#Its like stuck in my brain forever it's a core memory and it feels like a stab in the gut Everytime I think ab it
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blue-banditt · 23 days ago
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oh no 😦 the alcohol cravings 😦
sitting here like a pathetic pos, tears in my eyes, trying to decide if my last $30 is worth spending on a bottle o new amsterdam or not
FUCK bro I know it's not smart, I was going to spend it on like eggs and bread at the grocery store tomorrow. But. Fucking hell its so tempting.
I FEEL like I NEED it. And I know that's the head gremlins talking but theyre sooooooo loud
Having a mental breakdown rn
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5ungchan · 2 months ago
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oooo what about sungchan and longing!
YOU LOOK BETTER UNDER THE NIGHTS SHADE
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THE SCORE: 16 SONGS | REQUESTS AVAILABLE | FEEDBACK?
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WARNINGS: smut— not too graphic, exploring the themes of longing, vulnerability and the complexities of intimate relationships with a subtle poetic flair. engulfed with imagery and sensory details, with some metaphorical language. i tried to make it introspective, but regardless— sungchan and his mean vibes.
AUTHORS NOTE: i haven't written anything new in a hot minute. mostly just working on older drafts, so the purpose of opening requests were to get the gears in my brain turning once more. so thank you for requesting! i hope it's not too shabby for your tastes.
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there is nothing more painful than yearning. for what once was ⏤ for what never was anything.
the feeling of bare skin: a tight slap, and a quick snap against the surface of your vulnerable body. the feeling of his hips against your sensitive pelvis. the heat and its vibrant, tender sensations are unstoppable. an insatiable force to be reckoned with.
the constant ripple of feeling so full, the pulsating build that continues to go onwards and onwards. causing an irresistible urge to control the climax that seems to build within your core. twisting and turning, your stomach is absolutely churning. thoughtfully, manicured toes flexing inwards as you magnetize yourself to his body; holding on for dear life.
it's your kaleidoscopic delusions and the visions of him. unreachable, untouchable ⏤ a mind so incredibly far from reality.
it has you skyrocketing towards a certain high, one that leaves you forever wanting more. a smidge of lustrous creativity; an abstract and lewd possibility. yet, a complete dream come true. he was attainable physically, hell; you're half-way there. but he's locked up away, the thoughts inside his mind are unattainable. not for you, not for anyone. crumbling back from the atmosphere, you've fallen back onto the surface. forced to remain eternally grounded.
jung sungchan is an enigma. he won't listen to you as you call out his name. he won't look into your eyes, observing your delicately sculpted face and watching the way the syllables roll off your tongue so sweetly. any other man would beg to hear it come from you, reaching their sweet release merely seconds from hearing you recite such a beautiful sonata of heavy breaths, and short words of affection. and yet, he doesn't flinch when he hears the way your voice cuts off: gasping for air, as a soft, delicate moan makes its way past your lips. the curvature of your breasts lifting upwards in unison with the lungs within your body that seem to be working overtime.
the birth of venus began the moment sungchan had enveloped you within his arms, yet crumbled just as quickly the moment he neglected you. dried lips that should've been kissed, bare from the lack of saliva that should've coated them. all of your beauty painfully neglected as he's buried inches deep within your throbbing cunt.
you could've sworn you forgot the way he looked when he felt so turned on.
the pleasure plastered on his face was incredibly hard to forget, yet, it made you wonder if his eyes still gleamed. was his gaze still glossy, half-lidded, with his eyelashes batting against the grain of his skin? did he still shut his eyes suddenly, groaning in absolute ecstasy the moment he began shuddering with such pleasure?
all you wished for, was to look into those gorgeous, warm eyes of his. gazing into what seemed like the stars encapsulated within his irises, observing the way he became so fragile, rather than stuck in limbo, drifting through a period of toxic masculinity. the emotions that once was, is nothing more than a distant memory. no matter how present his actions were; his emotions were forever stagnant.
his head is leaning over your shoulder. the sound of his forehead occasionally shifting against the fluffiness of your pillow. the wafting smell of his subtle sweat and rather, overpowering smell of cologne. the soft and smooth notes of vanilla and orris butter. he's luxurious in the way he presents himself, even more so seductive with how he moves, and yet, it makes you feel undeserving. his reluctance to even cradle you like the delicate flower you were ⏤ to call out your name. it all solidifies it.
to him, you're nothing.
nothing more than the girl who always happened to be there at the right place, and right time. sungchan doesn't make love to you, he fucks himself into you like he doesn't care. regardless, for as long as he's here, you'll fool yourself into believing he does. he's come this far, hasn't he? far enough to feel how good you are for him. to lay there like the pretty girl you are, allowing him to wallow his thickness into your plunging wetness.
love sick. a complete utter fool.
with each and every thrust, you continue to allow him to torment your body with such dominance. exchanging a slice of your sanity with every movement. it would be a lie to say, he wasn’t addicted to the way you’re body exists with such a visceral filling. a plush pink, frail and plump innocence, sprinkled with such naivety. a filling that just so happened to pair well with his bittersweet, saccharine cream that he adorned your body in.
he's had his fill, yet you're left begging for more. turning your head to press your lips against his neck. soft tongue, pressing against the supple flesh of his jugular as he pushes himself further against your body. subconsciously agreeing to your actions, he moulds your frame into the mattress as you lick at his neck before puckering down to suck on the fragile skin. blistering and bruising at it, your hands make way to his shoulders with your fingernails digging into his flesh. it feels as though you're about to fall once more, holding onto him as if you're life depended on it.
"s-sungchan, you're going to⏤" huffing, a moan escapes past your lips, the words falling out of your mouth in increments, "gonna be the death of me, aren't you?"
your words are met with silence. instead, the sound of the headboard creaking against the wall continues to persist. despite the subtle hesitation in his thrusts as he pauses in between, just so he can pull his hips back and push himself into you harder than before. crying out, your hands make their way towards his hair, gently tugging at the soft, slightly wet strands. effectively shutting you up, but only for a moment.
"'m close," you whimper, as he groans in response. a stutter in his movements as his muscles seem to tremble atop you. "hold onto me tightly!" you protest.
and yet, it's far too late to be saved. you're falling from the sky as sungchan seems to purposely let you go. the way his body stops moving, allowing himself to release himself within you. the spontaneous jolts of his body as he unloads before collapsing to the side. filling you up with so many meaningless sentiments. before promptly removing himself from within you.
he's trying to catch his breath, staring at the dimly lit ceiling before it all comes crashing down. you yearned for him to wrap you in his arms, to allow you to rest your head on his bare chest as you listened to the sound of his heartbeat. the previous nights that were filled with a soft word or two, making his time with you feel so much more heartfelt. yet, he can't help but feel as though you make him claustrophobic. the impending doom of what you'd say next, constantly nagging him to do more than what he already does.
sungchan has had enough. sitting upwards in bed, he turns to look down on you.
"i think we're done here," he bluntly states. "i mean, i don't think i can deal with your whining and nagging. it's as though, what i'm doing, just isn't good enough for you."
his words bring a pang to your chest. your lips part wordlessly as you try to recollect your thoughts and say something, but they're just left speechless, quivering silently. the furrowing of your eyebrows makes the confused expression on your face quite clear. you're trying your best to keep your composure despite feeling completely humiliated in the moment.
"is it so wrong..." you begin, as you pull the bedsheets upwards to cover whatever dignity you had left. "to ask you to love me? to love me back, the way i do you."
"loved by me?" he questions. standing upwards, he begins to messily get dressed, scanning the room around for his belongings, "what, as if i owe it to you?"
you can't help but guffaw. watching as he peers at his phone, checking the time as if you were holding him up.
"you know what? yeah. i do think you owe me at least some sort of reciprocation."
standing upwards, you drag the bedsheet along with you as you approach him. you've become cerebral; completely raw.
"what're you so afraid of sacrificing sungchan?"
sungchan narrows his eyes in your direction, his eyes lifting from his phone as the blue hue illuminates his face. he's cold, appearing almost offended by the audacity you had to ask such a thing.
"for god's sake, don't start up this shit again," groaning, it's clear this had become a habit for the both of you.
"start what? all i want is an answer, a clear fucking answer from you. rather than you saying you're going to always leave, only to come running back," pursing your lips, you can't help but feel like he's finally left a distasteful feeling in your mouth.
gripping the bedsheet tightly around yourself, you watch as he steps forwards. glaring down on you as if you could handle him. pre-maturely confronting him, knowing well enough you wouldn't be able to deal with him.
"fuck...so that's what you want, huh? to be coddled like the fucking baby you are. 'think you're a princess yeah?"
leaning inwards, he comes in so closely. allowing his forehead to press against yours, the tip of his nose just brushing past yours as you feel how hot his breath is against your face. it's abrupt and rough, the way his slightly chapped lips press against yours. a sudden nip at your lip, and he welcomes himself inside, the feeling of his tongue against yours, the intrusive sensation of him kissing you, but doing it only to temporarily satisfy your needs. it feels as though you're about to choke, unable to follow his lead. yet, always complaining about how much you wanted him to give it to you.
the feeling of your body shuddering against his much bigger frame is hard to explain. as goosebumps seem to erupt across the expanse of your skin. sungchan wraps you in his arms, snaking them around your fragile body and squeezing so tightly at your waist. angling his head to push himself further onto you.
“this what you wanted, yeah?” he mumbles in between kisses, the obscene sound of your tongues clashing against each other. the messiness of how his saliva seems to seep into your mouth makes you feel as though he’s swallowing you alive.
the tears begin to gather at your waterline, dripping down your cheeks and hanging on the edge of your jawline as you feel sungchan bring his hand upwards to cup your face. using his thumb to swipe at a few stray tears.
"i know you love me," he coos as he pulls himself away. staring into your eyes, you can't help but feel like you're beginning to grow cold. sungchan was capable of draining your energy — of making you regret every decision you’d ever made.
“…but you can't expect me to love you back."
bringing his hand upwards to push aside a few strands of your hair, he tucks them behind your ear, "not today..."
his slender fingers continue to comb through your hair, as he gazes at you as if you're some doll. a prized possession of his, yet one that's overdue. there was always something more waiting for him. he’s gentle with his actions, but incredibly harsh with his words. expressing himself without a single ounce of remorse.
"...not tomorrow."
"then when?" you choke out. as the tears have become unstoppable, your heart has fallen to the floor, and he seems to continue trampling all over it. over and over again, he continues to fuck with your sanity. having absolutely no regards for you.
sungchan can't help but let out an airy laugh. his lips stretching into a soft smile as he peers at you with such disdain. after all, you’d allowed him to become nothing more than a tainted stain over your purity.
for you, what once was love; to him was never anything.
"for as long as you'll delude yourself into thinking i might change."
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camcorderrevival · 3 months ago
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to you, what's the difference between eleven/amy and twelve/clara? which one do you ship more and why? (i'm guessing the answer to the second is pretty obvious but i'm curious about your answer)
i think the biggest difference, beyond like narrative and theme, is that twelveclara gets more breathing room in the series. obviously youve got the relationship between clara and danny, and missy and twelve (and missy and clara to some extent), but twelveclara is very much given the centre stage. the viewer's attention is meant to be on them, the show is about them (for good reason). the other relationships function as ways to explore twelve and clara as separate characters, of course, but they also very much work emphasise the relationship between the two as well.
and like. elevenamy isnt some super niche relationship with no screentime or development. theyre the core of s5,6,7a just like twelveclara is the core s8&9. (and just like ninerose is the core s1, and tenmartha is the core of s3. whether you read them as romantic or platonic or whatever, the doctor & companion dynamics foster a kind of intimacy that keeps the show interesting and moving forward).
but you definitely more get the sense that, especially in s6, the dynamic is fighting for space with amyrory/elevenriver. the show gets stuck in a weird place where it is trying to convince the viewer that the satisfying conclusion for all of these characters is amyrory and elevenriver, but the story ends if amy really chooses rory in any meaningful way (and thats no good if youre trying to get two and bit series out of it). so youve got elevenamy which is the driving point of the narrative and somewhat more interesting/dynamic than amyrory, and amyrory which feels (to me) like a much more stuck, static point but the show really wants you to believe that its satisfying and interesting (without ever putting much effort into it, because that would detract too much from the core relationship). both relationships suffer from that weird balance that gets struck.
twelveclara does not face that same weirdness so the relationship gets more room to develop (or in their case devolve into a spiral of self-destruction and timeline altering) (yay).
beyond that difference in narrative space. i think both relationships deal with some similar themes (because they are the themes that haunt most of moffat's time as showrunner, and some of the episodes that he wrote for rtd). memory, stories, identity in the other.
but there are also quite different points. elevenamy takes on a more religious tone (especially in tgc + tgww). amy isnt doctorified to the same extent as clara, so the narrative surrounding identity in the other differs.
elevenamy basically imprint on each other as children and tie themselves around that point of connection, they cant help but deify each other (they r cathyheathcliff). doctorclara (because eleven's relevant in this for a little bit) are tied together by missy (fate. prophecy. your sometimes-ex who thinks you'd get on really well with this brunette woman whos got problems. insult/compliment??) and then progressively become more and more like each other till they have to be cosmically separated. and they want to be like each other because theyre obsessed with each other, of course, but also because they think that it'll give them more control over everything.
amy leaves the doctor because shes convinced he'll always leave her so she needs to stay with her safety blanket backup husband so she never ever has to be alone again (and she'll never ever be lonely little amelia pond again). clara leaves (not really) twelve because of the aforementioned cosmic separation.
amy puts the doctor in her childrens book. twelve puts clara in a song.
lastly, i will always bat for twelveclara whenever wherever. but theyre good. theyre well-written and they crash and burn so beautifully. there's not much to say. elevenamy is so interesting firstly because theyve lived in my brain forever im normal like that, secondly because the writing gets so awkward at points that there's hundreds and millions of things to say. so i love them very much sorry to twelveclara.
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hoboal87 · 4 years ago
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Storm
Title: Storm
Pairings: Dean x F!Reader, mentions of Sam x Eileen
Characters: Dean, F!Reader, minor mentions of Sam and Eileen, unnamed OFCs
Word Count: ±2.1k
Warnings: anxiety, car accident, major injuries, angst, fluff, blink and you’ll miss it pre-smut, post 15x19, more spoilers will be in the tags.
A/N: Requested by a nonnie: “Hi sweetie, I adore your writing especially dean fics. Can I pleaaase request a flangsty one shot of dean x reader where they get into a car crash and she's the one who's badly injured?? And maybe they are stuck in a snow storm or something so help would take forever to come and dean is just trying to keep her alive? With lots of worried and gentle dean?? But I don't want her to die pleaaase 🥺🥺 thank you so much. And no pressure if you don't want to write it ❤️”
A special shout-out to @deanwinchesterswitch​ for taking time during her #BlogAppreciationBounce to beta this for me! Thanks Kym, you’re the best!
My Full Masterlist
My Dean Masterlist
Tags are open! Tag yourself here!
Have a request? Send me an ask or DM!
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You walk through the aisles of the grocery store, pushing the ever-growing cart in front of you. You and Dean had finally moved all of your belongings into your new home, and now you needed to stock it full of food. Dean is like a kid in a candy store, grabbing so many unnecessary items that you can only shake your head and suppress your giggles.
A thunderclap from outside makes you jump slightly; spring in Kansas, a woman just a few feet in front of you notes, you politely smile as she suggests stocking up on bottled water and canned goods. When you were living in the Bunker, severe weather wasn’t even on your radar. It was a fortress, with all sorts of magic protecting it. But now, you and Dean are living in an ordinary, run-of-the-mill house, and Kansas is smack-dab in the middle of tornado alley.
Dean meets you at the checkout counter, two pies in hand, and you give the cashier a small smile. Another thunderclap makes you jump, and Dean immediately wraps his arms around your waist, calming you, reminding you that it’s just a little rain. Thunderstorms had made you anxious ever since your family was attacked by a wendigo when you were a teenager. Every storm dredges up memories of you and your family fighting for your lives as the creature used a storm to hide in the shadows and the sounds of thunder to cover its inhuman screams.
Rain begins to fall as you load bag after bag into the trunk of Baby, empty now that Dean has retired. A large bolt of lightning strikes, brightening up the sky, making the heavy, dark clouds visible for a moment.
As Dean pulls Baby out of the parking lot, rain has begun falling; scattered droplets softly thumping on the roof of the car. You and Dean live away from town, out in the middle of nowhere, your closest neighbors being Sam and Eileen, owning the property next to yours, but their house was still being built, so for the time being, it was only you and Dean for nearly five miles. It didn’t seem like a lot of distance when you first chose the property; in fact, you originally wanted to buy both pieces of land so that you and Dean could have all 10 acres to yourselves.
