons during sunny Saturdays for local produce, much less to get his face painted next to a pen full of smelly goats and screaming kids. He’s just not seeing the connection between you getting this job and him getting his face painted. He stares at you with the hope that you’ll back off but he finds that you’re just blinking back at him with a huge, proud pretty grin.
For a moment Yoongi wants to smile back like things are normal. He wants to put on a groan and act like he’s annoyed that he’s been “forced” to order you sugary coffee drinks and muffins using his own money for longer than he can remember. He wants to gently muss your hair to see you make that cute shocked face you always make. But he can’t. 
Because if he does all that, he might slip up again like he did last weekend. 
At 10:24pm, Friday of last week, Yoongi told you he loved you while one small bottle of liquid courage was sloshing away in his stomach. After seconds of silence ticked by like the bangs of a gong, you replied. A sing-songy ‘Aww. I love you too, Yoongi’ and a light pat on the arm. Your words were basically the mirror image of his, but somehow also starkly different. Disappointment walked him home early that night and embarrassment laid him low the following week.
But it was just a week, he’d reasoned with himself, you’d hardly notice anyway...
“Yoongi? You okay?”
“No,” he hisses and shakes his head gently to dislodge memories of that pathetic weekend.
“Are you sure?”
“Why do you need to paint my face?”
“For practice! The market doesn’t open for another month but I need to get good. Jungkook said that if I do it really well the parents will leave bigger tips.”
“So Jungkook is behind all this.”
“Yeah,” you chirp. “He’s been really helpful in the last week. Usually I’d vent to you about how broke I am but since you were so busy, I ended up hanging out with Kook. He’s honestly really resourceful and he got me the job really fast.”
The hairs on the back of Yoongi’s neck bristle at the mention of the younger “peer”. Jungkook was a constant presence at group hangouts for a long while but Yoongi could only ever think of him as a friend of a friend. There was something smarmy about the guy’s smile that he didn’t like. And the way he was always draping himself over you, teasing you, buying you food that was all his job. He can’t put his finger on what it is exactly, but something about Jungkook always put Yoongi in a shit mood.
Yoongi curses under his breath. “Why couldn’t he get you a job at the cotton candy station or managing the photo booth or something?”
“What’s up with you lately? Do you really hate the idea of helping me that much?”
“It’s just annoying,” Yoongi huffs childishly from under the blanket.
“Fine, I’ll just ask Jungkook, then.”
“No! Wait!” Your eyes flash with hope. “I’ll do it. Just—don’t bother him. Since he already gave you the job, I mean.”
“Oh, thank god. I felt really bad about asking him for even more help.”
You turn around and pull out a face painting kit from thin air and begin scooting the desk chair towards the bed. When you’re close enough, you frown.
“What?” Yoongi sniffs at his sheets for good measure. All clean.
“Nothing. It’s just...” You look down at the ground and then the chair and then at Yoongi before looking at the chair again. “I usually practice on shorter surfaces so I can get used to working with the kids.”
“Oh, just pull the little lever underneath the chair. Raising and lowering the chair is Hoseok’s favorite thing to do when he comes in here, I swear.”
You reach under the seat like Yoongi instructed, find the little lever, and tug. There’s a low hissing sound before the seat suddenly drops 5 inches. You let out a yelp while Yoongi tries to stifle a laugh at your terrified expression.
“I guess—I guess Hoseok pulled the lever too much,” Yoongi’s voice creaks with laughter. Even when you flick him in the forehead he keeps laughing.
“Yoongi, this isn’t funny. I need to practice.”
“Just so you know there’s no way I’m getting on the floor. I’ve changed my clothes and I’m actually in the bed.”
He knows he’s being a bit of a dick at the moment, but he’s only trying to rile you up. He’s not expecting you to start to get up on the bed after flipping him off. The laundry he placed on his bed that morning to force himself to fold now laughs at him from its position shoved against the wall.
“W-what are you doing?”
“I need to be higher than you to paint your face. And you’re not getting up, right?”
“Well, no. But—”
“So this is where I’m gonna work.”
You shrug like it’s not a big deal that you’re straddling him. Like it’s not a big fucking deal that your soft thighs now rest on either side of his torso, that you casually rest a hand on his ribcage while setting up the painting kit along his sternum. He hopes your hand stays further south only to prevent the rapid beating of his heart from being discovered under your palm.
“What design do you want,” your voice is quiet now that you’re closer. 
Makes sense. No need to yell. But it still drives Yoongi crazy that you’re basically whispering in his ear as you lean over him to grab at the unused cup of water behind the bed frame. You revive your paints with the water while he tries to keep his breathing in check, lest he cause your paints to tumble off his torso and stain his sheets in a pastel rainbow.
“Uhh, how about an old style tiger?”
“Really,” you deadpan, “I tell you I’m just starting to learn to paint and you ask for a tiger?”
“Fine. Stars, then.” He gulps when you look right at him, face flushing to create the perfect pink canvas.
“Oh, I can do that. No reference needed.”
It seems deadly quiet in Yoongi’s room. The sounds of the living room long since died down when a crowd favorite started playing and captured everyone’s attention. Now there’s only yours and his intermingled breathing and the sound of your brush tinkling against glass.
You lean down from your perch to focus on carving out a swatch of night sky to blanket Yoongi’s stars. Your breath softly puffs low against his left cheek at the same moment the wet tip of the paintbrush hits his skin. His breath hitches a little and he’s not sure which is the culprit.
“Hold still, okay?” Your words come out in a whisper. 
“Okay,” he whispers back.
Minutes pass and two shaky stars are born on Yoongi’s cheekbone. You shift around on his chest to stabilize yourself and in your movement you lose your footing a little, your right leg slipping off the edge of the mattress.
“Ah—”
“I got you,” Yoongi grunts a little as his hands fly to your hips.
He easily stops your momentum and your paints, clutched desperately in your hands, remain safe from the ground. The pads of his fingers are still dug lightly into the meat of your hips and waist. In that moment you remember just how big Yoongi’s hands are.
“T-thanks.”
“No problem.” 
A slow grin spreads on Yoongi’s face when he notices that suddenly you can’t make eye contact like you were just a few moments prior.
You do your best to continue, but your gaze keeps flitting to his, only to find that he’s already looking at you. It sets something hot aflutter in your chest. The points of the stars that you thought you had a handle on turn soft and wobbly once more. 
“Look up,” you ask when you’re out of other options and keep having to paint over your work.
Yoongi has to bite his tongue to keep from chuckling at how jittery you seem. It feels good to know that the effects of this proximity are mutual, that you’re feeling just as lightheaded from sitting in his lap as he is from having you sit in it.
“You almost done?” He drawls. He’s been counting the small irregularities in the paint on his ceiling to keep entertained.
“Uh, yeah, almost.”
He feels the cold kiss of the brush tip once, twice more before it returns to its makeshift home of the water glass with a clink.
“Do you...wanna see what it looks like,” you sit up then. 
There’s a small hand mirror across the room that you’re eyeing. But he stops you with a squeeze to your hips, reminding you that his hands have been resting there this whole time.
“Just use my phone,” he nods to the device lying abandoned in the sheets. “Take a picture.”
“Okay.”
For some reason, your hands are shaking even with the paintbrush gone and the need for focus lifted. Mechanically you wake Yoongi’s phone from sleep and access the camera app to take a photo, shifting your weight to your knees to get above him and snap a pic. Curiosity makes you open the photo album app to see the photo you just took instead of showing it to him first. The result takes your breath away. 
Yoongi looks blissfully content, almost smugly so, as he gazes up at the camera. The stars under his eyes and on the bridge of his nose look like glowing yellow freckles amidst the banner of deep navy and rich purples you used to craft the sky across his cheekbones. The paint looks good and it’s probably even your best job yet, but you can’t help yourself from looking elsewhere.
Yoongi’s tousled bed head, soft sleep shirt, and dreamy eyes bring a cloud of butterflies to your stomach. The final killer touch of the photo is the fact that your knees just barely enter the bottom of the photo. Yoongi’s hands rest on each one like they belong there.
“Yoongi.” You breathe his name like a sigh and that’s when he surges up, as if to catch his name on your lips.
The kiss takes you by surprise and you tumble down to him in a soft pile of limbs. He hums a long, pleased sound when your weight settles on top of him. The hands he had on your knees suddenly grow restless and they amble up your thighs, up your waist, around your back. His hands are ever busy gliding over as much of you as they can in the moments that you let your lips press firmly against his.
Idly you pick out the details you notice with your eyes drifting closed. Yoongi’s breath leaves his nose in puffs against your face and his sighs echo quiet in your ears. His hair is soft between your fingers and so is the collar of the worn shirt that he’s wearing. The sheets that have raised around you like makeshift linen mountains smell just like Yoongi’s sweet soap, warmed with sleep.
“Shouldn’t we—”, he plants a kiss on your mouth, “shouldn’t we talk about this,” you mumble against his lips.
Yoongi’s hands stop in their tracks along the midpoint of your spine. The sigh he lets out is long suffering.
“Sorry. I just—I got carried away.”
“I mean, you don’t have to apologize for it. I just...thought you saw me as a friend.”
“Do friends confess their love for each other? That’s new.”
“L-love?” Your eyes turn wide and starry. “When have either of us ever confessed our love?”
“Well, I did. At the bar. Or did you have to block that memory out?”
Your brow furrows at the self-deprecating turn his smile takes and you clasp one of his still-wandering hands.
“You mean—Yoongi, I thought you were just being mushy. I thought you meant, like, ‘I love that we’re all here together as friends right now’. If I had known that was a real confession,” you trail off.
“You what?” 