Dean drives past the Gas n’ Sip, the closest business next to your home, and turns down the road that would eventually lead to your new house. The five-mile distance shouldn’t seem like a lot, but now, as the rainfall becomes heavier, you wished you’d chosen a home closer to town.
The thick, heavy rain makes it almost impossible for you to see anything more than a few feet in front of you. You take a long, calming breath, trying to keep your nerves intact as lightning strikes again in the distance. Dean notices your nerves starting to get the better of you and reaches over to give your knee a reassuring squeeze before bringing the car to a stop.
“You wanna wait out the rain?” He asks, taking your sweaty palm into his own.
“Food’ll spoil,” you counter, trying to cover your growing nerves.
“S'just food, sweetheart,” Dean unbuckles himself and slides closer before reaching over to do the same to you. “We can get more tomorrow.”
Dean wraps his arm around your shoulders as the storm seems to grow even stronger. He places a gentle kiss on your lips and reaches to the back seat, grabbing a blanket to cover you both. Under the worn blanket, Dean’s hand rubs up and down your thigh, inching closer to your covered core. This wouldn’t be the first time that Dean’s tried to get frisky in the Impala; hell, not even the third or fourth but with your anxiety running on high, the last thing you want is to fool around.
You don’t have to say anything, just gently intertwining your fingers with his and he seems to get the message. You curl up against him, basking in his familiar warmth and smell, praying that the storm would soon be over. Your heart thumps rapidly in your chest as the wind howls with enough force to cause the Impala to rock slightly on the road.
After you’ve calmed, Dean suggests heading on home. You nod slightly, wanting nothing more than to crawl into the comfort of your bed. He slides back over before shifting the car into gear and slowly starts accelerating.
Pain. Cold. Wet.
Steam rises from Baby’s engine, and thunder claps again. The last thing you remember is a horn honking and Dean slamming on the brakes before everything went dark. Your body lies limp on the hood of the car, glass shards from the windshield surrounding you.
The Impala’s front end is crushed, and the heat from the engine warms you as you try to piece together what happened. You can hardly focus on anything; there’s another car a few yards away; it must be the one you collided with. You try to move your body, but it’s then you realize that you can’t feel anything below your waist. You groan as you desperately try to move, hoping that you can will yourself onto your feet and find Dean. You can barely make out a low moan through the sound of the rain hitting the metal. You want to turn, but you can't; pain radiates throughout your body, at least the parts you can still feel. You try to call out to Dean, to anyone for help, but you can't find the words to do so. Your brain and mouth aren't connecting, and the only sounds that you manage to make are whimpers of pain.
A figure appears in the rain, cursing as he seems to take in your broken figure; he's almost yelling at what you can only assume is some 911 dispatcher.
"Shit.. one of the passengers…conscious? The driver? I'll try…"
The man appears at your side, and you can still see the phone attached to his ear.
"Ma'am? Can you hear me?" He asks cautiously, you want to nod, but you're too afraid to move your head, afraid that you could accidentally hurt yourself further. "Her eyes are open; she's breathing," the man relays into the phone. "Uh.. ragged. There's blood… Ma'am? I'll try that. Blink if you can hear me."
You slowly but deliberately blink your eyes. The man breathes out a sigh of relief.
"Y/N!" Dean's voice comes from through the broken windshield. The man hurries away from you and towards Dean. You can only make out the muffled noises as the man tries to convince Dean to stay inside Baby, but you know he won’t; he’s too stubborn to listen to anyone.
The rain begins to let up, and the man tells Dean that an ambulance is on the way. The sound of Dean’s boots on the wet concrete put you at ease, knowing that he’s, at the very least, in better shape than you are. You count the strides that Dean takes before he’s beside you, frowning slightly at the large gash on his forehead. Dean’s eyes rake over your body, and you know something is going on that neither man is telling you.
“Hey, sweetheart,” Dean’s hand gently cups your cheek, and you know that he’s trying to keep his voice steady. “Help’s comin’ baby, okay? You’re gonna be okay, y’hear me?”
You try to mumble a response, but the words still don’t form. The rain is now nothing more than a sprinkle, clouds shifting to reveal the night sky. Numbness has taken over the rest of your body as Dean keeps his eyes focused on you, assuring you over and over again that you're going to be okay. Off in the distance, you can hear a siren, and Dean squeezes your hand tightly as he tells the man to grab two flares from the trunk.
“Help’s almost here, Y/N.”
“De,” you barely manage to mumble out, “’m tired.”
“I know, baby.” Dean looks relieved at the sound of your voice. “Gotta stay awake, Y/N, please. Y’can’t go to sleep, baby, not until help gets here. Promise me you’ll stay awake.”
“Love you,” you murmur as your eyes close, and every breath becomes more difficult to take.
“Y/N, baby, I need you to open your eyes,” Dean begs as the siren grows closer. “Please, honey, just a coupla minutes. Please Y/N, you have to fight for just a little while longer; lemme see those pretty eyes, baby.”
With all the energy you can muster, you slowly open your eyes, focusing on Dean as he breathes out a sigh of relief. His face is wet; whether it's from the rain or fallen tears, you can’t be sure. Dean offers you a pained smile before leaning forward to press a gentle kiss on your forehead.
Red and blue lights illuminate the sky, and a handful of overlapping voices fill the air. A paramedic replaces Dean, who refuses to leave your side until a firefighter drags him away. Your vision blurs as the new person begins quickly examining you while another puts a brace around your neck. A team of paramedics turns you over, and slides a board under you before lifting you off the hood of the Impala and putting you onto a stretcher. You can barely register what’s happening around you, and you want to cry out as they load you into the ambulance.
The collar around your neck keeps your head facing up, and you try desperately to look for Dean. Your eyes frantically search from side to side before Dean comes into view. He reaches forward, and you feel the familiar calloused hands rubbing against yours. Voices are flying, asking Dean question after question; is she allergic to any medications? Did she lose consciousness? Any prior existing conditions? Blood type?
Your hearing becomes muffled and your vision becomes tunneled as Dean struggles to answer each question.
“She’s seizing!”
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A steadily beeping heart monitor awakens you. There’s a tube down your throat and you’ve seen enough Dr. Sexy to know it’s a breathing tube. You cough as you try to breathe and the heart monitor’s beeping becomes more rapid. A nurse is in the room quickly, telling you to keep calm before calling someone else in to help remove the tube. She orders you to cough again and again until the tube is out.
“D’n?” Your throat sore and raspy from the tube being down your throat for who knows how long. “‘Ere’s D’n?”
“He’s gone home, Y/N,” the nurse, Rebecca, tells you calmly. “Visiting hours ended a while ago. We’ll call him as soon as we get you a work-up.”
“S’okay?” You hate that your brain and mouth aren’t working together, and you can only speak in half-formed words. Rebecca nods, smiling as she takes your vitals and calls for an orderly. “How l’ng out?” You struggle to ask, but she seems to understand your question.
“Six months.”
Hours later, you’ve been poked and prodded by too many doctors to keep count of. Words may take a few days, but you’ll get them back, a neurologist assures you, just keep practicing.
By the time they’ve returned you to your room, Dean is there, eyes glistening as Rebecca wheels you in. You want to stand up to meet him, but your limbs, like the rest of your body, don’t want to cooperate with you. Dean crouches down to meet you, the skin on his forehead slightly red from where you remember seeing the gash. He leans forward and presses a kiss on your lips.
“Missed you, sweetheart.”
Dean and an orderly help you back into bed, and he takes a seat in the chair next to you, taking you by the hand and rubbing the back of your palm gently. A team of doctors explains everything to you and Dean—that you’ll have a long road of recovery, you’ll need physical therapy for your limbs, you’ll most likely need a speech pathologist, but with hard work, you’ll be back to your old self in a matter of time.
“You’re very lucky, Y/N,” one of the many doctors says as the others clear out of your room. You let out a scoff, you’ve been in a coma for six months, and you’re lucky?
“Honestly, I’d call it a miracle,” he remarks before leaving, and for a moment, you swear his eyes flash red.
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Feedback is appreciated!!
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breadoffoxy · 4 years ago
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Hey Siri, Play Rap Line
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Summary: It’s yours and your boyfriend’s dirty little secret that you play in his studio while he is working. He teases you with his work, making you a mess with that vibrator hidden in your pants. When his bandmates come in and try to help him find some inspiration, your secret and sanity are dangerously at stake.
Pairing: Yoongi x f. Reader, ft. Hoseok and Namjoon
Genre: Smut, NSFW, idol au
Warnings: NSFW, Smut, unsafe sex, masturbation, voyeurism, exhibitionism, fingering, language, dirty talk, vaginal sex, anal sex, oral sex, sex toys, Namjoon has a low-key sir kink, group sex, foursome, kissing, Hoseok’s hips, use of female pronouns
Word Count: 5,490
A/N:  Happy valentines day!! @tipsydipsydo gave me this idea when I was writing the first part, and here it is, forever later. Made for Tipsy, @chelsea-chee​, and all my other rap line hoe friends.
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Here you were sitting in your boyfriend's studio, yes your boyfriend. You can't believe that your friend who you had a massive crush on caught you masturbating to his mixtape wasn't creeped out and that you are now in a relationship. The situation was entirely embarrassing, utterly sexy, and now you have a good laugh every time you think about it. Plus, maybe getting turned on a lot.
Despite having Yoongi's tongue technology literally, you've kept the little sound to vibrations sex toy around. Your boyfriend is busy often enough, leaving you listening to his voice as he goes on tour or stuck in his studio or dance practice. The two of you also like to bring it into your coupled play, and have gotten quite brave with its use.
Like right now for instance. You aren't just sitting in your boyfriend's studio. You're sitting in your boyfriend's studio with your vibrator sitting inside your underwear, buzzing at your clit, teasing you as Yoongi starts and stops the edits he is working on. It's a maddening torture, you even had to charge the toy once since you've been here and still haven't cum.
Any time you try to reach your hand down to touch yourself where you need it most, Yoongi always seems to know and sends you a glare. You have no idea how he does it. It's like when dads who are watching sport games fall asleep but as soon as you change the channel, they are awake and yelling at you to turn it back because they were resting their eyes. It is making you increasingly frustrated, but you don't want your talented boyfriend to be distracted from his work so you are trying to be good and quiet.
When the door opens and Hoseok comes bursting through with Namjoon closing the door behind him, you know you are in trouble.
"Hey!" Hoseok's enthusiastic greeting as he sits next to you on the couch sends a spike in vibrations to your clit.
"H-hey!" Your voice comes out weird, and you hope you can pass it along as not speaking for a while. The squirm you make you camouflage as scooting down to make room for all your friends on the little couch. You’re praying so hard that they cannot hear or feel the vibrations coming from under your pants.
"How is it coming?" Peering over Yoongi's shoulder, Namjoon looks at the composition on the computer.
Yoongi hums, clicking through a few things before saying, "it’s coming, just slowly."
With a few more clicks the beats that have been driving you mad for hours plays once again. Namjoon and Hoseok listen intently, nodding along as the track progresses. Once it finishes the rappers are discussing ways to make it better. After they exhausted a few avenues, Hoseok turns towards you.
"What do you think? You've been in here all day too listening to it too right?"
"Me?" At Hoseok's encouraging nod you continue. "It's good like you said, but I agree it’s missing something." Looking Yoongi directly in the eye you add, "it just needs a little push to get the listeners over the edge."
Catching your double meaning, Yoongi raises an eyebrow challengingly and his smirk says he is quite amused. "What's a song with that push? Maybe it can give me some inspiration."
With the question turned back onto you suddenly, two sets of curious eyes focused on you, and one set pure evil makes you blank. It doesn't help that your body is focused more on your loins then your brain at the moment. "Uhhh...." think brain think!
Hoseok snaps his fingers, "Yes! Ugh, might be the answer. Let's play it."
With a few clicks Yoongi starts the song and Namjoon is adjusting the speakers so the song is booming. Your tall friend comes to sit on the other side of you, and you realized you are fucked. You are finally getting the vibrations you want from your toy, giving you the pleasure you so desperately crave. It's buzzing so heavily against your clit mercilessly that you can feel yourself approaching the edge so fast. Too fast after the whole day of it teasing you.
Instead of letting go like you desperately want, you try to reign in your senses despite all of them being completely haywire. Two of your friends are next to you, no idea there is a party happening inside your pants, and you hate how that turns you on even more. You look at your boyfriend with wide, pleading eyes.
Instead of helping you, Yoongi drives the nail into your casket by asking, "Are you ok, baby?"
His question brings the attention of Namjoon and Hoseok to you, and they finally notice that you are indeed acting a little off. Your breathing is heavy, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you fail to control it. You are biting heavily on your bottom lip, refusing to let any moans out, but they are waiting for an answer.
"Y-yeah I'm-" you take a deep breath in, failing to regain your nerves. "I'm fine." Your words do nothing to convince your two worried friends as you were most definitely not fine.
"Why don't you relax, you're so tense." Yoongi smirks at you, ignoring your indignant glare.
Hoseok looks between Yoongi and you, confused on the both of your attitudes. The situation adds up for Namjoon though once he sees you subconsciously rub your thighs together after a particularly strong beat. His jaw drops and he looks unbelievingly at you.
"Shit, are you...?" He trails off, staring at your chest before shaking his head. "Do we need to leave?"
"Leave? Why would we-" Hoseok starts until he sees you close your eyes and tilt your head back against the couch. The sight of your neck so exposed and the long exalted sigh that leaves you enchants him for a moment. He can't help but imagine what his hand would look like on your neck while you make that pleasured face..."Oh!"
Hoseok screams, jumping up from the couch. He points an accusing finger between Yoongi and you. "This whole time!?"
Yoongi shrugs at his friend making Hoseok guffaw at his nonchalance. Your boyfriend turns to you asking, "Do you want them to stay baby? To show them how good our music makes you feel hmm?"
You can't help but think back on when Yoongi caught you masturbating, and how hot it was. The memory sends a wave of arousal through you and you can feel how wet your underwear is. Apparently, you like showing off, and a new part of you has been awaken. It makes you feel powerful and embarrassed all the same time. The pressure in your core tightens at the thought of them watching you.
Opening your eyes, you look at your friends, trying to gauge their reactions. Namjoon is also biting at his lip with his hooded eyes fighting to stay on your own. He hasn't moved an inch, his body still so close to yours on the small couch. Hoseok gulps when you look at him, and he is staring at your lap. You slide your legs open, revealing a wet patch at the center of your jeans, making him curse under his breath.
"They can stay, but only if they want to." You answer breathily, looking back at your boyfriend.
Yoongi raises an eyebrow, looking at his two friends for their answer. Namjoon runs a thumb across his lip, staring you down. “Show me.”
Hoseok is silent for a moment, and his stare doesn’t move from between your legs. He looks conflicted before he runs a hand through his hair and pulls at the stands.
“Hoseok,” you whine, immediately bringing his attention back up to your face. Your back arches as you so desperately want to come, but you can’t. Not until Hoseok gives his consent. “Please pick, I need- I need to ahh fuck.”
Your needy moans set Hoseok into motion and he’s back to sitting on the couch next to you. Him and Namjoon sit taking in every motion, breath, and moan you make. How your chest rises and falls with unrestrained pants, and how your hips are rocking back and forth trying to get friction against the pulsing vibrator.
“You like this don’t you, them watching?” your boyfriend’s voice cuts through your lustful mind.
“Yes,” you moan, staring at him with lidded eyes. Deciding to give them more of a show, you bring your hands up to cup your breasts, groping them above your clothes. You can feel the men beside you shift in their seats, trying to get more comfortable with their hardening cocks straining against their pants.
With a raspy voice your boyfriend orders, “Then come.”
As if waiting for his voice, your walls clench and euphoria overwhelms you as your orgasm finally hits. You can feel your release gushing out of you, soaking your underwear and jeans even further as your hips jerk wildly. Head tilting back, you moan so loudly that the vibrator picks it up even with the blaring music and convulses harder against your clit.  
With the music continuing to play in the background, your head too fucked out to pick up what it is that is playing anymore, the vibrator continues to pulse against your swollen clit. The pleasure starts to ebb away and it’s becoming too much that you start to get overstimulated.
“Ah, too much, too much.” Groaning your hands leave your breasts to reach for the hem of your pants. Before they can slip under, large hands grab them and pull them to the side. You stare wide eyed at Namjoon who continues to watch you whine and writhe. “Joon, it’s too much.”
“You wanted us to watch you come.” A husky voice growls in your ear. You gasp as Namjoon licks at your ear with a hot tongue before adding, “don’t be greedy now.”
Another hand adorned with rings comes to lay on your leg right above your knee. Slowly, it pulls your legs apart, you didn’t even realize you had them clenched so tightly together while fighting the overstimulation. The wet spot at your core is once again revealed to Hoseok’s hungry gaze. “Look at you, you are so sexy.”
“Ah, please it’s- oh god,” you moan as the pleasure continues to assault you. Your hips are once again rocking and you are not sure if it’s to escape or get closer.
A familiar hand strokes your cheek and you see Yoongi has rolled his chair up to sit in front of you. “Color?” Very early on in your relationship, Yoongi and you started using the color system to monitor the situation. Your heart beats happily knowing he is checking in on you.
“Green,” you pant out. You lean into his touch, lips grazing his palm. “And you?”
“Green,” Yoongi smiles at you fondly, a look that doesn’t quite match the scandalous situation happening in front of him.
His look once again makes your heart flutter and you moan as the vibrations to your clit turn from pain to pleasure. Namjoon’s previous words hit you and you gasp out, “Is it ok if I be greedy?”
Yoongi leans closer and gives you a soft kiss on your forehead, trails his lips down your nose, to press his lips against yours. You moan into the kiss and trail after Yoongi’s lips as he pulls away. ��I love to spoil you.” He whispers before giving you a quick peck and rolling away on his chair.
When Yoongi stops his chair from moving and he looks at Namjoon and Hoseok, his look is serious and dark. “If you two play nice, you can do more than just watch. How does that sound?”
It’s silent for a moment until you sigh when fingers lightly trace up your neck, tickling your skin lightly. It surprises you that Hoseok is acting first after his previous hesitance. Gone is the look of your joyful sunshine friend and is replaced with the charismatic rapper who rules the stage. His fingers pass your chin and trace your soft lips, dipping them shallowly in your mouth. Gently, you nibble playfully on the tips of his fingers before swiping at them with your tongue. “You’re a little vixen, aren’t you?”
The question was obviously rhetoric as he stuffed his fingers further into your mouth. Your tongue wraps around a long digit and sucks down on it. Hoseok curses, closing his eyes for a moment before looking at Yoongi then you again. His ringed hand slides up and kneads your thigh. “I’ll play.” He looks to the other side of you and asks, “Joon?”
With a pop, you slide Hoseok’s fingers out of your mouth to get a good look at the other man. Namjoon is clenching his jaw tightly, looking like a man on his last straw. His voice is a strained whisper in your ear, “are you sure?”
Deciding to be even more bold, you pull your hands free from Namjoon’s hold to trail one up his leg and teasingly rub a finger along his bulge. The man looks like he stopped breathing. He is as still as a statue beneath your touch, but instead of being cold he feels so warm. Desire builds in you like an inferno. “Yes, sir.”
And there goes the final straw.
Hot, hungry lips take your own, devouring you whole. Namjoon eats up your screams as he presses a hand to your core, pressing the vibrator down even further against your clit, making the vibrations even stronger. You continue to mewl into his mouth as lips glide along your neck. Hoseok nibbles on your skin playfully much like you did his fingers, sucking on the base near the junction of your shoulder. He pulls on your shirt, signaling for you to raise your arms. You pull away from Namjoon’s lips just enough for the shirt to pass over your head.
Instead of returning to your lips, Namjoon’s mouth trails scorching kisses down your neck and to your collar bone, just above your cleavage. Hoseok makes quick work of your bra, and once your breasts bounce free, Namjoon resumes his descent, leaving a hot trail with his tongue as he licks at the swell of your breasts to your nipple.    
“She likes when you suck on them.” Yoongi speaks up, giving advice to the man pleasuring your breasts. You moan when Namjoon does what Yoongi says, and your hand weaves into his hair to push on the back of his head, encouraging him to go harder. With hooded eyes, you look at your boyfriend, moaning even louder when you see he has his cock out, stroking himself slowly as he watches the other men touch you.
“Hoseok, you want to show me how wet my girlfriend is now?” Yoongi drawls out.
Hoseok is quick to respond, hands deftly undoing the button and your pants and pulling your zipper down, revealing your underwear. Lifting your hips, both Hoseok and Namjoon work together to pull your pants down past your hip and you kick them off once it pulls at your ankles. Your soaking underwear does nothing to hide your wet, clenching pussy, as the vibrator continues to buzz with the music. Hoseok traces his fingers over the front of the oval vibrator down to your core, cursing at how hot and wet you feel just through the thin barrier of your underwear.
Namjoon reaches down and removes the vibrator, and you cry out, feeling devoid now that the constant buzzing driving you mad with pleasure has disappeared. You pull his hair in displeasure, and squeak once he places the vibrator against your other nipple, pleasure coursing through the erect nub. The look he sends you makes you loosen your hold on his hair, and take it as a warning to behave. He bites your nipple he’s sucking on for good measure to get his point across.
With you distracted, Hoseok pulls at your underwear, sliding them down your legs, and gathering them in a little ball. He tosses them towards Yoongi, who catches them, and runs the thin material between his hands, feeling how you soaked them so thoroughly. You watch spell bound as he brings the panties up to his face and inhales its scent deeply.
The spell is only broken when you feel Hoseok’s ringed hand cup your pussy, gathering up your arousal, and easily sliding one finger inside of you. “Oh fuck, you are so wet.” A second finger slides into you to start scissoring you. “And so fucking tight.”
You’re not sure how much longer you can keep on going with Hoseok’s fingers pounding into you, stretching you out so well, and Namjoon worshiping your breasts. Yoongi picks up on this too, and rolls his chair over to his desk, reddening cock still in his hand and soiled underwear discarded on his lap as he digs through the bottom door. He pulls out a bottle of lube and asks, “Which one of you wants some ass?”
Both men still their actions, staring at you with dark eyes. “Fuck, you really are a dream, aren’t you?” Hosoek rasps, brushing your hair back gently from your face.
Namjoon detaches his mouth from your nipple to turn towards Yoongi, reaching out his hand. “Give it here.”
Yoongi hands Namjoon the bottle and turns to Hoseok. “Why don’t you keep her nice, wet and needy, while Namjoon gets her ready?”
Hoseok is already in motion, turning and putting his feet up on the couch as wide as he can before Yoongi finishes speaking. His shirt goes flying and you barely have any time to admire his skin reveal before the dancer is pulling you into him. He leans back into the arm of the couch with you sitting between his legs and your back pressed against his chest. His legs wrap around yours, exposing your holes to Namjoon who is squeezing a thick glob of lube onto his fingers.
All of a sudden you feel shy as the cold air hits your wet core. Hiding your face into Hoseok’s neck, he once again brushes your hair and asks, “still green, darling?”
You kiss his neck in reassurance and gratitude before saying, “yeah, still green.”
Putting a hand on your neck, Hoseok nuzzles your head, encouraging you from your hiding place. Once you look away, you can feel your mouth salivate at the sight of Namjoon crouched in-between your legs. Once you are looking at him, he gently spreads your ass cheeks with one hand, and circles your tight asshole with a lubed finger. It’s cold and your hips buck at the sensation.
Distracted by Namjoon, you moan when you feel Hoseok’s hand once again stroking your pussy. He helps you relax, allowing Namjoon to slowly insert the tip of his finger into you, making you keen loudly.
“Does that feel good?” Namjoon smirks, twisting his finger.
“Ye- ahhhhh, yes, so nnngh fucking good.” You thrust your hips forward, trying to take more of their fingers into your needy holes.
Namjoon lowers himself further onto the couch, laying right in front of you. His warm breath hits your pussy as he slides his free hand under Hoseok’s arm that is busy fucking you and wraps it around your waist, keeping you still. The finger inside of you wags side to side as Namjoon tsks, “No, no, what did I say about being greedy?”
“But you can still seeeeeeahhhh,” Your words turn into a scream as a second finger is added into your tight asshole. You miss Namjoon’s satisfied grin as your eyes roll to the back of your head. It doesn’t help that Hoseok is curling his fingers into you in a come-hither motion, hitting just the right spot along your inner walls. Their fingers feel so good, you can’t imagine what it’ll be like with both their cocks.
“Oh my god, I’m going to come, I’m going to ahhhh,” you come hard, walls clamping down around their fingers, trying to suck them in as they finger you through your orgasm. Your body is shaking as your mouth is gaping out a now silent cry. If your vision wasn’t blurry from the overwhelming pleasure, you would appreciate the sight of Namjoon’s arm flexing to keep you still, and Hoseok’s veins bulging on his hand as he continues so snap his wrist as his fingers go in and out of you.
It takes a moment for you to come down from your high. Thankfully, Hoseok and Namjoon stop when you whine from overstimulation and don’t egg you on like last time you came. Blinking away the stars from your vision, you see Yoongi behind Hoseok. Your boyfriend reaches around his friend to smooth back your hair lovingly. “You’re doing so good baby. So good.”
Again, you lean into his touch, loving the intimacy he is bringing you to ground you from all the lust.
“Think you are up for one more?” Yoongi asks softly, and while you are exhausted you find yourself nodding. You can’t get the idea of their cocks out of your head, and you crave them so bad.
In the same tone of voice, Yoongi asks, “while they are spoiling you, think you can spoil me?”
Your attention is brought to the straining, leaking, cock in his hand. You lick your lips at the sight. “I think we can work something out.”
It hits you then that you aren’t really sure of the logistics of such a position. Sure, you’ve seen porn of gangbangs before but you never thought you’d be in such a situation. You bite your lip uncertain at what you should do next.
“Don’t worry baby, we got you.” Yoongi reassures you, reading you like a book. “Why don’t you stand up really quick.”
Namjoon stands, helping you off Hoseok. Your legs feel like jelly and you lean into him for support. “Want to help me out?” The broad man waves the bottle of lube at you and you grab it, pouring a generous amount on your hand. Once you are steadier on your feet, Namjoon lets go of you, grabbing the end of his shirt and lifting it over his head in one smooth motion. You can’t help but stare at his chest and he grins knowingly and eats up your attention.
Ever so slowly to tease you, he unzips his pants, pulling them down along with his underwear. His cock springs free and your eyes grow wide at his girth as he steps out of his clothes. Reaching out, you grab his cock, feeling the heavy weight of it in the palm of your hand experimentally. “You’re going to rip me apart.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll go slow, and that’s what the lube is for too.” Namjoon places his hand on yours and guides it up and down his cock, spreading the lube around diligently. He winks at you cheekily, making your heart race. In retaliation, you swipe at his tip with your thumb, making his breath stutter. He sends you that same warning look as before, and you stop, not wanting to risk challenging when his huge cock is about to be stuffed in your asshole.
With Namjoon’s cock thoroughly lubed, you turn back to the couch, and your mind blanks at the sight of seeing Hoseok naked and splayed out on the couch. He is laying on his side, his legs open to reveal his long cock, with his head propped up by his arm. It’s Hoseok’s turn to now wink at you playfully as you ogle him.
A finger taps on the bottom of your chin, closing it from where you were practically drooling at your friend. Namjoon chuckles and nods his head towards Hoseok. “Why don’t you get on? Careful, he has dancer hips.”
Hoseok rotates his hips and thrusts into the air in a rapid succession at hearing Namjoon’s commentary. He laughs as you gulp, and beckons you over with a finger, the same way he moved his hand while inside of you. On shaky legs, you saunter back over to the couch, and Hoseok shifts to lie on his back. You expose your cunt to Hoseok briefly when you swing your leg over the dancer to straddle his hips and he swears under his breath.
“You’re going to ruin me, aren’t you?” Hoseok hisses as you slowly sink down on his cock.
Your too busy gaping as his cock stretches you out to answer so your now also very naked boyfriend answers for you, “She’s good at doing that.”
After having time to adjust, you rock your hips against Hoseoks, making the both of you groan. He bucks up into you and you cry out, as he copies the hard thrusts he was doing earlier. Gradually he slows down, and you feel familiar hands spreading your ass cheeks once again.
“Take a deep breath for me.” Namjoon moves a hand to your back, pushing you gently until you are laying on top of Hoseok.
The dancer below you swivels his hips gently and you leave kisses along his chest to help distract yourself at the prodding hardness at your rear. Ever so slowly Namjoon enters you, and you whine. Despite your preparation you feel the sting of the stretch of his cock as it fills you out. Never had you been so full before, it’s almost too much.
“Breathe.” Your boyfriend’s voice is pulling you back, his hands on your cheeks lift your head. “Breathe.” He repeats and you take a deep breath, not realizing you were holding your breath. “Color.”
“Yellow.” You whimper, and all movement stops. “I’m ok, I just- ah just need some time to adjust.”
“You’re doing so well baby, so well.” Yoongi whispers comfortingly, and gives you soft kisses all across your face. Comforting hands rub circles into your hipss and back, soothing you as you adjust.
“Do you need me to take it out?” Namjoon asks behind you, worry lacing his tone.
You reach behind you, rubbing his thigh reassuringly. “You’re good, just so fucking big.”
He chuckles at that, and gives you a small sorry.
A few more moments pass and the sting goes away. You give an experimental move of your hips, and Namjoon, Hoseok, and you groan at the pleasure caused from your movement. “I’m good now, back to green.”
“You sure?” Yoongi asks, checking you over cautiously.
“Green, green, green,” you repeat, kissing Yoongi after each ‘green’, appreciating that he’s making sure you are safe.
After giving your all clear, the two men with their cocks stuffed inside of you start moving slowly in tandem.
“Ahhhnnnggh fuck, so good, yes, yes, yes,” you start chanting, never having felt so full before. Their pace picks up and you feel utterly wrecked with Namjoon’s massive cock and Hoseok’s erratic hips thrusting into you. You see stars in your vision as you nearly fall limp on top of Hoseok. Instead, you rest his arms on his chest, asking if it was ok. Hoseok moans out a yes, looking as much fucked out as you were. You don’t blame him with the obscene amount you are clenching around him due to his and Namjoon’s handiwork.
“You’re turn honey,” you pant out, stretching further along Hoseok so you can reach your boyfriend’s cock.
Yoongi stands, and runs a hand through your hair caringly. He weaves his hands through your strands and guides your head towards his hard cock, where you lick teasingly at the tip. The deep groan he makes is music to your ears, and you slowly engulf him into your mouth.
Ok, new statement. Now you have never felt so full before with three cocks stuffed into your holes. It’s so much, but you need more. You really are greedy.
Breathing through your nose deeply, you take Yoongi further into your mouth, deep throating him. His grip in your hair tightens and he curses, but his hips say perfectly still. He’s fighting so hard for control, not wanting to hurt you, letting you go at your own pace up and down his cock. Though he accidentally bucks forward softly when a hand comes to play with his balls. Looking down, Yoongi sees Hoseok grin cheekily at him as he continues his ministrations.
Under the loud tones of the music still playing on the speakers and your vibrator buzzing on the couch now quite forgotten, there is the sound of skin slapping on skin as two sets of hips thrust into you, quicker and quicker as time pasts. You let out your moans unashamedly as you suck Yoongi’s cock. Hoseok is the loudest out of the three men, panting underneath you and moaning when you clench around him, which is a lot. Namjoon whispers words of praise in your ear with a raspy voice with the occasional deep grunt.
One thing you have found out about Yoongi after sleeping with him multiple times is that he almost seems to purr when he is experiencing pleasure. It’s quiet, but you love feeling the rumble of it in his chest. Every now and then he’ll also let out a deep groan or moan a curse word in his deep voice. You always found that so sexy.
The pressure inside you keeps building up, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. You want so desperately to fall over the edge, to experience that climax, but you also never want to let this feeling go. So full, so stretched, so loved, so powerful. You were getting your mind fucked out so well.
Hoseok’s hips stutter under you and you know he is getting close. You grind down on him a little harder and it doesn’t take long until he’s exploding inside of you. His hips may have lost their rhythm but it doesn’t stop his ferocity as he fucks his cum into you. You feel his seed sliding out of you and back onto his cock as he continues, determined to help you reach your own high.
It doesn’t take much longer until your screaming, ripping your mouth from Yoongi’s cock as your own orgasm hits. Your walls convulse wildly for a third time and you collapse back onto Hoseok, the both of you writhing as you ride your high. Namjoon follows suit soon after, not lasting long with how your muscles were fluttering around his own cock as well. It didn’t help that yours and Hoseok’s moans set him off as well.
You lay squished between Hoseok and Namjoon, each of you breathing heavily from your powerful orgasms, and are now laying in a pile of entangled limbs. Hoseok continues to massage Yoongi’s balls and Namjoon reaches over you to grab Yoongi’s cock, pumping him hard and fast. You watch entranced as your friends get your boyfriend off, making a heavenly moan rip from his parted lips.
“Come for me baby,” purring, you look your boyfriend in the eye.
Much like how his words drove you over the edge earlier, yours do the same to him. Hot white cum shoots from his cock, spraying most of Namjoon’s back, but some lands on you and Hoseok. The men keep up their attention to Yoongi until he has no more to give and he whines, pulling back from the couch.