Yoongi’s mood elevates once more, enjoying the sudden turn your rambling is taking. Teasingly he bucks his hips under you, startling you out of your bashful silence and forcing you to press two hands to his chest for balance. A cute little sound leaves your lips and he’s tempted to do it again.
“You were saying,” he grins up at you and his hands start to wander once again.
“I would have—”
“Baby, speak up.” He’s all coos but there’s a little venom in his voice. He likes how embarrassed you are.
“I would have left with you that night. If I had known.”
His shirt wrinkles up where your fingers twist anxiously. Normally you trample through Yoongi’s space, no shame or hesitation in the way you leave him on his toes. It had always been a fun game for you to see how close you could get before he’d have to draw a line, before his besotted smile would become too hard to hide. But now you’re not so sure you can handle it directed at you in all its glory.
“That’s a nice idea,” he says. 
In one moment he looks like he’s really weighing the idea, serious in his appraisal. The next moment he’s tugging you down when you least expect it, bringing a corner of the blanket to envelope you both. Under the cover of weak darkness, he threads a hand through the hair at the base of your neck. 
“Why don’t you tell me about it?”
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swampofiniquity · 4 years ago
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The Luckiest (Chris Redfield x Reader) Part 2
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Part Two of Two
Rated: Explicit
Word Count: 2,893
Summary: Round two... and three? 
Warnings: sexual content, blowjob, unprotected sex, overstimulation
Read part one here
Cross-posted to AO3
The master bathroom was what originally made you fall in love with the new house. It was huge and open, the kind you used to fantasize about when you would bang your elbow on the tiled wall every time you took a shower at your old apartment. It was technically two rooms, one for the toilet and linen cupboard, and the other housing the large walk-in shower and over-sized bathtub, both of which were more than big enough to accommodate both you and Chris comfortably.
It had been the first thing that crossed your mind when the realtor showed you the room, and you had to excuse yourself for a moment until you could get the image of your then fiance fucking you up against the shower wall out of your head. 
Chris, of course, teased you relentlessly about it on the drive on home. Until you shut him by giving him a preview of your fantasy later that night. 
He insisted on making an offer on the house the next morning. 
Now, there you were, finally a married woman, standing topless in your mostly empty bedroom while you could hear the sounds of your husband showering in the exact location of that fantasy, and you were almost too excited to move. You took a deep breath and discarded your shorts and underwear, tossing them into the careless pile that Chris had left his own clothes. He called out for you when you opened the door and finally stepped inside the already steamy room. 
“I’m starting to feel a little lonely in here all by myself.” 
You laughed. “Poor baby, I’ll be right there.” You paused in front of the mirror for a second to take your hair down, noting that you did indeed get paint in it as well as various other places on your body. You were a complete mess, but your heart clenched as you realized Chris was so enamored with you that he either didn’t notice or didn’t care. 
The boost of confidence put an extra sway to your hips as you walked to shower door and opened it. Chris’ eyes darkened when you climbed inside. 
“God, look at you, come here,” he beckoned, drawing you into his arms and under the warm spray of the shower head. You draped your arms around his neck, finding his skin slick with soap.
“Look at you,” you responded, moving your body against the impressive erection that now pressed against the softness of your belly. “Someone’s excited.”
"You kidding me? I've been hard since I came home to find you covered in paint and shaking your ass to that godawful music." Chris ran his hands down your back and took two handfuls of your ass, groaning as he kneaded your flesh. 
You scoffed, but it lacked any real ire. His hands on your body felt too good. "Excuse me, but Ace of Base is a treasure and I will fight you."
“Oh yeah, you think you can take me?” He waggled his eyebrows at you and flexed his chest muscles. You snorted.
“Mmmhmm, I fight dirty.” To punctuate your point, you leaned forward onto your toes and bit into the thick tendon on his neck. The hands on your ass tightened, and he sucked in a breath through his teeth. 
“Shit - I know you do, baby.”
“Only for you,” you whispered against his wet skin. Assisted by the water, you wedged your hand between your bodies and wrapped your fingers around his cock. His hips jerked forward as you moved your slippery hand up and down, applying just enough pressure to tease.
“Fuck.” He slumped forward, resting his head heavily on your shoulder. He was so tense you could practically feel his muscles vibrating. 
You pressed a soothing kiss against his neck. “Shhh it’s my turn to take care of you now.”
Abruptly, you sank to your knees and Chris groaned, his hands traveling up your body as you went down and settling in your messy hair. His cock jumped as you looked up at him through your lashes, his body shielding you from the brunt of the shower spray. 
“I tell you lately that I’m a lucky man?” He asked as he swept your hair back from your face to get a better look at you.
“You may have mentioned it.” You leaned forward and drew his tip ever so slightly inside your mouth. He swore under his breath and gripped your shoulders. 
“Fuck, I uh, I should um probably mention it again, just so it’s clear then. Goddammit,” he groaned through gritted teeth as you started to explore his shaft with your tongue. 
You felt a sudden, familiar rush at turning such a strong, powerful man into a babbling mess. Fighting a smile, you wrapped your lips over your teeth and took him in deep. His shout echoed against the tiled walls. 
Going down on Chris had always been akin to a religious experience to you. It was primal, sure, but beautiful too, the trust and vulnerability behind the action. He wasn’t a man to lose control easily, but when you were on your knees for him, he damn near always did. Shaking and swearing and clawing at you while you worked him in your mouth. At this point, you knew his body just as well as you knew your own, and nothing felt more natural than using that knowledge to make him come undone. 
“God, you’re so p-pretty down there, baby. M-makin’ me feel so good,” he moaned, using an unsteady hand to tangle in your hair and gently urge you to move faster. You obliged, humming around him and relaxing your throat to take him even deeper, your eyes watering from the effort. 
Chris was thick enough to make your jaw ache during longer sessions, but luckily for you, he was already on the edge. You brought your hand up to massage his balls while you gradually increased your speed, letting the fingers of your other hand dig into the firm flesh of his ass. 
“Fuck, baby, please ... I’m gonna come. Can I come in your pretty little mouth?” His deep voice sounded ruined, and it brought a whoosh of heat straight to your core.  
You nodded as best you could, and moaned in encouragement. Looking up at his face, you saw his eyes were squeezed shut, his jaw clenched, his neck and chest a beautiful shade of red. You wished you could capture this moment, while he dangled so deliciously on the precipice, so you could take it out on those lonely nights when his work called him away. He was perfect like this. 
Then, the fingers in your hair tightened, the sensation just skirting the edge of pain. You shifted your concentration back on his cock, focusing on the head now, increasing suction until Chris shouted your name and finally released in thick spurts on your tongue. You swallowed it easily with him still in your mouth, the motion making his entire body tremble. 
“I am the luckiest person alive,” Chris panted, as you carefully pulled away. He caught your chin and tilted your face so he could meet your eyes. “I love you.”
You beamed up at him. “I love you too.” 
He hummed in contentment. As he trailed his fingers aimlessly through your wet hair, you leaned forward and pressed a line of kisses from one of his hip bones across his belly to the other. He shuddered, his warm skin oversensitive. 
Laughing, you reached your arms up and Chris immediately got the hint, helping you up in one smooth motion. Once you were back on your feet, he brought you in for a kiss, sliding his tongue past your lips as you opened for him. 
“I love you,” he whispered against your lips. 
You patted his scruffy cheek. “Mmhm you mentioned that already, babe.” 
“I think you may have sucked my brain out,” he groaned. 
You laughed, breaking away and side stepping him so you could better reach the shower spray. The hot water would likely be running out soon, and you still desperately needed to wash your hair. Instead of getting out and toweling off, Chris settled himself heavily down on the teak shower stool, his eyes never leaving your body. 
As you started to soak your hair, you asked him - “Expecting a show?”
Chris shook his head. “I just like watching you.”
It was intensely intimate, washing yourself while he watched. Something as routine and boring as lathering shampoo felt so much heavier when you could feel his eyes on your skin, tracking every movement. It was exhilarating. 
Unfortunately, the hot water cut out in the middle of rinsing the conditioner. Your skin broke out in goosebumps as the warm water gradually turned arctic. “Fuck,” you muttered, angling and contorting your body in an attempt to only have you hair under the spray. Your loving husband laughed at you. 
“Want me to see if I can turn the water heater back on?” he asked once he finished. 
“Nah, I got the paint out of my hair. I’ll take a more thorough shower tomorrow.” Finally managing to rinse completely, you turned off the shower. You were shivering as you turned back to face Chris. 
“Come here, let me warm you back up.” He patted his thighs, drawing your eyes towards his groin. He was hard again and the sight made your knees feel like overcooked noodles. 
“Already?” You asked, closing the short distance and sitting on his lap, letting your legs frame his hips. You took a hold of his cock with your cold hands and he hissed through his teeth. 
“Your fault,” he growled into your neck before sucking deeply on the sensitive skin there. He was sure to leave a bruise and the thought of meeting the contractors tomorrow with his mark on your neck thrilled you. 
Chris’ warm, strong arms encircled you, bringing you in against his chest, and the contrast against your own cool skin was heavenly. You moaned and your grip on his cock tightened as you worked him up and down, tilting your hips so you could rub his tip against your swollen clit. His entire body tensed beneath you. 
“God, that feels good, baby. I want to fuck you so bad.” He snaked a hand between you and brushed yours away, taking his cock and rubbing it against you himself. You gasped as he moved down from your clit and pressed in, just barely penetrating you. 
“Chris, please. ” You didn’t have much leverage from your position, your feet unable to reach the floor, but that didn’t matter. He seized your ass in both hands and moved you himself, picking you up and guiding you down onto his cock. You inhaled sharply as he filled you. 
“Fuck, I missed this, missed you. I’m never leaving again, from now on my only job is to fuck you.”  You knew it was just the moment talking, that Chris wasn’t really going to suddenly quit the BSAA, but the thought still warmed you. You loved that he dedicated his life to saving and protecting others, but the selfish part of you wanted nothing more than to keep him safe and by your side at all times. 
You gripped his arms, feeling the muscles contract and release as he continued to bounce you up and down. You were still sensitive from your intense orgasm on the couch and that, coupled with how ridiculously turned you were from giving him a blowjob and the rest of your shower, had you already on edge, almost embarrassingly fast. 
“Please, don’t stop,” you urged, closing your eyes and resting your forehead against his shoulder. Chris responded by increasing his pace, lifting his hips to meet yours now, and forcing little gasps to leave your lips. 
“You gonna come for me? I can feel how tight you’re getting, baby. Fuck, you squeeze me so good,” he panted, turning his head to kiss your exposed neck. 
It only took a few more thrust before your second orgasm of the night hit you. You wailed and threw your head back, your body seizing and writhing in Chris’ grip as he continued to move and thrust up into you, prolonging the intense climax. It was too much. Too good. You were simultaneously fighting him to get away and trying to pull him impossibly closer, one hand flying to the back of his head to press his face to your chest and the other grappling with his fingers on your ass, desperate to get him to stop or slow. 
Chris refused, knowing your body well enough to know that if he kept it up and you submitted, he could get you to come again. So, he shushed you, trailed loving kisses across your chest and breasts, and held on tight as you thrashed, until finally you slumped forward against him with a whimper. 
“That’s it, that’s my good girl. I’ve got you, baby. Relax for me.” His voice was calm and soothing, and you latched onto it like a beacon in a storm while he used his body to overwhelm yours. You took a few huge, lungfuls of air and tried to focus on submitting to the insane pleasure instead of fighting it. Your entire being was trembling as something wild built inside you. 
“Think you can come for me again, beautiful? You feel too good, I don’t think I can last.” Chris’ arms were shaking now, but he somehow kept going, relentlessly pounding you on his cock. You could do little other than whine into his neck and try to keep a tenuous grip on your sanity. 
When the final orgasm hit you, you didn’t black out, though it felt close. Your vision tunneled and you were hyper aware of the sound of your own frenetic breath and the involuntary spasms in your muscles, but it was if they were happening to someone else. For a blissful moment, you were outside your body witnessing your own ecstasy, before the powerful wave finally crested and slammed you back. 
You screamed something, whether his name or a curse or some utter nonsense you had no idea. Distantly, you were aware of Chris answering, shouting your name as he stilled. His hands dropped you full on his lap, bringing his cock impossibly deep as he came hot and wet inside you. Tears sprung at the corners of your eyes. 
“Chris,” you sobbed, chest heaving. The physical release had triggered a mental one as well, and all that stress and worry that had been weighing you down while he was away left you in a rush. The relief was palpable. 
He brought two shaky hands up to your face and you felt him place a series of sweet, brief kisses to your face. After a long, gentle kiss against your lips, he spoke. “Look at me, baby.”
You hadn’t even been aware that you had closed them again, and you opened eyes to see your husband looking at you with so much love and adoration that it 
brought on another wave of tears. He laughed softly and wiped them away as they fell. “I take it you needed that as badly as I did?” 
You could only nod and bury your face against his chest. Chris wrapped his arms securely around you, groaning as you shifted slightly, his softening cock still warm inside you. Selfishly, you wanted to keep him there all night, but you knew that the contact would soon swing from oversensitive to painful for him, so you relaxed your inner muscles and let him slip himself out. 
Chris held you for a long moment, stroking your hair and whispering honey sweet words to you as you both calmed your heart rates. It wasn’t until you started shivering again, your skin and hair still wet, that he finally stirred, turning the shower back on to clean you both up before wrapping you up in a fuzzy, warm towel. 
Your legs were still wobbly, so you kept your arms locked around his neck while he dried you both off. “How long do I have you to myself this time?” you asked, enjoying the feeling of the soft towel against your tender skin. 
“Barring another incident, I am officially on leave for the rest of the month. Plenty of time for you to get sick of me, I’m sure.” With that, Chris ditched the towels on the floor and stooped, scoping you up and onto one shoulder. 
You squealed at the sudden shift in altitude. “What are you doing?!”
Chris playfully slapped your ass, walking into the sparsely furnished bedroom. “Taking my wife to bed.” 
You giggled as he tossed you gently onto the mattress. Even without the bed-frame, the memory foam cradled your body perfectly, magnifying your boneless exhaustion. With heavy eyes, you watched Chris turn off the lights and close the door, before joining you and drawing you into his arms. 
You hummed as he kissed you. “You’re wrong though.”
“About what?” he asked around a yawn. He was starting to doze almost immediately, no longer able to fight his dopamine-flooded brain and the warm security of having you snuggled, naked in his arms. 
“I’ll never get enough of you,” you’re able to respond as you both nod off together.
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mymelodyheart · 4 years ago
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Miles Between Us Chapter 5 ~The Tethered Ties~
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WARNING: VERY EXPLICIT SEXUAL & LANGUAGE CONTENT
PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE PROCEEDING
For this chapter, you might need to refresh your memory on the history of Harry's connection to the Fraser family and Murtagh, if so you can reread the chapter Who the Hell is Harry? from Series 1 (AIWFCIY). On this Tumblr link or on this AO3 link.
Previously in Reunited ...
"Are you working today?" 
He grinned. "No. I took a day off." And he'd arranged with Willie he wouldn't be starting work until ten tomorrow morning.
"Well, ..."
"Weel what?"
"I think I'd like to go to bed."
To bed?  He searched her face looking for any evidence indicating she was unwell or fatigued. After all, she'd been working a lot these past few days. But he found none. Instead, her eyes betrayed what she had in mind. Still, he could be mistaken and wanted to be sure. "To bed or to sleep?" he asked slowly and cautiously.
She stood on her tiptoes and brushed her lips against his, making his stomach flipped. "What do you think?" she whispered against his mouth.
There was an awareness on Claire's face that revealed she felt the wild rapping against his rib cage. Both of their breathing changed, and in an instant, the closeness of their bodies was no longer means to keep anxiety at bay.
His heart rate suddenly became an equivalent of a man running from a bull in Pamplona. "Ach, Sassenach, couldnae ye wait until we were nearer to home to tell me that?" 
If you wish to read this on AO3, here is the link.
If you wish to read this from the beginning:
AO3 link
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 Claire watched Jamie in her periphery as he slowed the car and rolled into the cottage's driveway. It started to rain heavily, a stark contrast to the sunnier weather that had greeted her in Inverness. But she was too preoccupied focusing on him to notice anything else. 
"It's nice to be back," she whispered, smothering a smile as she unfastened her seatbelt.
He grunted something incoherent. Claire could tell he was trying his hardest to keep himself together by the way his jaw ticked. Given she was operating on adrenaline ever since that kiss upon her arrival, she realised she shouldn't have teased him with that naughty innuendo before they'd left the airport. 
"I think I'd like to go to bed," she'd said. Jamie's expression had changed when he read the meaning in her eyes. She'd thought his reaction was adorable, but now, with her skin feeling too tight for her body, she understood his predicament. With two and a half weeks of sexual frustration swirling in the air between them, she suddenly felt sympathetic. She'd even gone as far as doing as she was told after he'd ordered her not to speak another word on their drive back to Broch Mordha, even when he drove above the speed limit. But the silence between them only served to intensify the atmosphere more. 
"We'll get yer bags later ..." He turned off the ignition and briefly glanced at her. "...when it stops raining."
Claire made a move to get out but was surprised at how quick Jamie clambered out of the car and skirted to her side. He opened the door, their eyes meeting when he offered his hand. Feeling the intensity of his regard, she allowed him to help her out and pull her towards the house, squealing when she was blasted by an icy torrent.
Once inside, he booted the cottage door shut behind him, shrugging his jacket off and shaking the rain from his hair, propelling driblets everywhere and making her laugh as she did the same. But her laughter was soon cut off by the low sound he made in his throat, his slow, deliberate advance, the muscular chest he exposed when he peeled off his sodden top. The wind pelted rain on the windows, thunder reverberating, lightning flashing and illuminating the semi-dark living room in irregular intervals.
She shivered, but she knew it wasn't from the cold. "Where's Rollo and Adso?" she asked, her bottom hitting the back of the sofa as she walked back.
He unbuckled his belt. "At Willie's. I wasnae sure if we were gonnae be out the whole day or no'."
When he dragged his zipper down, she hissed on a gasp, watching his shoes come off and jeans sloughing onto the floor in record time. She swallowed audibly. "Oh, so no distractions then," she squeaked. He didn't reply. Instead, he reached out to tug her top off. When his eyes landed on her white lacy bra, he swore harshly under his breath. "Perhaps some tea first, to warm us up?" she suggested, feeling shy all of a sudden, her arms coming up to cover herself. It was clear their time apart, though not really that long, made her a tad bit bashful.
"Tea?" he said in a low voice, his hands prying hers. "Dinnae fash, Sassenach ..." He unclasped her bra and let it drop to the floor. "I'll keep ye warm."
He undid her jeans and slid his hands inside to cup her buttocks, pulling her in and dipping his head forward to lock their mouths together, obliterating all thoughts and reason with each expert sensual slide of his tongue. He groaned into her mouth, and she could barely remain upright from the onslaught of feeling and need, an intoxicating, heart-stopping desire that made every part of her body scream. 
When they broke apart, she shakily toed off her shoes as he impatiently tugged at her waistband, sliding down her panties along to expose her most intimate part, glad she'd made time for a bit of body pampering. It was a decision she'd made on a whim, thanks to Annalise's cajoling to accompany her to the beauty salon. In all her life, she'd never once considered doing it since she'd always been the type to keep the 70s vibe alive in her pants. The loose string of curses he uttered and the shudder that passed through his body told her the pain, and the effort had not been in vain. "Ah, Christ, Sassenach, nae wonder ye're cold, ye're all bare down there." 