You hiss when Namjoon slides out of you, and your ass now feels sadly empty. He once again helps you off Hoseok and lies you down on the other side of the couch. Hoseok sits up, allowing you more room and his eyes rank over your exhausted, fucked out body.
“Have I told you, you are amazing?” Hoseok whispers with adoration in his voice.
Giggling you nod, “Yeah, it’s come up once or twice.”
A warm blanket is carefully draped over you and you cuddle into it. “Thank you Joonie.”
The man runs a hand through your hair before he starts getting dressed. He makes a comment about getting some towels and heads out of the studio.
“Ah, that man. I don’t think he realizes his shirt is inside out.” Hoseok laughs, and hurries to get dressed. “If anyone else sees him like that they’ll know something was up. I’ll go cover him,” and then he is out the door leaving you alone with your boyfriend.
Yoongi sits on the side of the couch, hand instantly reaching out for yours which you intertwine with your own. “You good.”
“Yeah, and you?” You smile, feeling giggly from all your orgasms.
“That was seriously so fucking hot.” He grins, rubbing circles into the back of your palm with this thumb.
“I know right.” You kick the now dead vibrator off the couch. “This thing gets me into so much trouble.”
“Good trouble, right?” Yoongi asks as he sweeps down slowly you kiss you sweetly on the lips.
“The best.”
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lizzy-bennet · 5 years ago
Text
Tale as Old as Time, Song as Old as Rhyme (Beauty and the Beast)
Fandom: Doctor Who Pairing: Whouffaldi Length: 5,000 words Rating: G Also on Ao3 Summary:
Beauty and the Beast AU, or: a fairy tale retelling of the episode ‘Deep Breath.’
There is a prince, the villagers say, who is all things great and terrible. He has a voice that sounds like winter frost and a temper like a burning star. He is older than half the universe, has seen stars be born and civilizations fall, and thinks of a century passing as nothing more than a span of breath.
According to legend, the best part - or maybe, maybe it’s the worst part - is that when he reaches the end of one life, he can go on to the next. He can burn himself up with golden fire, the stories say, and be reborn with a different face, like a phoenix cheating death and rising from the flames, shaking off the ashes of its old self.
He’s a monster, some villagers say. A beast. A madman.
A fairy tale.
#
Clara Oswald (twenty-six and a governess, with far too many books and far too little patience for provincial life) likes to think she’s practical, and practical people don’t believe in silly things like celestial princes who can transform their face. They simply do not waste their time with bedtime stories meant for children.
Which is why Clara won’t admit to anyone that she believes in them, believes they’re as real as the lake that winds through her small, sleepy town or as real as the four walls of her tiny room at the Maitland’s.
If she tells anyone, they’ll tell her that all her reading has ruined her mind, that fantasy and reality don’t bleed together like watercolor paint on a canvas, but Clara knows better.
She knows better, you see, because she’s actually met the prince.
He is the stuff of legend, with stardust in his eyes and eternity in his soul, a high born Gallifreyan, the eleventh prince of the realm, and she is a girl from a small village, who works both as a barmaid and governess and waits and hopes and dreams for the day she can leave and see a world beyond her village. Their paths should never have crossed, and yet they keep meeting, again and again and again, like the universe has decided that their fate’s intertwined. And Clara doesn’t mind, doesn’t mind a bit, because he has a soft voice and a kind smile and gentle hands that somehow always find their way to hers.
She doesn’t truly know him she supposes, their chance meetings are always touch and go, like a brief ripple in a lake, and yet she’s already (hopelessly, desperately, breathlessly) half in love with him, and whenever she looks into his eyes, she swears he’s half in love with her too.
So, no, Clara doesn’t know everything about him, but she knows what sort of a man he is (a good sort, the kind you’d die for, but the kind who’d rather die than ever let you). Which is why she can’t quite believe it when the news reaches her that the ’beast’ in the blue castle up on the hill (how dare they, she thinks when she hears it, how dare they call her prince a beast) has captured her employer, Master Maitland, and is holding him prisoner just to be cruel.
Clara knows that there must be a mistake, that the prince - her prince - would never do a thing like that. So she lays down her book, pulls on her boots, and tells the two frightened Maitland children in her charge that she’s going up to the castle to bring their father back.
#
(She’s never been to the prince’s castle before, but despite this fact, finding her way up to it is not hard. Neither is finding its dungeon.
What’s hard is what happens next.)
Clara‘s fingers are wrapped around the bars of the castle’s prison cell, and she‘s staring at Master Maitland sitting inside. He looks dazed and half-mad, and he’s ranting and raving about incredible things, about a golden glow and a red rose, about how the castle’s bigger on the inside and how there’s a beast there who haunts it and Clara can’t follow it all.
“You stole a rose?” she asks, eyebrows furrowing, mind ticking away like a clock, trying to make sense of this tangled mess of a story he’s telling.
“Not just any rose,” a new, monstrous voice says from somewhere behind Clara, and she recoils against the grey stone wall, cold seeping in through her shawl. The voice that‘s speaking comes from the shadows, curling out from the darkness like mist, and she can’t see the speaker. “It was the last rose of Gallifrey.”
The words register, and the situation hits Clara like a wave upon the shore.
“No,” she whispers, “no, Master Maitland, tell me you didn’t.” “I didn’t know,” her boss sobs, bending his head and dragging it down the bars, “I didn’t know.”
Most people didn’t, Clara supposes. The story sounds like a fairy tale, all fantastic and fanciful: that the last rose of Gallifrey and the prince are connected, that each red velvet petal on it was a life to be lived, and to cause a petal to fall would be to cause the prince to die, to burn himself up and emerge anew.
Regeneration, it’s called. A fancy name, a pretty thing.
It still means death.
“Tell me a petal didn’t fall,” Clara begs the darkness, but even as she says it, she knows that it’s hopeless, that it’s already happened. And yet she can’t help but plead anyway, “Please, please tell me he didn’t change.”
There’s silence from the shadows, and then that voice again, all stoic and sharp like pointed arrows and jagged glass and it cuts her to the core as the voice says, “I did change.” Stars. He’s...the voice is...
The voice belongs to him. She’s been talking to him without even knowing it. And why didn’t he correct her until this moment? Why did her prince not greet her?
Clara says nothing for a minute. It feels as if the air’s getting thin and the walls are closing in, like the ground is crumbling beneath her feet and she cannot find a safe place to land. Clara tries to trace the silhouette in the shadows, tries to piece together a picture of this new man, but she cannot.
“Step into the light,” she says.
Her words hang in the air, half a command, half a dare, and then a man she doesn’t recognize emerges from the darkness.
He has grey hair and anger-filled eyes, and his face is all sharp angles and hard lines. It’s not his change in appearance that makes her heart twist all raw and painful, it’s his demeanor. He stands there, squinting at her, arms stiff at his sides, and the prince, the prince Clara knows, (her prince, she thinks rather possessively), would run to her, kiss her forehead, take her hand. Her prince had sparkled with energy, like a shooting star, all bright and glittering and always in motion.
But even shooting stars fade to nothing eventually.
“Strax?” the man asks, glaring down at her, like she’s some sort of puzzle he can’t figure out. “Clara,” she chokes out. She can’t believe he’s getting her mixed up with one of his odd servants, let alone the one that resembles a rather angry, enchanted potato. “It’s Clara.”
He shrugs. “It might be, you two are very similar heights, so I’m not sure.”
“It is Clara,” she snaps, and her voice comes out angrier than she intends it too, all loud and hard, but she can’t help it, can’t help it that she’s trying to grasp the fact that the man she loves is dead, and yet he still stands in front of her. Insulting her, of all things.
“Well, Clara,” he says, saying her name in a beastly growl, as if it might not really be her name at all, ”the pudding brain in the cell over there stole the last rose of Gallifrey, killing one of my lives. According to the ancient law of my kingdom, the murderer must die too; a life for a life.”
Clara shakes her head in disbelief, in outrage, “That’s stupid.”
“I agree,” he replies, and Clara feels a glimmer of hope that maybe, maybe, maybe her prince is still in there somewhere, buried beneath the grey hair and gravely voice and rude insults. “However, I cannot completely circumvent ancient law without consequences. I can save him from death, but a life still has to be exchanged for a life. He has to remain here as a prisoner.”
Clara glances at Master Maitland, alone in his cell, sentenced to be there forever, and she thinks.
She thinks of her book, 101 Places to See, stuck snug in her shelf, pages unopened and list uncrossed. She thinks of her grand plans and the maps she’s poured over, of adventure in the great wide somewhere and how she wants more, more, more. More of the world and more of the wonders that exist beyond the pages of her books and so much more than this provincial life.
But then she thinks of the two children back home, who only have one living parent left, who have already known far too great a loss at far too young an age. It’s a feeling Clara knows all too well, and there’s still grief from her own loss etched into her memories and onto her skin. She won’t let anyone on this Earth go through what she went through, she decides, not if she can help it.
Which is why she says, “Take me instead.”   #
Clara expects to stay in the prison cell, but Strax (Odd and brown and round and surely enchanted and how, how, how did that beast ever mix her up with him?) leads her down the halls of the blue castle that somehow really does seem bigger on the inside. Whenever Clara thinks that surely, surely they are on the lowest floor, or that they have reached a wall, there is still another spiral staircase downward, or yet another corridor, and the passageways shift and change and shimmer with starlight.
She should be scared, she thinks, she should be absolutely terrified. Clara has always fancied herself as a practical person, and practical people should be frightened of things like glowing walls that rearrange themselves.
But she is not. For once, she thinks, this is something new. This is something brilliant and spectacular and something so, so much more than her sleepy little village with its sleepy little people.
Clara almost forgets that she is being led somewhere and not just exploring (and really, that’s what she’d like to do, push the boundaries of this strange castle just for the fun of seeing how far she can push), when Strax stops abruptly at a door.
“I suggested we disintegrate you in acid,” Strax tells her, plainly and rather pleasantly. “But the Master insists that you are his guest, and that I put you here, in the Belle Room.”
Strax opens the door and a gasp of oh my stars leaves Clara’s lips, because she can see why it’s called the Belle Room. It has marble columns and etched carvings and gold leaf, and stained glass that sends mosaics the colors of rubies and sapphires across the floor.
“He also demands I tell you that you are free to go wherever you like in the castle,” Strax says, and he looks utterly disgusted, like the very idea of letting her wander about instead of locking her up is repulsive. “Even the West Wing, if you can find it. But the castle itself is very peculiar about that wing, probably won’t let you near it anyhow.”
And, yes, Clara could be scared, but all she can think of is how this is the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to her in all her life, that here, there are enchanted corridors that lead to who knows where and the promise of something exciting, something dazzling, and back home...back home there are only orders and lessons and laundry and the same few books she’s read over and over again.
101 Places to See, she thinks. She’ll come for them all, one day, she can swear to that, but for now...this is a promising substitute.
#
His eyes are as blue as a clear winter sky, but his voice is as cold as one. If he’s snapping or snarking at her it’s fine, because Clara has always been able to give as good as she gets. Their fast chatter, their back and forth banter, is a dance she’s familiar with, one that reminds her of her old prince. But him ignoring her, or treating her as if he’s indifferent to her, hurts in a way she can’t quite explain. They used to talk endlessly when they met, packing in a month’s worth of conversation in minutes as she talked about all the places she wanted to go and he told her about all the places he’d been.
But now the only time he bothers to talk to her is when he asks her to dinner.
(“No,” she snaps at his invitation - if you can call a single word said in a flippant manner an invitation. And No is what she always says, because really, how dare he disappear on her all day, every day, and then arrive at her door without so much as a ’Hello’ or ‘Sorry I got you mixed up with an enchanted potato man,’ and pretend he’s a civil person who can eat a civil dinner?
“Impossible girl,” he snaps back at her, which is what he always does.
At any rate, she thinks it’s better that he calls her that instead of calling her Strax.)
#
Clara seeks him out one day. She doesn’t even realize she is, but when she lays eyes on his form - with his coat as black as night with its flashes of red as bright as rose petals - Clara cannot deny that it was him she was looking for.
He’s in the West Wing, which she swears the castle rearranged on her because it’s most definitely not in the West, and she’s not even sure if the small circular room could even be considered a wing.
And it took her nearly three weeks of wandering to find it. (The castle, she thinks, much to her annoyance, doesn’t like her. She wonders if it’s owner feels the same.)
And speaking of it’s owner: his back is to her, and he’s writing on a chalkboard, his long, clever fingers drawing intricate spheres across the black, and the words look like bright white stars bursting forth out of the darkness.
(He writes in a long-dead language, one Clara can’t read, but she thinks...she thinks he’s writing something that’s half poetry, half arithmetic.)
“We used to meet,” she starts off saying, and then she laughs, backtracks, realizes what an understatement that is for whatever really happened between them. “I mean, we’d meet again and again and again, by a pond, behind a pub, in the snow, anywhere. Everywhere. And always on a Wednesday. Why?”
He shrugs. “Wednesdays are nice.”
“Yeah, but he sought me out. Why?” “I,” he corrects her, and beneath his calm demeanor, there’s something like a beastly growl to his words. “I sought you out, Clara. I’m still the same man underneath.”
”Sorry,” she says, and she is sorry, she doesn’t want to hurt him. “I know you’re the same.”
It’s a lie. They both know it. But for now, he lets it slide.
“I was going to ask you to travel with me,” he admits quietly, back still to her.
The idea of him ever offering that to her makes Clara’s heart beat fast, fluttering out a melody against her ribcage. ”Why?”
“I travel frequently, and always with a companion.”
“No,” Clara shuts her eyes, lets out a breath. “No, that’s not what I meant, why would -“ the word he is on the tip of her tongue, but she catches it, changes it, “why would you ask me?” He laughs, “Clara Oswald: Too big of a mind for so small of a town. A governess and a barmaid, with so much practicalness in her actions and yet all those dreams in her mind, so many contradictions all wrapped up in one person. How could I resist?”
Show me the stars, her mind begs him silently, offer to take me away and give me adventure in the great wide somewhere. I’d say yes. “It's a pity you never offered,” she says. She’s testing him, baiting him, and somewhere in the back of her mind she thinks she should feel self-conscious and ashamed, but she doesn’t, because never has she ever wanted anything so badly.
“Yes,” he says, a bit stiffly, “it’s a pity.”
He says nothing more, silence stretching out between them, and though they stand a few feet apart, though Clara is close enough to reach out and take his hand, the divide between them seems to be as wide and fierce as a black hole that can suck down burning stars and swallow entire planets.
Clara steps away, face falling, silently nodding. He says he’s the same man, says he was going to offer to travel with her, but he doesn't offer now. He must not feel the same way about her, she realizes, not anymore.
(She never stops to think that maybe he doesn’t offer because he’s afraid she’ll say no.) # And this is how they are: three steps forward and two steps back. But they keep being drawn to each other, like there is something tying the two of them together.
It’s as if the universe is saying, these two, it will always be these two. Stars may fall and planets may burn, times will change and people will too, but it will always, always, always be them together: Clara Oswald and the last prince of Gallifrey.
Even if they don’t know it yet.
#
“You’re free to go, you know,” he says out of the blue one day, all sudden and Scottish and abrupt, and Clara can’t help but think he’s trying to kick her out. He still hasn’t extended that offer to travel with him, much to her disappointment, and now he’s saying that she can leave. She wonders if he’s gotten tired of having a short, stubborn girl meander about his castle walls (insulting them more often than not) in search of something dazzling.
“You’re no longer my prisoner. You never really ever were,” he admits.
“Never really thought I was,” Clara replies. “Most prison cells don’t look like my room here.”
There’s more to say. That she knew that he may be cold, but never cruel, that she had guessed his blustering and flippancy hid someone who cared. That she’s not scared of him, she’s just...well, she doesn’t think she really knows who he is anymore. Or what he thinks of her. But she says none of that. Instead, she settles for lifting her chin and saying, “Besides, I could have escaped any time I wanted.”
He arches an eyebrow at her.
“I’m very clever you know,” Clara continues, unfazed.
Seconds pass as he stares at her, and then there’s a smirk on the corner of his lips. “Oh, Clara Oswald, I know you are.”
And for the first time since she’s arrived, for the first time since he’s changed, they share a smile.
And Clara swears there might be something there that wasn’t there before.
#
It is a warm summer night with a sky full of stars right outside the windows. There is music playing in the background and this magic, mad, impossible man is rambling on about Beethoven and something called a bootstrap paradox, and so he doesn’t even notice that Clara’s dragging him to the center of the ballroom until they're in the middle of the dance floor.
He pauses in the middle of his spiel, his hypothesis about time streams and melodies stopping mid-sentence as he blinks owlishly at his surroundings and then down at Clara.
“I don’t think I’m a dancing man,” he says, very decidedly.
“I don’t think you get a vote,” she says, pulling him closer.
It is not a waltz, and maybe it’s not even a dance. Because, no, he is not a dancing man, but he does temper his ramblings so they keep in the four-fourths time of the waltz, and he does sway a little from side to side, because Clara insists he try, and he can’t say no. He can’t ever say no to her.
(He almost asks her to travel with him then, she thinks, but he doesn’t. She won’t know why until later.)
#
Because he finally asks her civilly, Clara finally says yes to dinner.
It’s a mistake.
There are automatons, automatons made of clockwork and bone, of cogs and flesh, who hiss out “be our guest,” and trap her and him in their restaurant of death.
But that’s not the worst part. No, the worst part is when he manages to wrench himself free from his chains while she’s still bound, and with one foot out the door, he turns and tells her, “Sorry, they’re coming. No point in us both getting caught.”
And then he disappears, and she is alone, and all she can think of is:
Her prince wouldn’t have left her.
#
The automaton is made of copper and stolen skin and is staring down at Clara through eyes that don’t belong to it.
There are other automatons all around her, with their stolen, sawed-off parts, encircling her like a pack of wolves closing in on their prey and part of her mind is screaming, wondering if they’ll rip out her throat like wolves would too.
She tries to ignore that screaming, terrified part of her mind.
“Where is he,” the automaton ticks out, in a voice that’s both dead and alive. “Where is the prince?”
“I don’t know,” Clara gasps out, “I don’t know.”
“But you know him.”
Does she? she wonders, and the question echoes around in the cavern of her mind over and over again. Clara knows he is wonderful and terrible, both warrior and peacemaker, monster and sanctuary. She knows that, once upon a time, he cared about her very much. She thinks that maybe, just maybe, he still might even if he doesn’t show it.
(Clara can’t be sure though, every day she waits for him to extend the invitation to travel with him, and every day he doesn’t, and so every day she dies inside. He can’t truly be her prince, not if he never asks like he once said he wanted to, not if he doesn’t care to travel with her any longer.) “I don’t know if I still know the prince,” she says, “but if I do, then I know where he will be, where he will always be.”
Clara holds out her hand in the air, palm up, as if she can summon him to her side, as if, out of anywhere in the world he could be, out of every choice he has, he will always choose to be next to her. And maybe he will, she thinks, (oh, he always will, oh, if only she knew,) because the next thing she knows, she’s no longer alone. He’s there, by her side, taking her hand, and pulling her with him to safety.
#
The automatons of death are defeated, and now Clara is back in the castle with its shifting, magic walls, and this impossible man is leading her down one, to a set of doors she’s never seen before.
“Got a present for you,” he tells her, in that gruff growl of his, only this time, it sounds warmer, happier, less beastly. “To make up for the ruined dinner.”
Clara breathes out a laugh, raises an eyebrow, “And for the almost dying?”
He sniffs imperiously, bats his hand dismissively, as if death couldn’t compete with the undignified atrocity of ruined dinner plans. “That too, I suppose.”
He opens the double doors in front of him, and the sight inside nearly leaves Clara breathless. She is staring at a library that looks as if it goes on forever, with books as far as the eye can see. The shelves full of leather bound volumes start at the floor and go on til the ceiling, and Clara steps inside, mind spinning, breath catching, nearly crying because she’s seeing more books in one room in this one moment than she ever has in her entire lifetime.
”How did you know?” She asks, ripping her eyes away from the beauty of the books and back to him. She can’t recall ever talking to him about books since she’s come here, doesn’t think he’s ever caught her reading. “You chose this for me, but how on Earth did you know? That out of every room you could have shown me, that this is the one I’d like?”
He stares at her, and the expression on his face is lonely and lovely and longing and sad, like he’s looking at something he can’t have. “You told me already, explained how you loved books because they were like being able to hold a slice of the universe in your hands. You told me that, the day in the snow, remember?”
Clara blinks, and ever so slowly, the memory comes back to her: Him, with the brown hair and long limbs and different face, listening to her talk about both the books she’d already read and the ones she still wanted to read as the gently falling snow glittered in the streetlights and dusted the pavement.
“That was me you told all those things to,” he says now, and he laughs, and it sounds wistful and bitter and broken. “You can’t see me, can you? You look at me, but you can’t see me. I’m not in the past, Clara, I’m not dead, I’m here, standing in front of you. See me. Please just see me.”
She steps forward, studying at his face, searching for her answer, and it’s like whatever spell between them that has kept her from seeing him finally breaks, because suddenly she sees him, really sees him.
His hair is grey, his skin is lined, and he scowls more often than not. But his eyes are still the same. Not in color and not in shape, but, oh, how had she not seen it there before? He still looks at her like how he always looked at her: like she is the stars and the moon, the sky and the sea. Like she is everything in his world. He reaches for her less, sounds rougher and sometimes ruder than he ever has, but he still loves her, she realizes.
I loved you in my last life, his eyes tell her, I love you in this one, and whoever I am in my next life, I’ll love you in that one too.
Clara reaches out for him, all but collapses against him as she wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him into a hug, and it feels like coming home. This is her prince. He’s always been her prince.
His arms stiffen - he’s not a hugger, this new man - but she hears an almost inaudible exhale, like he had been holding his breath waiting for her verdict, and it sounds like a soft sigh of tired relief, as if he’s relieved to find sanctuary in a place he thought there might be none.
It’s him, her mind chants in time to the rhythm of his two heartbeats, it’s him, it’s him, it’s him. He hadn't changed completely, not in any way that truly counted.
And since it’s him...
“You once told me that there was an invitation you were going to offer me,” Clara whispers, face still pressed against the soft velvet of his coat. “Why didn’t you ever actually ask me?”
“I thought you’d say no.”
“I would never say no to you.”
(And she won’t, not to him.) “Well then, Clara Oswald,” he says, and she pulls back to peer up at him and ah ha, there it is: the smile she’d recognize anywhere, the magic one that’s made of madness and mayhem and glows like every star in the galaxy all at once. “How about adventure in the great wide somewhere?”
She grins back at him.
“Show me the stars,” she says.
(And he does.)
#
There is a prince, the villagers say, who is all things great and terrible. There is girl who is the same, and they rule together. The first time you see them, people say, you think the two of them couldn’t be more different, like they are light and darkness, fire and rain. But the second time you see them, you realize that they couldn’t be more alike, that they are both brilliant and mad and filled with stardust and wanderlust, and that they shine together like they’re two halves of the same star.
Beauty and the beast, some call them. Mad travelers. A fairy tale.
The tales always change, the gossip shifting as it passes from villager to villager,  but when it comes down to it, the facts are these:
In whatever form, in whatever way, in whatever end of history they’re on, and whatever alternate universe they’re in, they will find each other, her and him. It will always, always, always be them: Clara Oswald and the last prince of Gallifrey.
Some people are just meant to be in each other’s lives.
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gement · 5 years ago
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Are there any ‘newer’ parts of the Batman & extended family mythos that you are rejecting for your fic? The conception of Damian, Alfred’s daughter, Thomas & Martha having a troubled marriage/cheating, etc? One of the great things about The Batman mythology is a wide and varied tapestry, his religion/spirituality or lack thereof is only one part of it.
What a great question, @meri47. Thank you for the excuse to talk about this. I’m firmly of the “there sure is a lot of Batman to choose from” school, as is anyone who doesn’t want their brains to explode. It’s one of the things that makes him so powerful as an archetype, is you can go nearly anywhere you like without even leaving canon, because the canon has been fanfic of itself for all but the first mumblety years. (I think I might draw that line at ten years. For most properties, really. After a decade, even a sole author is riffing on their own work, and you can never cross the same river twice.)
In fic of large shared mythologies, my personal preference (unless it’s a very specific divergence or missing scene concept) is “everything is true unless there’s a good reason for it not to be.” Especially for something like my current work, where I’m making some big-picture changes and so have a big-picture world to make decisions about, my decisions tend toward “Yes.”
Yes, every disastrous short-term relationship Bruce has had is canon in Earth-93 unless (as with Jezebel Jet) it’s so bound to a specific Future State precluded by my core plot that it’s unworkable. Yes, if it happened anywhere in B:TAS (the Batman I imprinted on), some version of it has happened or will happen. When I learn about new things, I will immediately test them for a way this could happen.
I had read three Batman trade volumes when I started writing this. None of them were from a main continuity unless you count Neil Gaiman’s Whatever Happened to the Caped Crusader, which is, by the way, also an excellent reflection (and source) of my attitudes on canon. I don’t care if you’re standing right there yelling about it, Joker, that version happened too. (The comic of my heart is Sandman, first and forever.)
I had read three Batman trade volumes when I started writing this. I have since read (or skimmed and ditched) about a hundred others, and the majority of those were also not from a main continuity. I learn about main continuity from wiki articles, and mostly sit there shaking my head; it’s like watching someone explain Homestuck. (This is not a bad thing. I still love trying to explain Homestuck. But it’s not really how I resonate with reading Batman.)
Here’s a photo of the works I found most useful/relevant/enjoyable when I spent a week with my first reader continuously ingesting Batman. Seriously, it’s all we did. For a week. Because I needed to know more, to feel like I really had enough grounding.
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[Image: Stack of 23 books ranging from A Death in the Family to a board-book titled Five Riddles for Robin.]
They’re sorted top to bottom. I would since move those Legends of the Dark Knight volumes higher (the range of those shorts really stuck with me), place The Greatest Batman Stories Ever Told which I had read earlier on the top of the stack, and add Batman R.I.P. near the top. Batman R.I.P. ruled and I want to read more Morrison for sure. But check the top of that stack. The absolutely most important volume of Batman I read, out of a hundred volumes, was Astro City: Confession. The Confessor is a really, really important Batman to me. Batman without poetry is a SWAT team. Batman with all the poetry is the Confessor.
But you asked about a few specific elements of modern continuity:
Damian: His birthday is already recorded in my terrifyingly complete spreadsheet that gives me a rolling calendar of how old everyone is at the point of various events.
Alfred’s daughter: Has barely crossed my radar except for the movie where his daughter was Batgirl, which I’ll go ahead and reject right now. I’ll probably go read about that and then make a decision based on whether it seemed wildly out of character or unworkable for logistical reasons. Otherwise, yeah, she’s in.
Thomas and Martha not being the sunshine and rainbows godlike monuments of Bruce’s memory: Definitely an option. But Thomas being an abusive asshole or going into grimfic about it will not be happening.
Bonus: Pennywaynes? I so very much want to know but my Alfred says it’s none of my business either way and threatened to walk when I tried to dig.
As far as Big Plots, the one I absolutely reject is No Man’s Land. As the current disaster is finally pounding into people’s heads, a city can last about 3 days without its food and medicine supply lines, not a year. It’s just utter bullshit and I can believe that millennialism has wrought scientists who can build freeze guns and heroes so motivated that their joints can take years of swinging between buildings, but I can’t believe a city can run for a year without food.
I’m happy to play 20 Questions on any other major points you’re curious about, but the general policy is “Yes unless there’s a really, really good reason for no.” To my Bruce’s regret, there is no really good reason to exclude Batcow.
[If you’re here without context, the fic in question is Nay, I Can’t Resist Thee.]
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whoviandoodler · 5 years ago
Text
Kanej (part 3)
Oop whoop, I finished another part. Hope you like it x
PART 1  |  PART 2
-----
“Excuse me?” Kaz said, barely containing rage simmering below the cool facade he always kept on. He wanted to hit the grim man in front of him badly and wipe the look off of his face that said ‘None of this is my fault, it must be someone else’s’. His gloved hand squeezed the crow head on top of his cane like he desired nothing more than to shatter it to dust.
“His wife saw me, all right? I couldn’t get the information on when the exchange was happening.”
“Not only did you not manage to get the information.” Kaz uttered quietly, almost pleasantly. “But you also alerted him that someone was looking into what his dealings, so now he will insure precautions, if he doesn’t put a stop to his business entirely.”
“He is greedy, he won’t be able to stop so close to achieving his goal.”
There was no point explaining to Roeder that in a man like the one they were hunting cowardice and paranoia took preference even over money. If he sniffed so much as a whiff of trouble, he would temporarily back away from the game, and Roeder’s mistake smelled as strongly as aged whiskey.
And while the respectable Ravkan merch tanned his respectable face in the Southern Colonies, his money will still make ways to the pockets of a certain Derry Pollet. Kaz had put too much of his energy and time into putting a plan to take Mr. Holland down in an unsuspicious manner to let the golden opportunity go down in flames.
“Go and find out what the Fjerdan ambassadors are up to, and try to be more discreet this time.”
He waited for Roeder to disappear, closing the doors behind him, before he raised his hand to massage his temple. The Dregs couldn’t and wouldn’t be tied to this, but yet another error made him as close as he would get to skittish. He was tired, irritable, and was getting so desperate after another week with no news that he was pathetically close to sending out word that he was looking for her.
That would by all means be impossible, stupid and impulsive, of course. If anyone learnt that the feared and respected captain of the Wraith still had the connection to Kaz Brekker she had when she worked with him, it would cause trouble. Some knew she was the same Wraith who had made the Barrel her home, and baring witness to her skills and hearing the hushed, barely spoken rumours she was a part of breaking into the Ice Court only urged them to silence. For now, that is. If and when they thought they could get something out of knowing of the arrangement, a lot of them would gladly sweep caution under the rug and go for it.
So he swallowed the darkening ball of despair in his throat yet again and went out to do the job himself. He already had the plan of the house in his head, the ins and outs, the locks on the doors, which members spent time in which rooms at which point of day.
Holland wasn’t home tonight. Like every Wednesday from ten o’clock to nearly two the following morning, he was stuck in a gambling den with his rich friends, choking on tobacco smoke and putting hands on whichever girl the place put to work at the moment. His wife was sitting in her parlor, gossiping with her sister and neighbors’ wives about her husband, when he was going to be gone, if it seemed like he was to get them even more money, and so foolishly and unknowingly revealed his deals.
If she saw Roeder like he said she had, her first reaction, according to Kaz’s intuition, would be to run to her guests and let them fuss about her. It would be hours before she thought to call her husband, if she did that at all. Her friends would gush about how they too had seen a burglar, or how an acquaintance of theirs had, and how they wished that the city would be rid of those criminal rats. And while they did that, one of them was going to break into their house, do what thieves did best and disappear without leaving a trace.
It was almost pathetically easy to gain access to Holland’s office. The task that took him the longest was leaving the room in the same mess he had found it in. Papers were scattered all over the desk, along with mugs, some still filled with what smelled to Kaz like a dangerous mix of herbal tea and rum. There were even clothes in the corner, a heap of red cloth that was wet with what could be canal water.
He let those pieces of information sizzle in his brain, and he was about to leave with the papers he had come for when he spotted a half opened envelope on the edge of the desk. Something about it pulled at him even from afar and he had no reason at all to resist the temptation.
After he had made sure that no one was approaching the room, he made his way over.
He took the curiousity in his hand, noting the ripples of water in a corner, and let its contents spill into his hand. Then the world swayed sideways and took his heart with it, starting the buzzing in his ears. On his glove sat a neat pile of shiny black hair, a few inches long. Hair was an odd thing to mail to someone, but what choked him up was the piece of cloth that tied it together. The pattern of it was intricate, blue waves with small crows that held cheery purple flowers in their beaks, and unique to the shawl he had gifted Inej two years ago for her twentieth birthday.
He couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. Everything around him was a blur of colours, a reality painted wrong. He only became aware he was shaking when he nearly dropped the bundle of hair. A switch turned on inside him, the same one that had when he was a child gripping his brother’s corpse to get away, to stay alive, and he put it back the way it was. He practically had to tear his arm away from it, from that piece of her no one had a right to own, but he managed to get to the window, lock it behind him and make his way to the ground.
He still had enough sense to keep to the shadows and avoid the street lamps that would reveal him to passerbys and inquisitive inhabitants of the district, but he stumbled on a bridge near the Slat and almost fell into the dark water. Thoughts easily slipped by his shaken defenses and brought on old memories, terrifying him to the core. He had to grip the unsteady railing to get back the feeling of ownership over his own body.
He imagined Inej’s voice so words she had said at one moment or another spilled over each other, leaving them all devoid of meaning. It didn’t matter, however, as the sole tone of it calmed his wildly beating heart and trembling hands. Kaz, she would say comfortingly. Just his name, just a reminder he was here and now and alive and something more than a drowning child whose name there was no one left to remember.
Come on, come on, he urged himself as he stood back up and turned to the Slat.
He rushed into his office expecting the room to be empty and ready for him to sit down and think, only to find Jesper pacing in the limited space with his long strides, hands behind his back, usually bright face creased with worry and gloom. His eyes widened with short-termed relief when Kaz barged in.