She didn't know whether to die of embarrassment, laugh, or hit him on the head for that remark. But those feelings were only fleeting when he shoved down his boxer briefs and fisted his heavy erection, his head dropping down to her neck to rain kisses on a sensitive spot he knew so well. "I don't want a condom between us, Sassenach," he said hoarsely. "I want ye to know I'm clean, and I'm serious about us. But if ye're not on a pill, I'll put one on for ye."
Her head lolled to the side, his hot breath on her skin making her breathless and unable to think straight. "It's alright. I'm on a pill. I want to feel all of ye. There's only been you ...you know that."
"Sweet, Jesus." With one swift motion, he lifted her, her legs automatically encircling around his waist. He crushed her against the wall, the force of it causing a hanging art to drop to the floor. Both of them vaguely noticed, only focused on getting as close to one another as possible. She palmed the wall behind her with one hand for balance as he lifted her higher to take her nipple into his mouth, tongue flicking and teasing at the sensitive bud, making her moan. She threw her head back and arched, her fingers tangling into his hair.
"C-can't wait. Please. Now. Jamie!" she commanded, clawing his back.
He hauled her from the wall and strode over to the sofa, almost toppling over Rollo's rope toy. Then he shoved the box seat with his knee, and a pile of books with his game consoles spilt onto the rug. 
His laughter blew out on a puff of warm breath, stirring strands of curls that rested on her cheek. "Sorry, Sassenach," he mumbled, carefully stepping over the scattered heaps. 
"Don't care ...just want you."
He dropped onto the sofa and eased her on his lap to straddle him. Every inch of her skin prickled and thrummed as his fingers traced the curves of her breasts and hips.
"Jesus, I've missed this ...us like this," he murmured into her ears. "Look at ye, so bloody beautiful, and ye're mine."
His words rang in her ears. She had to force herself to stop fidgeting as he skated his hands along her thighs to her backside, drawing her nearer to his hardness. She could feel the heat of his erection against the softness of her belly and his fingertips igniting her skin anywhere he touched. Her reserve vanished when he gently pulled her in for another deep kiss, their simultaneous moan rending the atmosphere and every neuron in her brain shorting out. 
She broke their kiss, gasping for air, and he stared at her with barely constrained desperation, lifting her by the waist as she held on to his shoulders. Guided by his strong hands, she slowly lowered herself onto his thick length, inch by inch, their mouths dropping open and exchanging breaths. When their bodies locked together like two halves of a whole, they stared at each other in wonderment, sharing a mutual appreciation of the fact that their lust-filled late-night phone conversations paled in comparison to the reality of blinding pleasure.
Unable to take her eyes away from his face - the face of a man who bore so much weight on his shoulders, she tightened her muscles around him, extracting a broken groan to pass his lips. She wanted to be the one who eased his burden, take away all his guilt and anxiety and rid him of his nightmares. He'd been through a lot and, while she had a vague idea of the extent of it, a man who's about honour and duty was good to the core. Looking at his tortured expression, an intense ache bloomed to life again.
"I love you, James Fraser," she whispered, digging her fingernails on his shoulders and working her hips in rhythm to his upward drive.
Jamie made a hoarse sound and pulled her down to brush his lips against hers. "I love ye too, Sassenach. Not being with ye, even for a day …it hurts so much." Lightning slashed through the room, and she saw his handsome face shadowed, his hair dishevelled from her desperate fingers. "Christ, a man like me should have to barter his soul to the devil to have someone like ye. But ye love me. Yer love is everything, and ye're saving this dark soul. What have I done to deserve ye?" he rasped on a harsh exhale.
Claire wanted to tell him he didn't have to change anything to deserve her. She loved everything about him, even that dark side he harboured. Together they could work things out. She hoped she communicated that with her eyes before he lowered his face into the crook of her neck and started bucking into her in rough strokes, his broken versions of her name on his lips.
The rain continued to drum against the windows, turning Jamie's cottage into their own private world where they were the only two people who existed. "Jamie," she whimpered, tugging the hair at the nape of his neck. He squeezed her bottom before lightly smacking it, grunting deep in his throat as she rocked against him at a faster pace. "Oh, God, I'm going to come. It feels so good."
Jamie reared with sharper and faster thrusts, answering every grind of her hips, and she sobbed, bracing herself on his shoulders. "Christ, Sassenach. Ah, fuck!" He lowered his head to suck her nipples, making her seized up around him.
Her pleasure exploded, vivid and bright, and when her thigh muscles slackened, Jamie surged up into her heat for the final time and roared, their peak vibrating between them with such force, her lungs were robbed of air, and her vision dimmed. There was nothing but their love spilling from their hearts. They clung to each other for a long while as the sound of rain switched from loud drumming to a pitter-patter, their mouths engaging in a slow, mating dance, their hearts beating closely together as if it sought to merge into one.
As their hearts calmed and their breathing slowed down, Jamie wrapped his arms around her to nestle his head in her neck. The sound of rain against the roof echoed through the cottage, and they remained motionless for a long time. When they did move, it's only because Jamie was aroused again, and their second time around ended up leaving trails of shambles and mess. A floor lamp and a vase were knocked over, and Rollo's basket bed accidentally kicked to the other side of the room. By the time they made it into his bedroom, a curtain had been yanked down, and apples rolled off the bowl on the dining table, leaving the living room in a state of disarray.
After another rigorous bout of lovemaking, they both collapsed into each other's arms. As they regained their breaths, Jamie released a satisfied sigh before closing his eyes with a smile. There was enough time for a talk later. But right now, all she wanted was to relish being cocooned in the warmth and safety of his arms. 
"Jamie?" she murmured as his breathing evened out. 
"Aye?" He was barely conscious, and she couldn't help but grin as she listened to the soothing beat of his heart beneath her ear. 
"You're definitely a keeper."
She watched as the sweetest smile formed on his tired but handsome face until sleep finally claimed him.
..........
Jamie had awoken earlier with Claire snuggled into him, their skin a wee bit sticky and damp from their body heat and yesterday's marathon sex. Coming out of a deep slumber had more to do with his thickening arousal than the internal body clock and the birds' chirping outside. It had made him wonder if his desire for Claire would ever wane, but it was quite apparent, after last night, he was still left with wanting more. But he'd let her sleep, knowing they both had jobs to attend to.
After they had awoken sometime during the night, they'd raided the fridge for something to eat and then went straight back to bed to talk about their work and their plans for today. Their energetic bed activity had left them depleted, but the intimacy of holding each other while conversing in the dark had restored his soul, resulting in a deep, restful sleep.
Although he'd told Willie he would come late to work, Jamie felt so well-rested, he'd decided to start early and let Claire do her own thing. It was a good idea, too, because after the freak storm yesterday, there were quite a few trees that had been damaged and needed to be cut down or remove for safety purposes. And Claire had many things to sort out, like getting in touch with some bloke for her boss' publishing company. 
He was working behind the village church, the area bordered with hawthorn, rowan and alder trees. He and Willie had already safely removed one of the damaged trees threatening to collapse on the church's roof and was just about to start uprooting a rotted tree stump when his godfather, Murtagh, came out of nowhere. It wasn't unusual seeing him there. It was part of his godfather's duty, as he called it, to pop up once in a while to check up on any of the Frasers.
"Ach, there ye are," Murtagh greeted with a half-smile. "Willie told me I'd find ye here." He took out a thermos flask from his rucksack and began to unscrew the top. "I thought I'd stop by and see what ye're up to. Heard the Beauchamp lass is back."
He wiped the sweat off his brows. "Aye, Claire's back. Picked her up yesterday."
Murtagh poured some tea into the thermos' cup and handed it to him. "Sounds like it's serious between the two of ye." He winked as Jamie gratefully took the cup and sipped the hot brew. "If she's anything like her mother, I'd be careful not to let her slip away. I made that mistake once, lad ...dinnae let that happen to ye too."
He frowned as he recalled seeing Harry at Inverness airport yesterday. "About that ...ye mentioned once over dinner that ye knew Claire's father, Harry ...I mean, Henry."
"Aye ...Henry, that prick, bless his soul," Murtagh muttered before making a sign of the cross. "I thought he was my mate. Did ye ken that pillock stole my burd from right under my nose?"
"I remember ye saying that. But tell me more about Henry."
"Ye were probably too young to remember." Murtagh shifted on his feet and shoved his hands into his jeans' pockets. "Before he met and married Jules ... Claire's mother, that is, we were the best of mates and hanged out a lot in the pub whenever he was here. Sometimes we'd take ye and Willie along when we went fishing or hiking. While I concentrated on teaching Willie how to hook a worm, Henry would be showing ye how to throw a pebble on the surface of the water. Or how to start a fire with sticks. Stuff like that. I could see from early on he was fond of ye."
Jamie searched his memory bank for that particular image, but he found none. "I have vague memories about fishing ..aye, but ye've taken Willie and me out with a lot of yer mates, especially summer when school was out." He wiped his dirt streak hands down the thighs of his jeans. "But I cannae seem to recall Henry."
"Hmmm ...nae wonder." Murtagh dragged a booted foot back and forth on the dirt. "It wasnae a pleasant memory the last time ye saw him." He swallowed hard as he looked into the distance. "After Henry married Jules, I didnae hear from them again. And it was a good thing too, because I think I would have given him a right good pounding after what he did. I dinnae think they would ever return, and I was surprised because they both loved this place and had made quite a few friends here ...even before they met."