“Oh, thank Ghezen, I thought you would stay out there forever. There’s a huge problem.” He hesitated just a second, as if he was debating if telling Kaz what he had waited there over an hour to inform him of was a good idea. “It’s about Inej.”
Dark hands clenched his gut, dripping with malice and fury. Kaz was glad for it, for that familiar and often blinding, but always distracting accomplice that made him want to burn the world around him. That raw rage that now made him push Jesper against the wall by his collar was something that woke discomfort in him on a normal occasion, an anomaly that made him miss important details that he couldn’t afford to miss, a phantom that threatened to drive sense and whatever scraps of humanity he had left from him.
“Where is she?”
Jepser gripped Kaz’s wrist, trying to push him back, but he didn’t reach for his guns. “Calm down, Kaz. Choking me to death isn’t going to help anything.” He wheezed out, hoping he won’t have to take a swing at his friend.
As if it finally dawned on him, Kaz let him go and took a step back. “What do you know?”
“Loe and Oliander are at the mansion. Oliander is out of it and half dead. Loe is beaten up pretty bad, but she’s conscious and talking. She said... she said they caught trace of some guy they were chasing, and made a pass at him, but he surprised them and almost killed them all and destroyed the ship. Inej covered everyone’s back until they could get away. She was captured.”
Jesper’s shoulders sank even further. His hands came to rest on his guns, as if seeking comfort from the cold, valuable metal.
“When?” Kaz asked with all the calm he could gather. To think he would need to be cool, calm and collected, and to plan he would need to think.
“I don’t know, I didn’t stay long enough to find out. I came here as soon as she said they got Inej.”
“We’re going, now.”
They walked out at an unnervingly slow pace. Jesper said nothing until they were out of the rowdy and loud building, though he almost skipped instead of striding, like most of his nervousness concentrated in his feet.
“Wylan called the doctor, one of those discreet, hush-hush medics that don’t gossip to anyone about their patients. He’s keeping an eye on both of them and trying to help them as much as he can. You know he took an interest in medicine as of late, so I have to read to him for hours about the most boring of things, but as usual he’s catching on pretty quickly.”
Kaz ignored Jesper’s rambling and instead made way to the Van Eck mansion. The scenery quickly changed from the ruin, despair and impropriety of the Barrel to fancy houses that hid all those same, core, human sins behind pretty walls and expensive clothes. That was Ketterdam for you, so small that all of that was packed next to each other, like a piece of work made by an ironic artist. Cheap and extra practically on top of one another, both worlds pretending the other is a mile away rather than an inch.
He got through the unlocked front door and headed for the living room. There on the couch half-lied, half-sat Loe Ji Kien, Inej’s first mate. Her brown hair was a tangled, soaked mess, pulled back carelessly to reveal her bloodshot light brown eyes. An ugly bruise made home on one side of her strong, square chin, but the fading mix of sour colours was nothing compared to the pattern of healing wounds and blemishes on her revealed arms, stomach and calves.
Kaz felt sorry for her state. He had known her for a while now, though they only met a dozen or so times over the years she worked with Inej. She was born and raised in Shu Han, in some faraway village that probably counted no more than a few hundred residents, and when her parents died she found a job on one of the ships, dressing as a boy, until she earned enough trust and trusted enough to give her identity to a captain who accepted her and helped her make a name for herself.
Or so she told him.
There was more to that story, Kaz didn’t doubt, but there was always more to everyone’s tales.
Still, what she looked like now couldn’t matter as much as the pressing questions in his throat. He wished selfishly that it was Inej there. He would rather have her injured and at arm’s reach, than somewhere across the damned ocean that had taken her.
“Ji Kien.” He called out.
Her head whipped around and she sat up fully despite the protests of her red-haired host seated on the arm of the sofa. “Brekker.” Her raspy voice replied.
Kaz dragged one of the parlor chairs and sat right in front of her, so their eyes were level with each other. He laid his cane over his knees, wishing in some far corner of his mind he could stretch his leg and rest it after all the heatless strain he had put it under the past few weeks.
“Who has her?” he asked, though something inside him already told him he knew the answer.
“Pollet.”
The dark pit in his stomach opened up and swallowed him whole. He had this feeling for months, this sense of inexplicable dread that would wash over him at oddest of moments, like something was terribly off. Inej had told him that fear meant something was coming, and now he understood that perfectly.
He dug his fingers into the wall of that pit, dragged himself up by his nails until he could gulp air again. He oiled his brain up and leaned back, squashing whichever emotions might’ve seeped through his indifferent mask, still not taking his eyes away from Loe’s.
“Tell me everything, from the beginning.”
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baronccorbin · 5 years ago
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Best Friends
Paring: Dean x Reader  Prompt: Imagine Dean being your best friend but never telling you how he actually felt about you. Imagine him finding out that you had sex with his best friend Part 1 Word count: 2,557 Warnings: Smut, jealous Dean, dirty talking?, 18+
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You knew you had no reason to feel the way you did, but you felt the guilt anyways. It was stupid really, how you had been beating yourself up for what you did when you had no reason for doing so.
Dean was your best friend, the best friend had had been there for you when no one else was, the best friend that got you ice-cream and chick flick movies every time you had a bad break up, or simply because you were sad. The best friend you were hopelessly in love with.
You had a great relationship, if people saw you on the streets or at restaurants they would probably think that you were dating, it had a lot to do with the way you looked at him, like he was the only man in the world for you, and in some way he was. And sometimes he would look at you or act like he felt the same toward you, but when you thought he was going to make a move or just say something about it, he would back off.
It was frustrating, really. And you knew you couldn’t wait for him forever, but the thing is that you did, you waited for him, you stopped dating in hopes of him finally making a move, to say something, to love you like you loved him, but he didn’t.
Two nights ago you were out with him and some of your friends, there was his best friend, Sam. He was a really nice guy, caring and you couldn’t deny the fact that he was attractive. It took you some beers, three shots of tequila and seeing how Dean danced with some bimbo to end up with him, on his bed, naked.
You were both drunk, really drunk and the next morning the memories were a blur, but you both knew what you did and well… you both regret it. Sam had this really massive crush on a girl named Jess and when you told him about how you felt toward Dean you decided that it was for the best to never talk about what happened again.
But still you couldn’t stop feeling like you betrayed Dean, like some sick part of your brain thought that you were together and that same part of your brain kept reminding you of how bad of a person you were, even when you weren’t. Sighing you decided to take a bath, ignoring all your phone calls or messages, they were most of them from Dean, but you weren’t ready to talk to him yet, you knew that if you saw him you would end up telling everything at a first ‘Hello’. So you stripped off your clothes and got into the warm, bubbly water. Trying to forget about Dean Winchester.
-
Dean on the other hand was furious, angry at Sam because he touched someone that belonged to him, angry at you for getting drunk that night and sleeping with his best friend, but he was angry with himself. He was angry because he never told you how he felt towards you, he never acted on his feelings and now he had to deal with the consequences.
He felt a wave of relief when Sam told him that you weren’t actually together, and that you agreed to not talk about that night again, it almost calmed him down, almost. It was funny how that night he danced and flirted with those girls just to make you jealous, he thought that you were going to react and scare all the girls away from him claiming him as yours, because he was yours, but you didn’t, instead you slept with Sam.
Dean looked at himself on the mirror, his eyes were wide, his jaw clenched, jealousy written all over his face. He growled, smacking his fist on the mirror, breaking it in little pieces. He left the the bathroom not before breaking some other stuff and sat on his bed to think. He thought about how life would be if he let his anger break you two apart, he thought about a life without you on it and he didn’t like it, not one bit.
He shook his head, no… he wasn’t having it, he would hate a life without you on it, and he wasn’t ready to spend more nights breaking mirrors and being angry because you slept with someone else. You were his and only his, and he was going to prove that to you.
-
You set the hair dryer down, groaning as you heard the door bell. You had just finished drying your hair and you were only wearing a white button-up shirt, you sighed, deciding to go and look who it was, not changing what you were wearing, if it wasn’t someone extremely important you were going to pretend you weren’t home.
You looked at the peephole, closing your eyes as you saw Dean standing there, ringing the doorbell impatiently. You rested your head on the door, not making any sound. You weren’t ready to see him, you couldn’t. Feeling all the relaxation from the bath leaving your body you grabbed the door knob, pausing.
“Come on, Y/N” Dean knocked the door this time “I know you are there”
Sighing you unlocked the door and opened it, Dean was going to say something but the words got stuck when he saw you, the white shirt stopped covering at your mid thigh, the first three buttons were open revealing a good amount of cleavage and the thin material let your nipples on full display.
“Dean?” your voice brought him back to reality
“Yes” he nodded “Were you expecting someone else? Someone like Sam?” he couldn’t take the bitterness out of his voice.
“Come in” you sighed, there was no way to deny it, so you just got mentally ready to be yelled at.
“You are not even going to deny it?” Dean asked as you made your way towards the kitchen
“It seems like you already know what happened” you shrugged, trying to act indifferent when in reality you wanted to beg for forgiveness “I thought Sam was trustworthy” you mumbled the last part, leaning on the kitchen island.
“Me too” Dean grunted getting closer to you
You turned around to face him, your lower back hit the table making you wince a little, but you didn’t give it much thought, not with Dean getting closer to you, not with his eyes burning every body part he looked at.
“What are you doing here Dean?” you asked, sounding out of breath
“You weren’t answering my calls” he stated, walking closer until his face was a few inches away from yours
“I was taking a bath” you breathed out, following the movement of his lips
“You slept with my best friend” he grunted, making you shiver
“So w-what?”
“You are mine” he simply said before connecting your lips together.
Everything happened so fast you almost felt dizzy, all of the sudden you were sitting on the table, legs wrapped around Dean’s waist. One of his arms was wrapped around you while the other roamed your body, his soft lips never leaving yours.
His hand cupped your right breast making you moan when his thumb rubbed your hardened nipple, Dean growled using both of his hands to rip the shirt apart, the buttons flying everywhere but you couldn’t care less, not when Dean looked at your breasts like he was dying to taste them, licking his lips as he looked at you.
“These” he started, cupping your boobs with both hands “these perfect tits are mine” he squeezed them gently making your back arch “mine to play with them” he pinched your nipples softly, tugging them and letting them go “mine to taste” he groaned, attaching his hot wet mouth to your right bud, sucking it harshly
“Dean” you moaned, tugging his shirt. He got the hint, letting go of your nipple he lifted his shirt over his head, leaving his delicious chest naked in front of you
“Like what you see?” he smirked, you bit your lip, nodding You took the remains of your shirt off, resting your heels against the table leaving yourself fully exposed to him.
“Damn it” he sighed, lowering his face to your wet core, resting his nose in you mound he inhaled “you smell so good” he groaned before attaching his mouth on your pussy. His tongue eagerly seeking for your entrance.
“Dean” you moaned when you felt his wet tongue thrusting inside of you, his nose rubbing your swollen clit.
Your hands clenched around the edge of the table, lifting your hips to rub yourself against his face. Dean quickly stopped you, resting one hand on your abdomen to keep you down, his mouth never stopping its assault against your core.
“Stay put” he groaned against your flesh, making you mewl, the vibrations of his voice driving you crazy.
“Please” you moaned, throwing your head back as you felt your climax approaching.
“No” he grunted, detaching his mouth from you, making you whine at the lost of his touch
“Dean” you breathed out “Please” looking at him with pleading eyes
“You are going to cum until I think you deserve it” he simply stated “If you cum without my consent I’m going to leave, but if you are a good girl for me, I’m going to give you the best orgasm of your life” he leaned down on you core again, his hot breath hitting your wet skin making you shiver “Are you going to be a good girl?” he asked, sinking his teeth on your mound, nipping it softly
“Yes” you moaned, you knew that you would have done anything just to cum right there, but you wanted to fuck him, so you were going to do everything he asked you to do.
He loved the power he had over you, how you were giving yourself to him fully. He wanted to make you come, but he also wanted to know what made you moan or scream, he wanted to know how much you could take, how long it was going to take you to start begging for his cock.
He opened your pussy with his thumbs, moaning at the sight of your juices dripping from your entrance. The tip of his tongue came out to play with your clit, licking it slightly just to tease you, making you squirm under his hand. He sucked the bundle of nerves on his mouth, enjoying your moans and pleas as he entered two fingers, moaning as he felt how tight and wet you were.
“Dean, please” you moaned, as he felt your walls clenching around his fingers
“No” he growled, slapping your thigh making you gasp in surprise. He stopped for a minute, letting your orgasm die before returning to his previous actions.
You didn’t know how much you could take, you felt your body burning and the knot in your stomach was ready to explode, you felt yourself almost letting go when he switched his movements, his thumb went to your clit, rubbing it harshly as his tongue entered your pussy.
“Dean” you screamed, trying to hold your orgasm “I… i c-can’t t-take m-more” you almost sobbed, the pleasure being too much
Dean stopped again, smiled as he looked at you, pleased to have you so desperate for release
“Come here” he grabbed you, kissing you softly as he carried you to your bedroom “I want you in all fours” he commanded as he left you on the bed
You obeyed immediately, ready to be fucked by him, your body begging for release. Dean kneeled behind you, his hands rubbing your ass cheeks, making your realize what was coming.
His hand spanked your right cheek, making you groan at the pang of pain. “That was for teasing me for three years” he grunted, rubbing your red cheek
*Smack*
“That was for sleeping with with my best friend” he kissed that one, slowly licking across the red print he left
*Spank*
“And that one was because you’re mine and you need to understand it”
“Dean” you moaned, the pain of the spanking only making you wetter “Please”
“Look at you” he grunted, grabbing a fist of your hair, but being sure that he didn’t hurt you “such a cock slut” he grabbed his cock and rubbed the tip against your folds “but only for me” was the last thing he said before thrusting into you.
Your hands fisted the bed sheets as he used your hair to pull you towards his cock, one hand rested on your lower back to keep your hips down as he pounded into you, his cock hitting your g-spot every time he thrusted in.
“Dean” you moaned “F-faster” you choked out
“You want it faster, huh?” he grunted, “ask nicely, like a good girl” he teased, not changing his pace
“Please, Dean” you moaned, arching your back “plase fuck me harder” you begged
“Shit” he groaned, thrusting into you faster and harder than before, the obscene sounds of your wetness feeling the room “my little slut likes it rough, huh?” he grunted, using one of his hands to rub your clit
“Yes… FUCK! Yes!” you kept screaming, feeling the sweet release approaching you once again, the knot in your stomach was waiting to explode even harder than before “Please let me cum” you begged, tears running through your cheeks, the pleasure he was giving your was almost unbearable.
“Cum” was all he said, was all he needed to say. You exploited, screams of his name leaving your mouth until your throat ached, your vision blurry and your legs trembled as you squirted your juices as over the bed
“Fuck” Dean moaned, the pleasure of your pussy clenching around him and the sight of you squirting for him sending him over the edge “Y/N” he yelled as he filled you with his hot seed, falling beside you when you couldn’t take it anymore.
The last thing you heard was a 'I love you’ from him before you fell asleep.
-
“Y/N?” you woke up a few hours later, the sun was out and hurting your eyes, you heard a chuckle behind you and turned around, wincing at the sore feeling between your legs “are you okay?” concern washed over Dean’s features
“Just a little sore” you smiled, snuggling closer to him
“I’m sorry” he said, making you look at him “I’m sorry for not telling you about my feelings, I’m sorry about those girls I flirted with in front of you, I’m sorry about hurting you last night” he sighed, looking at your eyes with sorrow and regret on them
“Don’t” you whispered, kissing his lips softly “I love you” you breathed out against his mouth
“Thank God” he grunted, kissing you harder
“Last night was amazing” you broke the kiss to look at him “So what if I can’t walk for a week? It only means that I don’t get to leave the bed” you smiled
“I guess that since I was the one provoking it, I have to stay here too” Dean sighed, faking annoyance
“I could call Sam” you shrugged, arching an eyebrow
“Mine” he grunted before kissing you roughly “Only mine”
“Yours” you smiled
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daughterofsohoriots · 5 years ago
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'cause whenever I close my eyes (I'm chasing your tail lights)
It took Kara a while to figure out that something was wrong with Lena but even then, Kara put the blame on Lex’s death - Lena was grieving. It took Lena to flinch at one of their hugs to Kara to realize that whatever was wrong, it was not because of Lex, at least it was not only because of him but also because of herself. When Kara finally addressed the huge elephant in the room, it only took the look of betrayal on Lena’s eyes to Kara to understand - Lena had found out the truth (and by someone else’s mouth).
It’s just another trivial night where Kara can’t sleep. By now, she is used to the sleepless nights. During the day, she is always busy between her two jobs, so it’s easier to pretend that there is not a huge gap in her life. But when the night comes, she lets herself to ruminate about Lena and her brain relishes on that freedom: her tireless brain keeps running laps between so many memories of Lena - the meals they shared, the laughs and the confidences, the lingering touches, the half-words that meant full promises, and the hugs. Oh Rao, the hugs! She misses more than everything to have Lena in her arms, even if it was just for a millisecond. A millisecond where she could close her eyes and forget the whole world, rules and expectations, and just be Kara who was holding the woman she loved above everything else. She also misses the increasing fierceness of Lena’s hugs (she remembers how it used to be in the beginning, like Lena’s was not used to it, like she was testing the waters and finally, finally had decided that Kara was safe, that she was worthy).
Her mind is so tangled in all the things that she misses about Lena that it takes her a little to understand that her phone is ringing. When Kara grabs it, she almost drops it when it shows ‘Lena Luthor’ on the screen. It feels like forever since she heard Lena’s voice, and her heart is pumping so fast and so hard that she can’t hear or feel anything else. When she finally picks up, she is greeted with:
“Once you told me that I shouldn’t ask for your real name because it was something a Luthor didn’t deserve, that we hadn’t the right to ask that to your family,” Lena starts, “By now me and Kara, we, already knew each other for some time. It was my name the reason you couldn’t trust me? Because I am just a Luthor?”
“No, of course not,” Kara tries to say but there is so much to say, to explain, to beg, so many emotions and stupid rationalizations, that her tongue feels heavy and the words she practices almost every day vanish from her brain, “you are much more than just a Luthor to me. You mean so many different things to me, Lena, and your name was never part of it.”
“So it was just being me that made me unworthy of your trust?” Lena retaliates.
“It was never a question of trust,” Kara tries to explain, “well, maybe in the beginning, but it took so little for me to trust you. You were nothing like I expected you to be, you were so kind and honest that I couldn’t stop coming back for more. It was the easiest simplest thing to become your friend.”
Kara takes a deep breath and she waits for something, for a reply. When it never comes, she continues.
“You became such a core part of my life so quickly. You were the only one I could be just Kara with. This doesn’t mean I didn’t want to tell you. I almost told you when we were coming back from Kaznia, I took my glasses off and I was just waiting for you to turn around.”
“Why didn’t you?” Lena asks, skepticism molding her voice.
“Because I knew I would lose you and I didn’t want to be another person who had hurt you, who had broken your trust,” there is a trembling in her voice that Kara can’t control, “In the end, the mere thought of losing your friendship turn me into a selfish coward.”
Kara doesn’t get an answer but she hopes her explanation was good enough for tonight.
...
Kara waits for another call. Or a mail. Or for some smoke signals. But there is only silence, for days, for weeks.
Kara is almost ready to say screw this and to stalk Lena or to cuff herself to her friend until she gets the forgiveness she needs, until she gets her best friend back. But Lena needs time and space and so that is what Kara is trying (really, really hard) to give to her. But in the end, even with all the distance and the silence, they are still so connected because almost like Lena could read her mind, she calls.
“Why did you become my friend? It was the easiest way for you to spy me? To declare me as a threat or as harmless?” Lena asks.
“It was never because of it,” Kara simply says, ”even when everyone warned me about you, all I could think was that I wanted you in my life. You saw me”
Kara more than hear can feel Lena’s scoff.
“Well, apparently, I really didn’t see you.”
It hurts more than Kara can admit, Lena’s jab.
“No, listen to me, Lena”, she begs, “you saw me, you saw everything I was trying to be. I was so lost before that first meeting but then there were you, so blunt and bold and beautiful, and you took my breath away. You moved my world from its axis. I found myself when I found you, when you found me.”
There are tears in her eyes but Kara is so tired of pretending to be okay. Sometimes it feels like there is an anchor pushing her down and that weight is too heavy even for her kryptonian physiology.
“Lena,” she says her name like a prayer, like the magic world to paradise, “I miss you.”
All she hears is silence.
...
Like everything else in their friendship, they easily fall on a routine. Once a week, Lena calls her at night, probably when she gets home after working too hard for too many hours. Sometimes Kara pictures her on the sofa with her legs folded underneath her and a glass of red wine at her disposition. Other times she pictures Lena in bed, lying under the sheets, with her eyes closed and her phone pressed tightly against her hear. The thought that she is the last thing on Lena’s mind before sleep comforts Kara.
This time it is not Lena calling her, but the other way around. There are days when everything sucks: your skin is too tight, people’s voices are too loud, their opinions too vicious, you feel alone in a room full of people, you feel stuck. Kara feels like flying and flying and flying until she forgets everything until she stops feeling.
She hopes Lena picks up but she doesn’t expect it.
“Hello?” she hears Lena’s voice and she can’t take it anymore. Her breath comes in violent waves, she feels heavy, the light is too harmful. She loses contact with reality. She is drowning in perfect excuses and lies and a disciplined dichotomy between feeling and being steady, perfect, a hero.
“Is everything okay?” Lena’s murmur reverberates in her blood like it is a thunder “Kara, please, talk to me.”
The worry she can hear in Lena’s voice intoxicates her like a chanting of she still cares but there is another part, quieter but relentless, that burns and marks her skin with vile words and doubt and fear: she doesn’t care about me, she cares about being right, she cares about her pride. Lena must be able to hear the ragged breaths that are leaving Kara’s body, because she keeps repeating Hold on to my voice, like that is not what she is been doing for the last weeks, like a starving woman surviving with some crumbs.
“Everything is going to be fine,” Lena says. And Kara loses it.
“Is it? Can you promise me that, Lena?” she can feel the dam that keeps her emotions controlled break and she can’t do nothing to stop it, “How can you say that when you are keeping me at miles? When you call me and you get just enough to convince yourself of something and then you leave me again?”
The tears start to fall once again, violently, and she can’t stop them even if she wanted it. She wants to feel and destroy and scream and to run away. She wants Lena to understand how shattered she is and maybe she wants hurt Lena just a little, to see if her pristine façade stands.
“You keep coming back and then leaving and every second in between, I wonder if you are going to call again!” She screams. She breaks. She hangs up for the first time.
The next day, Kara texts her an I am sorry.
“I am scared that when I see you again, all I will feel is mistrust and pain”, she hears Lena whispering, “that I will doubt every word and that I will replay your every move at night searching for a sign of deception and that it will always be a whisper in the back of my mind saying that you are lying to me... again.”
Kara’s heart breaks over again (like it was not already in minuscule bits scattered around). Through all those weeks, she had kept an optimistic view of the whole situation: she and Lena would be okay, nothing could break them apart for good. But now hearing Lena’s hesitation and fear, suddenly she couldn’t stop wondering - what if it was over? She couldn’t (and wouldn’t) accept a reality where Lena didn’t believe her friendship, her devotion, her love.
“But then I think about all the times you saved me,” Lena whimpers quietly and takes a deep breath as if gathering courage, “all the times you stood up for me, all the times you chose me and, just for a moment, I let myself to believe you, and I feel whole again, because your love is everything to me.”
There is a sad chuckle that accompanies Lena’s words. It’s the saddest sound Kara ever heard.
“I am scared, Kara,” she continues, “and how I am supposed to not feel like this when you were the one who made me feel safe in the first place?”
There are nights where Lena calls her to talk about some scientific article. Other nights to badmouth some asshole executive. Both pretend that they aren’t just poor excuses.
Tonight they talk for hours. When Kara goes quiet, Lena asks:
“Are you still there?”
“Always,” Kara answers.
And it almost feels like everything is back to normalcy. No, Kara corrects herself, it feels like coming home.
“I think I am ready,” is the first thing Lena says when Kara picks up.
“Ready?” Kara inquires.
“To see you.”
It’s been months since Kara had Lena in front of her eyes. And it takes all of her willpower to stop herself from running to Lena and gather her in her arms. Lena is beautiful as always, composed and brilliant and so much more than anyone should ever be able to. When Lena’s eyes find her across the busy restaurant there is a moment of hesitation. And Kara’s world trembles.
But then Lena smiles. And Kara knows everything will be fine. They are going to be alright because in the end, they are stronger together even if they are a Luthor and a Super.
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barbika1508 · 6 years ago
Text
The awakening (Demon! Yoongi x Reader)
Part 2
Word Count: 7,8k
Genre: Demon! BTS, Demon Au, Prince Au, Angst, Romance
Pairing: Demon! Yoongi x Reader
Character appearance: Park Jimin, Kim Seokjin, Kim Namjoon, Jung Hoseok, Kim Taehyung, Jeon Jeongguk
Warnings: Cursing, Graphic violence, Blood, Degrading / Humiliation
Authors Note: The spacing, and the words written in Italic means it’s a flashback/ memory
Summary: Y/N is a mere human, who one day unsuspectingly fell into hell. And not just a random part of hell or the top level, no she fell right inside the mansion where the prince of darkness lives. Instead of casting her back to earth, or imprison her because it’s hell after all he decides to spare her life. But the prince of darkness who may be the most powerful demon to walk to earth and rule hell, still is a growing young man who has to face all types of threats. Maybe she is one too?
Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3
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Walking through the palaces hallways now has a whole new meaning. Only a day ago, it felt too big, too cold. Still majestic but untouchable, forever a mystery to my clouded brain. I had thought and assumed that everything here is old and very expensive which it is, and I would hate for the frescos, artwork, and statues and other art items, and weaponry that has historical meaning to go to waste. But now I’m not afraid of it like I was. When I thought I was a human, I observed the beauties but with a naïve mind and perspective. Now I know the meaning of almost all the pieces on display and even though the boys explained the stories behind them without holding back the gory details and told them accurately its still different, because I can admire them without the ignorance.
And the palace isn’t so strange and confusing, a labyrinth which I keep labelling it. It did give me the perfect excuse for someone to always be by my side as in the human state of mind I didn’t like being left alone when wondering around. Now I know exactly where I am, and where do I have to go without anyone having to guide me or hold my hand practically. I actually know almost every nook and crany of this ‘mansion’ as humans would call it. And they aren’t entirely wrong but it is more of a fortress than it is a royal palace. I think even the current residents here don’t know about the many secrets buried underneath it where I don’t think demons would even think to look or the hidden rooms masterfully masked between walls. I mean we are in hell, and as I know the common opinion of hell is that is located in the deepest part of earth. But its so much more than it being in earth. It contains so many levels leading up to the core and it is otherworldly. Its to complex for me to go into details about it even I haven’t been that privileged to have been explained how it all began, and our existence alone exactly. But I am one of the few “lucky” fuckers that had the misfortune to see the very debts where only Satan visits occasionally because even he’s not too keen on that place from what I’ve heard. But as someone wise said I don’t know when or who said it; hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil.
My steps slow down as I find myself in the middle of the hallway, on my right hung up is a familiar painting still untouched and colourful as the day it was finished being painted. A renaissance piece, that humankind hasn’t seen as well as no angel kin laid eyes upon it. It was stolen from one of the great artists who I will leave nameless, and it represents what future hold for us as the scene hasn’t happened yet. The artists was a descendant of angels, and most of his paintings, drawings even sketches were actually visions. Past, present and future which he painted. Many tried taking him out, which was annoying because he was a very nice guy. I had fun protecting him. Such a shame he died. I did offer to turn him, but he was more lenient towards the “light” as if that’s a big difference. Light or shadows. Pfff. We’re all the same. All killers. But we admit it, whereas the angels that humans cherish more don’t admit they commit sins.
I stare at the giant painting with narrowed eyes. Out of all the pieces in the palace, this was the one I liked the most just a day ago with my human way of thinking. And it says a lot. Even when my mind was misted, you can’t change fate.
The paintings picture and story is clear. War is coming. And this time its going to be, revolutionary. Probably will determine how the world is going to work, but anew.
And I’m not a braggy person, really, I’m not its why I’m only a general I’ve denied all and every kind of engagement proposition even when I was forced into them, I got out. And yet there I am, drawn almost in the centre of the piece, adorned in silver armour, splatter of blood covering my front and sword which is now comfortably balanced in my right hand. It is drawn with all the details, some old some new, only the front is covered in blood. My face is twisted into sort of a grimace but I’m clearly doing a war cry. I look fierce, ready to kill anyone and every one in my way. And now that I have met the demons who protect his majesty I can easily connect the dots and spot them in the picture.
Poor Jeongguk he’s stuck with werewolves again. Taehyung is right behind him, watching his back while Jimin is the only one displaying his powers shamelessly.
Namjoon is at the head shouting too, sword raised up and troops behind him of charging men following his command. Hoseok is on the right side, battling an angel the glint in his eyes murderous. That only leaves Yoongi. His expression is the same as always actually. Stone cold, almost bored looking. And it’s scary, a scary expression to have in the midst of so much death. I tilt my head examining him, trying to see where his shadows are but a noise echoes down the hallway making my head snap forward only to see Namjoon approaching me from the doors on the far end of this corridor. I spare a glance at the painting one more time remembering it’s covered in a layer of mist by the artists himself. Its only clear to my eyes especially the faces, and the prophecy which was whispered in my ear. My hand tingles as I remember how the blade ran over my palm drawing blood, to seal the blood oath, secret left in my care.
Back to the right-hand man, he looks alright, bandaged up and dressed in a clean uniform. So official. I got used to him, wearing regular clothes whenever he sat with me in the library and gave me advice which books to read when I was in the mood. But right now, he is void of the warmth expression emotionless eyes fixated on me. I can understand him. This isn’t easy for him, but its something he has to do and act this way. At last that’s what my gut is telling me. And trust your guts, that’s been always my advice. I came here under the pretence…it’s not pretence I didn’t know who I was I thought I had a regular human life so now everything being revealed is of course…something big to take in. I just have to point out that his washed-out pink hair is parted to the sides, which makes him look very handsome. Not that he isn’t always, but again I’m not ignorant anymore or shying away from my own thoughts. I can appreciate him as a whole being now properly.
‘’What’s with the face, are you worried I’ll break something?’’ I ask smirking feeling amused by his change of attitude towards me, even more so when his eyebrows furrow as he glares at me.
‘’Just making sure you won’t get lost and to ‘encourage’ you to carry out your duties.’’ he bites back my lips curving up even more, but I only click my tongue as he has finally reached me coming to a halt, standing up straight like a proper soldier.
‘’Lost like yesterday, and the day before, and the day before.’’ I reply back a bit childishly. I don’t get back a smile like I would normally do. He just nods acknowledging my words and swiftly turns around and just starts to walk away. I let out a faint chuckle but walk behind him silently, turning around my sword in my hand so it’s pointing backwards to make me less threatening. Although being covered in blood I don’t think I’ll properly reach that effect so easily. And the mud is also not a nice touch. Okay there are probably some guts here and there and many other disgusting things stuck to my clothing. Things happen in battle, we are all alike at the end of the day, one way or another.
I glance around the hall quickly trying to come up with something that would potentially help me get more presentable but my mind blanks out, so I simply straighten my shoulders as we reach the door and keep my head raised properly. The doors open on their own, two guards meeting us on both sides, which do cause me to smirk at the seriousness they are holding themselves. I know these guys I’ve chatted them up, whenever I came here.
‘’Ah, reinforcements have arrived.’’ I state in a normal tone sounding way to cheerful from the atmosphere of the room that we’re entering. The first thing I notice are the noble men which is a surprise not necessarily a pleasant one, because I think you know politics can suck ass.
And they are paired with theire men standing close to them, while Yoongi’s own are surrounding them as an extra protection. The men I got to know and kind of recognize their faces are standing across one another making a pathway for whoever enters the room to guide them towards the man in charge who is situated across me and centered against the wall. My eyes dart from the nobles to the soldiers on my left, all unharmed uniforms brand new. And my guess these are the higher-ranking demons, meaning the lowers ones must be outside protecting the palace property, like they should have been all along if I remember what the king declared years ago, wanting nothing but the best for his son.
So, everything has changed, the circumstances, relationships, thoughts opinions everything. But despite it, he is the same to me. My feelings don’t change even in the slightest, which is a surprise as before this whole thing I’m sure it would be an entirely different story, thanks mainly to my stubbornness. So instead of changing, my feelings solidify and now I can without fear I am able to admit to myself and let myself aknowledge everything that has happened fully. For the first time in forever I foget about everything and anyone else and focus my attention solemnly onto him.
But I’m quickly thrown back to reality and the matter at hand. This is how I’ve been trained and how I’ve been for millennium, eyes now darting around the throne room to see and plan an exit strategy, as well as examine the threat properly forciming a defence and offence perspective. It’s part of survival. Even with the human mentality I had, I subconsciously mapped out the place. I was not as dumb, or foolish as I think my friends assumed I was. It’s easy to see, where things have been shifted, statues and armours that were on display moved to the sides for the room to function more for the purpose of this gathering.