Feeling the cold chill on his neck, Jamie turned up his sleeveless jacket's collar and zipped up his front. "So what happened the last time I saw him?"
Murtagh puffed out a breath. "The last time ye saw Henry, he was in a car accident ...with his family."
"What?" he choked.
Murtagh turned tired-looking eyes on him, and there was a deep sadness in them that startled him. "It was the day they were coming back to Broch Mordha for the first time in years. I heard talks around the village that they've rented a wee cottage from Mrs Baird. And also heard words about a wean. I didnae want to stick around to find out. I thought I'd take a wee trip to Skye and stay there until Henry and his family were gone. I was just packing when ye came barging into my hoose tellin me that a car had smashed to a tree. I came running oot like a gudgeon with ye right behind me. Ye must have been nine or ten. It wasnae far from where I lived then. By the time I got there, Henry was still alive, and Jules was unconscious. He ordered me to get the bairn first and then Jules. My first thoughts were to save Jules, but the wee child was screaming, and Henry was begging me to save her. Between the two of us, we managed to get wee Claire oot, and I ordered ye to take her as far as possible from the site. And that ye did. But I couldnae save Harry and Jules because the car caught fire and Henry lost consciousness. When I smelt gasoline, I had to run, and that's when the car exploded."
"Oh dear Lord." Jamie fell a step back as faint memories flying about like bits of a jigsaw puzzle flooded his brain, his mind struggling to fit the pieces together. Every time he managed to recall something, he couldn't hold on to it long enough to construct that day's event. 
He had so many questions and wanted to ask Murtagh more but drew up short when the crew of workmen, working for him and Willie rounded the church. Four sets of eyes landed on them, greeting them with a nod and grunt. Thinking this was not the place to discuss such things, Jamie cleared his throat and shook his head, his way of telling Murtagh they'll discuss this another time.
Murtagh grabbed his shoulder as he turned to pick up his equipment. "Look, lad," Murtagh began in a low voice. "Ye probably cannae remember because ye were so traumatised that day that ye're ma made ye attend some counselling. It took a year for ye to get over it. For as long as I've known ye, ye have this tendency to bury pain and grief. Just do me a favour, alright. Leave the past in the past. Talk to Claire about it by all means, but for fuck sake, dinnae tell yer ma I told ye. She'd be on my case like a rash. She thinks ye got enough on yer plate ever since ye came back from the Middle East without me dumping this on ye. Are we clear?"
Jamie nodded and watched his godfather turn around and leave. Claire's parents' accident wasn't news to him, but the fact that he had apparently been a witness, it was just too mind-boggling beyond words. It's hard enough to reconcile that there's a possibility he'd been communicating with a ghost for the past year and a half, and now, with Murtagh's latest revelation, he felt like he's going to implode with bafflement.
Mentally shaking himself, he banished any further thoughts about Harry and concentrated on doing as much job as possible to be with Claire sooner. Operating heavy machinery while his mind was elsewhere was dangerous. So he poured his concentration onto work.
Later that day, when he returned to the cottage, Jamie found Claire sat at the dining table with her laptop on, her dark curls tied loosely in a bun. There was a fire going already in the hearth and his home smelled of cooking. She sat cross-legged on the chair, and he realised she was talking to someone via video conference. Not wanting to disturb her, he quietly shut the door. But Claire had already seen him and beckoned him over with a motion of her hand.
She got up from the chair and stood on tiptoes to give him a kiss. "You're just in time," Claire smiled. "I'd like you to meet someone."
He returned the kiss and pulled her in close, inhaling her sweet clean smell. "I hope it's not yer boss."
She tugged his hand and laughed. "No, don't be silly."
He leaned down to look at her laptop, but there was no one there. Instead, a little rectangle showed him in the corner of the screen, making him winced when he saw his own image. He looked like he'd been hauled through a thicket in the rain and his hair laid around his face in thick, damp clumps. It was definitely not the first impression he would have chosen for meeting anyone associated with Claire. 
"Umm, Sassenach, naebody's there," he said, looking at her.
"Just hang fire," she replied, stealing another kiss from him.
He smiled. And when he finally glanced back down at the laptop, he nearly choked. Right there on the screen, peering up at him, was a cantankerous-looking, crocodile Dundee version of Harry. Same eyes, the same face, and though a handsome fellow, this man's skin looked weather-beaten, and he had a scary scowl on his face.
"Jamie," Claire giggled. "I'd like you to meet my uncle ...Quentin Lambert Beauchamp, also known as uncle Lamb. Uncle Lamb, this is Jamie, James Fraser ...my boyfriend. I'm staying with him at his place for at least a week."
"Is that right?" the man on the screen harumphed with a growl as he stuck a thick cigar between his teeth. "Not what I was expecting."
Ah, holy fuck! Though uncle Lamb looked like Harry, Jamie knew this man was nothing like Harry. Harry was ...or had been a polite, refined and jolly ol' chap with a very posh accent. This man was far from the polished look Harry presented. This man looked like he'd seen the world and confronted danger and probably wrestled crocodiles as a hobby. Convincing uncle Lamb that he's good enough for Claire was not going to be a walk in a park. Jamie knew he had a long evening ahead as he gingerly sat down in front of Claire's laptop and braced himself.
Jamie cleared his throat and sat up straight. "Good evening, sir ..."
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    Dear Readers,
This took a bit of time to write, usually the case with me when I'm writing a sex scene. But here it is, and I hope you've enjoyed this latest instalment. As always, I'm grateful for your feedback, so thank you very much for taking the time to comment. I may not always comment back, but you can rest assured I read your observations and answer any questions you may have, including constructive criticism. Until the next chapter, take care of yourselves, stay safe and keep the positive and love vibes going. Kudos to you all, my friends. 😀❤️
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hopelikethemoon · 4 years ago
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Undercover (Javier x Reader) {MTMF}
Title: Undercover  Rating: PG-13 Length: 2600 Warnings: None. Notes: You can find the Maybe Today, Maybe Forever Timeline here. Set after Old Parr in 1989.
This is the car I envision, but with the top down. The newspaper situation mentioned relates to this attack. Also if you know who my personal headcanon for Reader is, then you might enjoy knowing that this is my headcanon for Elena because of this (don’t click until after you read the story). Valeria is obviously the character in Narcos, but the real reporter was Virginia Vallejo and she wrote this memoir which she accused Narcos of stealing from.
If you’ve been following all of the drama that’s been going on, and have something you want to say anonymously to me you should read this post. 
Summary: Reader and Steve go undercover. 
Taglist:  @grapemama  @seawhisperer @huliabitch @pedropascalito @rogrsnbarnes @thewallpapergoesorido @twomoonstwosuns @gooddaykate @livasaurasrex @ham4arrow @hiscyarika @plexflexico @readsalot73 @hdlynn @lokiaddicted @randomness501 @fioccodineveautunnale  @roxypeanut @just-add-butter @snivellusim @amarvelousmandalorian @lukesrighthand @historynerd04 @mrsparknuts @synystersilenceinblacknwhite​ @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @exrebelshocktrooper​ @awesomefandomsunited @ah-callie @swhiskeys​ @lady-tano​ @beskar-droids​ @space-floozy @cable-kenobi​ @longitud-de-onda @cool-ultra-nerd @himbopoes @findhimfives @pedrosdoll​ @seeking-a-great--perhaps @frietiemeloen @arrowswithwifi @random066 @uncomicalhumour @heather-lynn @domino-oh-damn (more tags in the replies)
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Horacio looked between you and Steve, before settling Javier with a disapproving looking. “We’re sending the gringos?” He questioned, annoyance written on his face. “He can’t even speak the language.” 
Javier cleared his throat, his hands on his hips. “She can speak it pretty damn proficiently.” He nodded his head towards you, a faint smile playing across his lips. 
“Hey now,” Steve huffed, crossing his arms across his chest. “I can understand enough of the language to get by.”
You shot him a look. “Ordering drinks isn’t enough, Steve.”
“Why aren’t they sending you?” Horacio questioned, arching a brow at Javier. 
Javier rubbed at the back of his neck, his gaze flickering towards you briefly. “Well—“
You interrupted, “We got the intel from one of Javier’s friends.”
“What she means is,” Steve started. “One of his hookers.”
“Listen, Elena is a sweet girl in a bad situation.” Javier explained. “She’s in deep with the cartel.”
“Which is how we know about this party,” You explained. “But there’s supposed to be a few of Javier’s friends there. We can’t risk being recognized.”
“They’re used to it.” Javier pointed out with a shrug. “Discretion is a part of their job.” 
“Sure.” You shot him a look, “They’ll be all over you and you know it.”
“Jealous?” Javier shot back. 
You rolled your eyes, “You wish.”
He looked to Steve then, jaw set tight. “How’s Mrs. Murphy gonna feel about this?” Javier questioned, drawing a line between you and Steve. 
“She knows.” Steve batted Javier’s hand away. 
“Oh, fuck off Javi.” You sneered at Javier, stepping past him and moving towards your desk. “Carrillo, just consider this the overture to the real fun. With any luck, Steve and I will glean more information from the guests and we’ll find what Escobar intends to do next.”
“And what’s your cover story?”
Steve tucked his hands into his pockets, “Drug traffickers.”
“We’ve picked up where Jung left off.” You explained, your gaze flickering towards Javier as he watched you tuck a knife into the holster you had strapped to your thigh beneath your dress. You couldn’t carry a gun, but at least you’d have a little protection. “Steve’s cover is Richie Simmons. A name ‘known’ in the trafficking world.”
“Elena’s going to cover for them.” Javier offered, crossing his arms across his chest as he lifted his gaze back to your face. “Verify their story.”
“An old friend of mine.” You explained as you smoothed your hands over your dress, “She’ll corroborate everything.” 
Horacio looked thoroughly unimpressed. “Or we send Search Bloc in—“
“No.” Javier cut him off, jaw clenched tight as he shook his head. “There are good people attending this shit. It’s not worth it.” 
A lot could be said about Javier and his hookers, but one thing that always stood out to you was the fact he wanted to make sure they were safe. Elena was risking her wellbeing and livelihood as an informant. One wrong move and it could easily be over for her. 
Horacio’s eyes flickered between the three of you, lips pressed into a thin line. “We’ll have units posted up on the street. First sign of trouble,” He looked at you then. “You pull out.” 
You nodded your head, moving back towards Javier’s desk where a map of the area was spread out across it. “The extraction point is here.” You pointed to a spot that was a few hundred yards from a dirt road. “If anything goes sideways we’ve got a signal.” 
Javier rubbed at the back of his neck as he stepped in beside you, looking down at the map. “Be careful in there.” 
You tilted your head to look at him, “You know I will.” You shifted closer to him, nudging him in the ribs with your elbow. “Want me to tell the girls you say hello?” 
He rolled his eyes. 
Steve clapped his hands together, “Ready to get this show on the road?” 
You crossed your arms across your chest as you turned around to face him. “Whatever you want, Richie.” You said with a teasing lilt, holding your hand out for Steve to take. “Wait five, then follow.” You told Javier. 
“I know what I’m doing.” He shot back, not quite meeting your eyes. He’d been in such a weird mood since the planning began on this mission. It wasn’t a bad mood, but it wasn’t a good mood either. You didn’t let it get under your skin though. Javier had his moments. 
“See you out there.” Steve said, clapping Javier on the shoulder, before the two of you headed for the elevator. 
“Is it just me or does Javi have a weird vibe today?” You questioned as you leaned back against the back of the elevator, arms crossed across your chest. 
Steve shrugged, “You know how he gets whenever we’ve got a joint operation.” 
“Fair point.” You pursed your lips. “At least it’s Carrillo and not the CIA.”
He chuckled, “He’d be spitting venom if that were the case.”
You swept your fingers through your hair, following Steve towards the ‘77 LeBaron. “If I’d known we’d be cruising over in a convertible, I wouldn’t have put an effort into my hair.”
“Gotta arrive in style.” Steve remarked as he started the car up, “Purrs like a kitten.” 
“It’s a damn good car.” You mused as you settled into the passenger's seat, glancing back at the DEA building in the rearview mirror. 
There was a part of you that wished you were going undercover with Javier. You could picture him cruising beside you in the LeBaron, aviators one as you drove west towards the setting sun. 
Though, at least with Steve you’d be focused on the mission at hand. 
 ————
 The estate was about an hour outside of Bogotá. You and Steve arrived just as the last light dipped below the horizon. The heavily armed guards at the gate let you in after a brief search of the car and a pat-down to assure that neither of you were armed. 
The LeBaron had been the perfect choice of wheels. It fit in nicely among the other convertibles along the curved drive and it earned both of you a little attention from the other guests. 
Elena was quick to greet you. Hugging you like an old friend despite the fact that you had only met her once a few weeks back in a rundown motel room after a weekend spent with Javier. 
She playfully tried to get you to join her in the solarium with the women, helping you to establish the fact that Steve didn’t speak the language as well as you did. You shared barbs about his incompetence — earning a few amused chuckles from the men who were eavesdropping. 
Steve played the part well. He made a snarky comment about the fact that he assumed you were both talking about him, which you quickly soothed away with playful cajoling. 
Elena introduced you to some of the other guests, making a point to introduce Steve to the ones who at least spoke broken English, if not proficiently. They were all deeply invested in the drug business — and Steve did well at boasting about his own enterprise. Most of the men saw right through his gusto, realizing that you were the brains of the operation. Just as you’d planned. 
Eventually, you had to part ways with Steve as the gentlemen made plans to smoke cigars in the lounge while business was discussed. “Just sit and look pretty.” You teased Steve, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek as you smoothed out the wrinkles in his linen suit, before you followed Elena and the other women into the solarium. 
Most of the women were wives, but as Elena had warned you ahead of time, most of them had been hired for the evening. It never made sense to you why drug lords trusted women who were so easily convinced to become informants — but, they were men after all. You couldn’t trust them to make smart decisions.
Your main focus, however, was Tata Escobar. She rarely made appearances at events like this — kept safe by Pablo — but she was there. Mingling with the other wives. 
You sipped at a glass of champagne, making your way towards where she was seated. You had to be clever about your plan. The last thing you wanted was to spook her. The entire night would fall apart if it did. 
She was quiet, mostly listening to the conversations around her. Offering a few laughs when the opportunity arose. 
Once Elena lured the other women away from Tata, you engaged her in conversation. You teased her for being so quiet, pointing out that she should’ve been the life of the party given who her husband was. 
Tata abandoned her champagne glass on the table beside the armchair she had been sitting in, joining you on the sofa. Your heart broke for her when she curled her fingers around your wrist and asked you if Richie had ever cheated on you. 
It was clear she was trying not to cry as she confessed to you that she had recently learned that Pablo was sleeping with one of the guests in attendance. 
Valeria Velez — a beloved news journalist who had made a name for herself by interviewing Pablo Escobar. You had heard rumors, but never found confirmation that there was more than just a political connection between the two. 
She was the polar opposite of Tata. Mingling with everyone in the solarium; engaging in conversation and making a point of being the center of attention. 
You tried to encourage her. But was there really anything to be said to a woman in her position? When you married someone, you expected them not to stray outside of that marriage. And as far as Tata was led to believe, she had never expected Pablo to take a mistress. 
It wasn’t like she’d married someone like Javier. Who you knew had slept with at least four of the women Elena was talking to currently. Not including her. 
You pushed those thoughts from your mind when you heard the door open at the other end of the solarium, boisterous laughter filling the room as they men rejoined their companions. 
You gave Tata a reassuring squeeze to her shoulder, before you left the sofa and made your way towards Steve. 
“You didn’t bring me a cigar?” You pouted as you stopped in front of him. 
“Not this time, sweetcheeks.” Steve pulled his lighter and a cigarette out of his suit pocket, passing them to you. “Why don’t you take a smoke break.”
What the hell had he heard in there? You hadn’t expected to signal for extraction this soon. Shit. 
You took the cigarette from him, twirling it between your fingers as you met his eyes with an arched brow. “Why don’t you finish up with the boys and join me?” You told him, curling your fingers around his tie as you held the cigarette between your lips. 
Steve nodded, “I’ll be out there.” 
With a lingering look, you headed out onto the back patio. You knew Javier and Carrillo had eyes on the back garden. You just had to get yourself towards the fence line, where they’d be able to spot you lighting up. 
“Headed out so soon?” Elena questioned, following you through the garden. 
“You can’t be out here.” You warned her, flipping the lid closed on your lighter. 
 She ignored you, “Did you get what you needed?”
“I don’t know.” You shrugged. “That was Steve’s role in this.” 
Elena nodded her head slowly, “Well, I hope you got what you were looking for.” 
“Me too.” You smiled a little, “And thanks for the help. You really sold it.” 
She shrugged. “I was curious to see what you were all about.” 
“What?”
“Javi speaks very highly of you.” Elena told you with a coy smirk.
“He talks about me? With you?” You blinked at her. “He shouldn’t be running his mouth about work.” 
Elena laughed, shaking her head as she looked away. “You certainly didn’t disappoint. Clever and beautiful.” She gave you a once over. “Tell him I said ‘hello’.” 
“I’m sure you’ll see him soon enough.” You assured her. 
“No.” She sighed, her gaze turning towards the fenceline, looking out towards Nevado del Ruiz, barely visible in the moonlit night. “He’s one of the few good men out there. We don’t see much of them after we serve our purpose.” She gestured back to the house, hugging her arms around her middle as she looked at you. “Be safe out there.” 
“You too.” You let her hug you, before she headed back for the house. Holding the cigarette between your lips, you lit up — waving the flame to signal that it was time to go. 
 ———
 Steve didn’t get much. But he knew that something was coming. 
It seemed like Pablo had a target — El Espectador. The oldest paper in the city and a frequent source of bad publicity for his valiant attempts at entering the Colombian political scene. The winter before you had arrived in the city, the newspaper’s editor had been murdered in the parking lot after he printed a campaign to run the drug lords from the city. 
He’d made enemies and they hadn’t forgotten just because he had been sent to an early grave. 
Steve sat in the front seat of the Jeep, trying to decipher what he’d heard with Horacio, while you sat in the back seat with Javier. 
“He can’t speak Spanish for shit.” You muttered to Javier as you listened to Steve try to repeat something he had heard. 
“They were talking about shoeing a horse?” You questioned, leaning forward to slap the back of Steve’s shoulder. “Errar.” 
“What did I say about sending the gringos?” Horacio drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, shaking his head. 
“I resent that remark.” You rolled your eyes, sinking back against your seat, tilting your head to look at Javier who had been suspiciously quiet since the trek back to Bogotá. “You good?”
He nodded stiffly. 
“Elena’s nice.” You offered. 
Javier clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Yeah.” 
Your brows furrowed together as you studied Javier. “Are you sure you’re okay?” You questioned, reaching over and giving his forearm a squeeze. “For what it’s worth, I would’ve rather been in there with you.” You told him quietly, resting your cheek against his shoulder. 
Javier was silent for a long moment before he offered a quiet. “Me too.” 
“We’re good, right?” You questioned, rubbing your thumb over the back of his arm, keeping your fingers curled around his arm. You hated to admit that things had been weird between the two of you, ever since you broke up with Lance. You thought he would’ve been thrilled that you no longer had the CIA in tow, but he wasn’t. 
“Why wouldn’t we be?” Javier questioned, tilting his head to look at you. 
“I don’t know.” You told him honestly, searching his eyes in the darkness as the streetlights shone through the window, providing you with brief glimpses of him. “It’s been a long night.” 
“I won’t tell if you fall asleep.” He assured you, petting his hand over your knee. 
You weren’t tired, but you kept your head nestled against his shoulder for the rest of the ride. He kept his hand on your leg, his thumb occasionally moving against your skin. It was a nice gesture, a nice… friendly gesture. 
Steve was still running his mouth, much to Horacio’s dismay. He started to look back and you and Javier and you were quick to close your eyes, pretending that you had fallen asleep. 
“Elena really helped,” He told Javier. “Hell, the two of them could’ve been sisters.” 
You’d noticed that too. Hell, you’d noticed that two weeks ago when you first met her. You chose to ignore it. That was something no one had time to unpack. 
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lvlyhao · 4 years ago
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「PART TWO: FEAR」
HUMANITY SERIES; Q.K
A/N: took me long enough to post, I know, but thank you to that last anon for reminding me of the series lol with school i tend to forget what i have and haven’t posted but i’ll do better from now on. i hope you like this :)
important: this chapter includes mentions of vomiting and though i’ve already put a warning for violence and gore in the masterlist, i’m saying it again: please don’t read this if you are not okay with that!!!!
word count: 2.1K
pairing: qian kun x reader
disclaimer: the characters in the story below do not reflect real people or present real facts. this is purely fictional, and you may not copy, change, translate or repost my work in any way. all rights reserved © cherry-hyejin 2021.
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“I’m heading out”, your hands fondly squeeze Taeyong’s shoulders from behind him. He does not look up from his task for a few seconds, counting rolls of gauze. Then, upon processing your words, he twirls to face you. His eyes trail up and down your figure, making a mental checklist of everything you need to be safe. Apparently, one thing is missing.
“Take Jaehyun with you”, he asks, “or maybe Yuta. Johnny is always good to have around, and so is Renjun. Those swords of his are no joke”, he rambles, losing focus. The way he places his hands on his hips and sighs tells you he’s absolutely drained. “Or maybe I should go with you—”
Shaking your head fervently, you pat his cheek for his attention, observing the streaks of noon sunlight across his face. He stares at you with concern and shifts his weight.
“You’re staying right here and so are the boys, Tyong. We haven’t found a survivor in weeks, and taking one of them is always more stressful than anything”, you reason. Recollections of how the boys attract trouble wherever they go cloud your mind, far too many to count. The air suddenly feels too chilly, with shivers running down your spine. 
“Just stay here and maybe find a way to rest. You know Doyoung won’t mind keeping track of the supply for you.”
At this point, he knows it’s no use arguing. 
“Just be careful… and get back before dawn”, he adjusts the collar of your jacket, thinking back to the weather outside of the grey walls of the dorms. “All I’m saying is you never know what you’re gonna find.” Giving you a tight-lipped smile and a nod, he resumes his job, and you leave him. Headed to the heavily locked iron doors guarded by the towering figures of Shotaro and Sungchan, you ask yourself if there was any hidden depth to Taeyong's words.
“You never know what you’re gonna find, huh", you mutter.
Now, roaming the deserted streets on your own and basking in the orange glow of the afternoon, you just think he was wrong. 
It’s already been a couple of hours since you left: you’ve explored parts of the district you barely even knew before the virus, seeing all kinds of animals scurrying around your path. You’ve also eaten the rice balls Jaemin packed for you, and you’ve gawked at the decaying building that used to be your favourite theatre. It’s all the same as you imagined it would be. Not many walkers litter this part of town—just 7 or 8 you managed to avoid—and no people. No one worth rescuing.
Wandering like this, in silence, brings back memories you're not sure you like. Weekly game nights with your friends, attending Jisung’s dance presentations, playing in the park’s playground at night... All of those feel foreign to you, parts of life too good to have ever been yours. Still, the need for a shot of wistfulness takes over, and you sigh. Better now than when it gets late, then. With a shake of your head, you pick a destination and start moving.
You’re conscious of your surroundings as you keep one hand on the bow and make your way across the square. Dry, fiery leaves crunch under your boots, being the only sound you pick up. Nothing looks out of the ordinary, either. The same old abandoned stores seem to look down at you, their busted windows moaning in the wind. But, right then, something jabs at your gut. It's a silent alert to a threat you can't see. 
Damnit. You better pick up the pace.
As soon as you make a turn to the left, spying the pizza place you used to visit, you freeze. Walkers, maybe 10 of them, whimper and try to get past the debris to reach something inside a pharmacy.
How could you not notice them earlier? They’re not a quiet horde, and the awful stench is not something you should have missed either. Have you been that lost in your nostalgia?
Whatever happened, you don't have much time. If the undead are making that much effort to get around the rubble, there has to be someone inside. A fellow human being—hopefully, a nice one. Someone you can help.
Acting out of instincts, you drink in your surroundings. Having your back hastily pressed against a tree trunk is not ideal, but it's what comes to you. While you can't call yourself a strategy master, jumping right into action is not the right plan when someone else's life is in danger. 
Mind racing, you know you need a better shooting spot now if you want to make a move. Drawing them out to an alley is not a totally bad idea either. They wouldn't be able to escape, and maybe then they could flee.
As soon as you found a perfect corner for that, the screech of old door hinges catches your attention. A second later, shattering glass.
Shit. They broke in.
With no more time to assess the situation, you quickly climb up a rotting picnic table. The zombies, some missing a limb, slowly drag their feet towards a man in a plaid, blue shirt. 
He's petrified, head lashing from side to side, looking for a way out. You know very well there is none, and soon enough it will be too late. He’ll be just at reach for those disgusting, putrid fingers. If they get a bite in, it's over for you, and it's over for him.
That’s when you take the stupidest decision of your life.
Screaming.
“YO, YOU POINTLESS MEAT SACK! WHY DON’T YOU LOOK OVER HERE?”
The boy might just get whiplash from how fast his eyes find yours. His are dark and desperate, but there is something else to them—to him. Something you will never find it in you to explain. 
It could have been the way the stares right at your soul, or how his face displays every emotion from relief to terror. You could even say it was how his knees buckled under his weight or his fluttering hair in the wind. You can blame your reaction on a lot of things, but none of them startles you as much as yourself. 
A cold hand grasps at your heart, squeezing it tightly in your chest. Blood drains from your face, and your frame shakes in the wind. You know this sensation all too well to have doubts, although it is what you swore never to feel again. Fear. Not for yourself, no, even when the undead start walking towards you instead. You don't—can't— care enough about your life, and you know it. It is all for him, the beautiful stranger you are going to save.
The first two arrows find their aim, speeding right through the undead’s skulls, but something shifts in your arms. The rest of your arrows now seem to swerve a bit to the sides, lodging themselves on necks or shoulders. In other words, not where they are supposed to. 
Oh, how much you hate that the walkers will only die if you damage their brains.
“Annoying bastards, I swear—”
Falling into a state of near panic, you drop to the floor unceremoniously and race to the horde. If your bow won't do the trick, your other weapons will.
Momentarily thankful for their lack of agility, you pull out the knives hidden on the sides of your shoes. In a flurry of drive, you slash and stab everything around you. While throwing some hand-to-hand-combat here and there, your eyes start to burn. The walkers smell even worse from up close, you bitterly recall from past encounters. It's one of the things that make fighting harder—the urge to run away from them at every second.
The more daring among them clutch at your clothes, keeping your movement limited, but you manage to cut off their hands. The slick sound it makes is enough to make bile rise up your throat, but you swallow it back.
“C’mon, Y/N”, you pant, kicking what had once been an adult woman in the chest to send her down to the asphalt. “You’ve had tougher battles than this." With a breath as deep as you can manage, your knife cuts at another zombie.
It is true, you know. It's impossible to count the times you’ve been up against groups of 20 or more. You were always fine. Right now, though, wincing from multiple wounds scattered around your skin, you question how the hell did you do it.
Hurriedly glancing to your right, you notice 5 are already dead—well, dead-er than they had previously been. The lady you kicked struggles to get up, giving you a gap to spin and bury your knife into her scalp. She goes limp right away, and you stare. 4 more to go.
Just as you retrieve your blade and turn to face the other walkers, something bites your dominant hand. Hard.
With your knife tumbling down in a metallic clunk, fire shoots up your arm. The first thing you do is wiggle your hand back and forth. Some part of you thinks it was going to let go like it’s some sort of dog. You realize you were wrong when darkened saliva flows into the cuts, your mind going blank with agony.
You figure it was one of the undead you had pushed down before, only to lose sight of him later. And, yes, wiggling was a poor attempt at getting him to drop you, but you did it out of pure alarm. Fear is gradually taking over you now, freezing cold and impossible to fight.
With only your non-dominant hand free, you sloppily sink your blade down however many times it takes for the corpse to stop moving. The pain you feel is sharp, travelling through your veins like blue fire. As his grip slackens, the body slumps to the ground, a wet thud echoing. Despite the agony that threatens to blind you, you're aware of the other 3 walkers you have yet to take down.
One is easy enough, with an arrow embedded deep on one side of her neck, and another coming down on her brow bone. Repugnance swirls in your gut, and you have to look away. Their skulls are incredibly soft.
Your remaining enemies pace at either side of you, circling you with dead eyes and faltering strides. You keep your wounded hand close to you while the other clutches the leather grip of your weapon. It's time to put an end to this.
Choosing to go for the right first, you slash at his chest, grimacing at the black blood that oozes. It taints his shredded red hoodie and sprinkles at your front. The shudders that course through you in silent rage give you the strength to finish it off.
In one clean, powerful strike, your knife goes through an eyeball, but he collapses a bit too fast. You can't recover your blade.
Having no weapons on your hands, even for a second, is critical. The walkers are borderline sluggish, but it was easy to lose track of them: your severed hand was proof.
To your relief—or mild disgust—, hasty strides bounce at the pavement behind you, followed by heavy thuds on a slimy surface. It takes no more than 3 seconds for the last body to tumble by your feet, face down. 
It's only then you see the skull, or better, what is left of it. Blood and brain flow over a gaping crack, done by something sharp. You could guess it was the heavy, black rock that you find before you, held in the hands of the man you are supposed to be saving.
From there, you realize his medium length hair is a faded blue, with dark brown at the roots. A grey university hoodie hugs his slim figure under the plaids, matching his cargo pants and busted sneakers. His face is all sharp angles and soft edges, but his gaze is nothing short of magnetic.
Wide, chocolate eyes glare at the body with such horror your own throat tightens. Then, with no words shared, he lets go of the rock and stumbles back like he cannot believe what he did. Your own eyes divert to the cloudless sky, hearing him vomiting on the concrete in a matter of seconds. Poor dude.
Pity, combined with the reminiscents of adrenaline and dread, settle in you. Your thoughts boil down to one small detail: the Sun is setting.
The throbbing on your hand momentarily vanishes, lost in the memory of Taeyong very clearly telling you to be back before dawn. Aside from that, the memory of what you did to get the walkers' attention still burns at your mind. That goddamned shout. Having a sense of hearing as acute as they did, you are sure any other zombies around you are coming your way.
You have fucked up big time.
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final notes: ik chapter one wasn’t all that exciting but i’m hoping this one is better wheeze two more to come, stay tuned <3
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bisexualcrowley · 4 years ago
Text
Breathe
Pairing: Frederick Chilton x Fem!Reader
Summary: Y/n turns to Frederick in the middle of a severe panic attack, and he guides her through it
Content/warnings: Panic attack, breathing troubles, unsafe driving, hurt/comfort, established relationship, end is hella fluffy
Word count: 1,584
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Your eyes widened in horror at the sight before you, frozen in shock behind the window. You had headed up to the observatory on an anonymous tip sent to the FBI, saying that a figure had been seen carrying something suspicious into the building late at night. It was still dark when you arrived, and you used that to your advantage, parking a block away and sneaking in the shadows up to the building. Seeing a dull light through one of the smaller side windows, you stopped, silently loading your weapon and approaching the window. 
Working alongside Will on the ripper case had forced you to prepare for the worst, but nothing could have prepared you for the sight inside the observatory.
Your hand clamped over your mouth to stifle a scream, knees buckling under you as you watched the horror inside. Dr Hannibal Lector, someone you had considered a good friend, had the frozen body of your coworker Beverly Katz laid out on a table in front of him, slowly sawing her into pieces. Shaking, you pulled out your camera and snapped picture after picture of the horrific scene before the panic fully set in.
Your brain shot into overdrive, stumbling backwards in a frantic attempt to get away before he saw you, slipping on the icy ground as you sprinted back towards your car. You threw open the door, falling into the seat and slammed your foot down on the gas pedal, car shooting forward and away from the scene.
You drove frantically, heart racing and praying that Hannibal didn’t see you, car speeding down the highway.
A sob escaped your throat, hands white knuckling the steering wheel as you sped around a corner, finding yourself at your boyfriend Frederick’s house. A voice in the back of your mind was telling you you shouldn’t have come here, the two of you hadn’t been dating long enough and he shouldn’t be dragged into this, but the thought was drowned out, the buzzing of the saw cutting apart your friend replaying over and over in your mind, and you stumbled out of the car, heart pounding as you scrambled up the steps and slammed your fist against the door, over and over and over. You weren’t sure how long you stood there, banging on the wood until your hands were bleeding. Finally you heard footsteps from inside, rapidly approaching the door, and you had the sense to step backwards, seconds later to be met with a sleepy and confused Frederick.
He was dressed in gray pajama pants and a white t-shirt, covered by a loosely tied blue silk robe, something you at any other time would have found comforting in contrast to his usually so put together appearance, but tonight exacerbated your feelings of dread
His eyes widened in shock at the sight on his porch, ushering you into his house and locking the door behind you. 
“Sweetheart what happened? Come on, talk to me, are you ok?” 
Frederick’s voice was quiet, hoarse from sleep, but with an unmistakable note of concern, and that’s when you lost it, collapsing against a cabinet and sliding to the floor, hands pulling at your hair as shuddering sobs wracked your body.
Frederick was at your side immediately, murmuring soft words of comfort and untangling your fingers from your hair, not wanting you to hurt yourself.
“F- fre- fred it- h- hanib- ha- hannibal- h- he- b-bev- beverly-”
Your words came out in panicked gasps, rocking back and forth on the floor, hands pulling at your hair again.
“Shhhhh, shh shh shh, it’s ok sweetheart, don’t talk, you’re ok, everything's ok. Just breathe, you’re ok” Frederick’s voice was soft, even after you cried out and slapped him at his attempt to put an arm around your shoulders, him settling at a close but not smothering distance after.
You sobbed even harder, choking as your throat tightened, gasping for air while trying desperately to get the images of Beverly out of your mind.
Everything was coming in waves now, nausea mixing with the panic, pain, grief, it was overloading your brain, all there was was death, pain, murder, pain. Your chest tightened more, hyperventilating, desperately trying to draw air into your lungs, but the effort proving futile.
Your eyes widened in fear, fingers coming down to yank at your shirt’s collar in another useless attempt to free your airway, and Chilton swore under his breath, flying forward and helping to loosen your constricting clothing.
“Shit shit shit, deep breaths honey, we gotta calm down a bit, ok?” Frederick moved to your side once more, cupping your cheeks in his hands and pressing a kiss to your forehead, wincing at how you trembled beneath him.
You tried desperately to calm yourself, but each attempt making it worse. Your gasps turned into wheezing, head lolling downwards as your lips began to turn blue
“Fucking shit, oh god, cm’mere sweetheart, i’m gonna get behind you, ok? I’m not gonna hurt you, i gotta help you”
Frederick scrambled to get behind you when you gave a frantic nod of agreement, chest heaving painfully as tears began to fall again, and sucking in a desperate breath as Chilton tucked a hand under your chin and tilted your head back, freeing your airway slightly
“Sweetheart i need you to focus on my breathing, ok? Keep your back to my chest, and try to match me when i take a breath, alright? ”
His left hand came to rest just below your right shoulder, holding you securely against him as he took slow, deliberate breaths, chest rising and falling underneath you.
Your arm flew back behind you, fingers finding their way into your boyfriend’s hair, tangling there as you shook, breathing slowing slightly.
“Good job, oh you’re doing so well darling, come on, you can do it, keep breathing with me, deep breaths, there we go” Frederick praised, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to your temple.
Slowly but surely, your breathing slowed, body untensing until finally each breath you took was taken with Frederick, who sighed in relief and released his hold on your neck, allowing your head to fall backwards to rest against the crook of his neck, your hand dropping from his hair down to rest on his wrist, thumb stroking his hand.
Finally trusting yourself to talk, you opened your mouth to speak, voice coming out a hoarse whisper.
“Freddy i... i saw the ripper. it’s Hannibal Freddy, he got bev... he killed Beverly, Freddy, and i couldn’t do anything, i took pictures but i couldn’t stop him, i-”
Frederick shushed you, wiping the newly fallen tears from your cheeks and shrugging his robe off, pulling it around to tuck the fabric over your shoulders, arms slinging around you to pull you into a hug.
“It’s ok darling... Nothing that happened is your fault, you did so well, going there, taking the pictures... You’re safe with me, y/n, everything’s gonna be ok” Freddy hummed against your ear, arms tightening around your waist. 
“Come on, lets get you cleaned up, ok?” You nodded, sniffling quietly before shakily getting to your feet, Chilton guiding you with gentle movements.
“You’re alright darling, go take a shower while i call Jack, i’ll send him the photos you took and then we can get your hands cleaned up” 
You had forgotten about the damage you had done while at Freddy's door, looking down sheepishly at your bloodied knuckles, but did as he said, taking a hot shower and emerging to find a pair of your boyfriend’s pajamas waiting on the counter for you to put on, and a steaming mug of your favorite tea in the living room, along with Frederick throwing bits of paper into the fireplace from across the room.
He smiled at the sight of you, and you managed a small smile back, taking the mug and tucking yourself into his arms on the couch he was seated on. Neither of you said anything for a while, as if speaking of what had happened would turn it from a hallucination to reality.
“What did jack say?”
You broke the silence with your question, thankful that the tea had soothed your voice enough that the rough edge it had before was almost gone.
Frederick leaned forward to pull a blanket over your entangled bodies, tucking it up around your shoulders and kissing your cheek when you snuggled further into him.
“He said the photos and crime scene were enough for a warrant for Hannibal's arrest. They took him into custody 20 minutes ago, and he says they never would have suspected Hannibal, he would have kept killing if it wasn’t for you”
You nodded, unable to find the right words for the situation, and settled on brushing your lips against Frederick’s and curling up on his lap again.
He smiled down at you, fingers combing through your hair, to which you let out an appreciative hum. 
“Thank you Freddy” You mumbled against his chest, eyelids growing heavy. “for everything”
“Shhhh. Sleep now, darling, it’s been a long night” he whispered, continuing to stroke your hair, eyes glowing with affection at the sight of the sleepy smile you wore on your face, eyes fluttering shut.
“Love you, Freddy” 
Your words were barely audible, exhaustion clouding your voice and words muffled by the blanket, but Frederick heard it, and his heart skipped a beat, a wide smile spreading across his face.
“I love you too, Y/n”
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