With my senses sharpening, I pick up on more men situated there, my guess they are archers at the ready. I spare a glance to a solider on my left and his sword which looks more ceremonial than one meant to fight with properly. Odd, as we are at war...sort of. But not that unexpected. The right side of my lips twitches briefly, as I force myself from grining, as well as holding back my bloodlust still present, my fingers still itching to wield my weapon. It’s only been a few years since I lost my memories and in the meantime I’ve gained accidentally a lot of new information through human eyes, but the joy of metal clashing against metal, and that satisfaction when you win...I missed that. And I can’t forget the powers I’ve been gifted with since birth the want to unleash only a snipped, it’s all itching right under my skin. Under normal circumstances I’d already act on my urges, but it is because things have changed and because he is here that I hold myself back. I don’t want him seeing that side of me yet.
I slow down my steps as Namjoon goes further ahead of me. He properly bows down to the crowned prince, that is sitting up straight (and not half lying over the seat for a change) on his throne of skulls that surround it, and build it, marble then running smoothly in the middle forming a chair for him. Its all adorned with specks and details of gold, amongst all the blackness it has been coloured into. And that kind of marble can only be found here in the underworld and has gone into rarity to find. Only the best for the best. Like I mentioned the prince is sitting properly, shoulders square and stiff, legs crossed one over another. Not a hair is out of place, his expression is the typical one he has of boredom. But once I met his eyes, it’s easy to read what chaotic storm is brewing inside.
So, I follow after Joon standing before the prince in the middle of the spacey throne room bowing down respectfully so, and almost flinch when the soldiers behind me, start marching all in sync forming some sort of a circle around the room, the nobles on the right still continuing to murmur between one another annoyingly. Ah man it would be so fun to cough and then let some fire out to scare them (Make it seem like I breathe fire which I actually can). Lucky for them, my eyes shift to the left where the men I’ve started calling family are standing forming the end of the semi-circle and are the prince’s personal bodyguards. And it does hurt I’ll admit it, my heart feels heavy as theire gazes are hard, some harsh. And the harsh ones are from the softest ones that treated me, with utmost kindness. So basically, all of them.
As whispers raise in volume from the noble men my nerves start to raise to. The soldiers are respectful and remain quiet keeping to themselves, while the older men are making a ruckus so boldly, as the prince I assume hasn’t given any orders yet. I stand on my spot with Namjoon by my side and stand patiently, playing with my sword taking a look at the damage. It looks alright the metal surprisingly not scratched up completely or hugely dented and damaged but it will need a good polishing.
‘’General L/N.’’ the prince finally speaks up making my head shoot up almost comically ‘’The Death Bringer.’’ At that I tilt my head to the side, having stopped fidgeting with my sword ‘’I should welcome you back from your respite.’’ He leans forward and offers a smile which puzzles me, but I eagerly like a lovestruck idiot (I can’t believe that I actually am one!) smile back, letting my weight rest on my right leg as I slip my left foot more forward, meanwhile placing my sword down the tip touching the ground. I rest my hand comfortably on the top of the golden handle and offer another bow in return.
‘’Much obliged, your majesty.’’ I reply again my tone way to cheerful for this whole situation.
‘’I don’t mean to be rude, or impolite by ignoring and passing common curtesy but I must know what is the status of my cousin’s army?’’ surprisingly he’s not lashing at me immediately like I though he would. Or someone else. It’s going rather unexpectedly. I am absolutely loving it. It gets boring when you can predict things, and I’m old, so its easy to predicts anything.
‘’The troops in the back saw the massacre and fled. The ones who remained died honourably. I’d suggest a clean-up as soon as possible, we all know what happens to an ogre’s body only an hour after a fight.’’ I point out to which Yoongi nods.
‘’Send patrols to the boarder of the estate, send scouts to kill off the cowards. I want no prisoners.’’ He orders glancing to his right at his brothers. But Jin remains glaring at him, I think ready to mouth him off. Its Namjoon that goes into action stepping forward and bowing his head.
‘’Yes, your highness, consider it done.’’ And with that he’s marching over to Seokjin and tugging him away, forcefully and unluckily visible to others. The murmurs begin again, but I hold my gaze on the boys. Hoseok won’t even look at me, he’s staring straight ahead, the way his mouth is indicates he’s very upset. Jimin is ice cold, like his powers he’s making me shiver from the sharpness of his glare. Jeongguk is glaring at the skulls around Yoongi’s throne, and I know he’s going to start fidgeting soon. And then there’s Taehyung staring straight at me, with his eyes dark. Very dark. I feel as if he’s planning my murder, and honestly, I’m a bit scared even now knowing who I am and what I’m capable off (what he is capable off). But as a particular murmur catches my ear I turn my head to the right quickly, the noblemen shutting up as they all look at me, with serious expressions the ones I make eye contact with quickly avert their eyes in fear. Pfffff cowards.
‘’Now then…’’ Yoongi’s voice echoes briefly around the room ‘’What to do with you?’’ at that I smirk again and turn forward looking at him shamelessly expression and eyes softening. I keep still and my composure relaxed but not in a disrespectful way.
‘Many things hopefully.’ Is the first thing that comes to mind but I keep my mouth shut. He’s a prince, and he’s about to take over the throne and the whole kingdom, given as his cousin is out of the equation now. I might have been on this world for millennium, and I served for his father, and acted silly and cocky around him, but Yoongi is different. He’s even more powerful than his old man was, and that man did change the world not only once. So that’s why even if I can beat Yoongi, if I’m superior I don’t want to make him a laughing stock or hurt him in any way including making a wrong gesture, or move, or say the wrong thing. For him I’m willing myself back and I’m okay with it.
‘’However, your majesty seems fit, I’ll accept whatever you decide.’’ I reply back properly impressed with myself actually. The young prince nods in acknowledgement but remains silent, bringing his hand up two fingers brushing over his lower lip as he clearly is thinking about this. And then the murmurs are back which is starting to piss me off. Even I’m being extra respectful and they can’t keep their mouth shut for one goddamn minute.
‘’Tradition.’’ Comes a statement out of the blue, rendering everything eerie silent again ‘’You should honour tradition! And the law!!!’’ the speaker steps forward finally. And, ohohoho. As much as I want to smile now, to give him something to be nervous about I would prefer to spit in his face.
‘’What law would that be, Lord Kang???’’ Yoongi asks unimpressed his long dark eyelashes brushing over his pale cheeks so elegantly it makes me shallow with difficulty from how mesmerizing he is.
‘’She killed your father!’’ the statement echoes around and more murmurs begin even between the soldiers, some of the nobles agree with the man immediately other remain questioning the claim ‘’General L/N killed our beloved king. After refusing countless proposals, after so many gifts she received, it all just wasn’t enough for her. She killed him. I saw it!!!’’ and the uproar now is proper people almost immediately starting to shout while Kang goes to shout back answers, nodding his head along, staring and pointing at me accusatory basically spilling lies.
I only raise an eyebrow at how they spit and curse my name, calling me every kind of offenses. Scoffing silently, I roll my shoulders and dare a glance towards the boys on the left. It’s a different story here. The soldiers are talking in hushed voices, while the boys remain silent with pained and sceptical expressions, masks for the moment broken as they glance at each other for confirmation or any kind of indication. Turning forward, I square up my shoulders and look at Yoongi whose glaring at the demons on his left, still looking lost in thought.
‘’That is a serious claim Lord Kang.’’ The prince speaks up looking annoyed to my eye ‘’Do you have proof of your claims??’’
The lord snorts which makes me cringe openly ‘’I’m a lord, your majesty. We do not lie to our kings and leaders.’’ He goes on and bows down to Yoongi. It’s all overexaggerated if you ask me.
‘’So, I should believe you and not General L/N? I should disregard anything she might say from now on???’’
Kang straightens up looking at me as if I’m filth to which now I raise both eyebrows and blink staring at him expectantly biting onto my lower lip trying not to laugh at this situation ‘’She’s a mere commoner, your majesty. General or not, your father made mistakes as any of us do. She isn’t of royal descent, not a cell on her body is royal, or pure.’’ wow daring words ‘’And yes, General L/N…’’ he goes and bows only his head down at me to which I nod back smirking now ‘’…you’ve won us many battles, you’ve protected the king, and now the royal prince. But for your sins you must be dealt with.’’
‘’Wars.’’ Comes the statement before I can put my two cents in, which puzzles me. Turning to the left it’s Taehyung that’s glaring holes at the lord ‘’She won wars. Not only that, she saved lives of our people, your ancestors, secured your family, to be safe while she risked her life instead. And now you’re accusing her of something as stupid as…’’ Hoseok takes a step to the side which makes Taehyung shut up and take a step back, shutting his mouth and looking down. But I can see he’s shaking with anger. And I feel pride, and…love. Waw I’m getting cheesy, this whole human thing turned me into a softie (says the one covered in blood, and guts).
‘’Know your place child!’’ Kang snarls Yoongi glaring at him with an emotionless expression. Judging by the way his fingers are tapping against the throne its clear he’s getting angry himself.
‘’This is unacceptable.’’ Another man steps forward angrily.
‘’Very disrespectful, he should be punished!’’ another one adds.
‘’How can we expect prosperity, and riches for our people, and good lives if your closest subjects disrespect you, your majesty?!?’’ oh okay well now they are doing it. Irritating me for real. Because insulting me I’m fine with that, I got so much shit when I first started to climb up the ranks which made me immune to many things, but insulting Yoongi and Taehyung or any other of my boys its wayyyy over crossing the line!!!
‘’How was my father killed?? You claim you don’t have any proof, and say you’re above our general. Explain this traitorous murder that happened.’’ Yoongi asks instead rendering the mumbling men lost, and everyone tuning to Kang whose heads snaps to me, eyes filled with hatred. And that’s just doom right there, hatred and grudges. But we demons love grudges and hate, and anger and all that. The difference is that he is calling death for himself.
‘’Seduction and a dagger, through the heart. Everybody saw it, that night. You were only a wee lad your majesty but I remember. We remember when the fires were lit up.’’ Kang goes on dramatically. Turning forward Yoongi’s dark eyes are already fixated onto me. I easily pick up onto the whispers. A cold shiver runs down my spine uncomfortably as something in my stomach tightens and I intake air quickly ‘’There was a ball that night, celebrating another win for us. We’ve killed another angel that day. A feast, the finest drinks from all over the world, and the dancing. It was all tinted with the king’s demise.’’
I glance down briefly at my footing, but tilt my head to the side, the shadows on the ground look unnatural as they are rushing towards me, crawling closer across the polished floors ‘’It was exactly as it is now, L/N Y/N was covered in our kings’ blood and on the run. She disappeared into thin air after that and everyone can testify that, there’s your proof.’’
I sigh calmly as I feel the shadows, as the gentle caresses which you get in water by certain currents, touch the metal of my armour quickly sliding underneath it onto the cloth sliding upwards, rendering my lower half immobile.
‘’Many demons and creatures disappeared on that night.’’ Hoseok speaks up  ‘’My lord.’’ He adds through his teeth as he glares at Kang ‘’So it could have been anyone who knows how to wield a dagger.’’ I narrow my eyes slightly as I continue starting at Yoongi seeing his pupils how they bleed into a grey colour, more and more as the shadows raise upwards, rendering me immobile properly having crawled up till my neck. But not a flare of fear sparks in me.
‘’Don’t be foolish, boy.’’ Kang hollers ‘’Don’t disrespect me! I don’t understand why do I have to constantly repeat myself to you toddlers, where everyone else understands me properly. I have witnessed the crime that occurred by her hands in cold blood! She didn’t get what she wanted she turned on her king, and her kingdom to get power one way or another! She deserves to die! Death is the only way she can redeem herself.’’
And because of that statement a chuckle leaves my throat which gets the agreeing men to shut up as they stare at me in disbelief ‘’Sorry.’’
‘’Are you mocking us???’’ Kang is suddenly there in front of me ‘’How dare you!’’ he raises his hand up and is quick to smack it down, right across my right cheek. But no sound leaves my mouth. The slap only tingles over my cheek, and I’m still a bit high off the adrenaline. Besides that I have taken harsher hits than this one was. For effect I let my head hang sideways and, the few strands of hair that fell from the ponytail I made before, cover my expression as I glare down at the ground ‘’We’re going to cut your tongue out first! It will teach you that insolence has no place here! Peasants don’t belong here!!!’’
I click my tongue and lift my head blowing the strands of hair from my face trying hard not to just spit fire right at him. Its brewing inside me, and it’s getting hotter and hotter the closer he inches.
‘Kill her!!! Death for the peasant! She killed the king!! Death to the general!!! She’s only a peasant!!!’ the shouts start to go off suddenly, but only the lords are shouting and giving out exclaims. The soldiers are silent. I think I fought with some of them, or maybe I fought along with theire fathers.
‘’I told you I was going to ruin you.’’ Kang suddenly gets way to close for liking, and whispers glaring at me his eyes shifting into something sexual and something that’s very much so wrong ‘’You should have never denied my offer.’’ He goes on shaking now from all the emotions he’s feeling. The shadows that are holding me are starting to get more restless. Only now it daunts onto me that...I’m the only one picking onto the whispers. He doesn’t seem to be hearing them as they get more frantic.
‘’Like I shouldn’t have denied the king’s?’’ I start as the chants get louder and louder, the soldiers above us shifting. Suspicious. He chuckles arrogantly completely blind to what’s happening around and in front of him.
‘’You truly are insane.’’ He mumbles as my eyes snap forward onto Yoongi who’s leaning forward in his chair, staring at me with a frown. He’s tense, ready for anything and yet his focus is completely on his shadows that are gathered here. And the soldiers above us just won’t stop moving. But I do miss that Taehyung moved closer to the soldiers, and Hoseok has gone over to calm down the lords as he’s a royal too and they should listen to him somewhat ‘’It’s a shame.’’ Kang says ‘’We could have done so much together. Pity.’’ He murmurs learning closer taking a strand of my hair to take a whiff of it, before he lets it go looking at me remorsefully but still with lust that’s just making my stomach turn ‘’Your majestyyy…’’ he goes on triumphally turning around, while I turn my head back seeing a younger solider, suddenly rush off and is quick to disappear around a column. I think I know what’s going to happen, even though I don’t think Kang is actually ballsy enough to let this happen but my body reacts automatically. It’s a gut feeling.
I charge forward pushing and slamming with my right side right into the much heavier man, making sure that my hit will force him to topple over. I can see Jimin on my left break into a run, straight ahead…he wants to collide with me and push me away…I think. But luckily enough Yoongi’s shadows like I estimated reach for the fallen lord who has risen only up on one foot. The shadows easily wrap him up, which forces the dagger he was holding to fall on the ground. All the while that’s happening I reach the polished stairs which you can see your reflection in. Lifting my feet, I’m quick to raise up getting closer to Yoongi as Jimin’s attention goes onto one of Kang’s men plainly attacking him.
And then… ah I hate it when I’m right sometimes. The outcome can be a bitch if it doesn’t go exactly as I plan. And I didn’t exactly paln it out properly this turn of events this far ahead. Yoongi is staring at me with a hard glare face and our bodies only a few centimetres apart. He’s pissed but I’m not sure for a moment if he’s pissed at the others or me, and I get this image of the shadows swallowing me whole. But instead I feel them raising up my leg slower than before which has me frowning at the sensation alone.
He’s the one getting me quickly frustrated as I’m not the one who needs a shield or protection. This whole time I remained unharmed in general, the few scrapes and scratches don’t count. Still having a proper hold on my sword, I twist my wrist, guiding the blade to raise upwards and stand up tall right behind me.
And no, I’m not that cool, I’m clumsy even now in the right state of mind as my grip wobbles, but the metal blocks the arrow successfully that was meant to pierce the crown prince straight through his heart. The sword of course as I don’t have a solid grip on it, bounces back bumping me directly with the flat end over the back of my head. Awkwardly with my left hand I do manage to grab it, thanks to Yoongi catching it properly at the hilt, as my hand is barely clutching it on the end of the handle.
Yoongi’s other hand reaches for my shoulder, and since I’ve known him he easily moved me and made me do whatever he wished (the manipulation was cute and innocent, he didn’t force me into anything bad) but this time as his thin long fingers grip onto my shoulder, I remain in place turning my head to the right eyes finding the archer who shoot the first arrow. He’s standing right in the centre of the balcony with two archers standing near him as protection, meaning he’s the best of them.
‘’Shoot!!!!’’ Kang suddenly shouts as well as Yoongi shouts ‘’Kill them!!!’’ and that’s how chaos is born. I glance at Yoongi for a second, to check if he’s okay knowing he is but wanting to be sure, wanting to see the glimer of silver in his pupils. Taking a step back I spin on my heels sword at the ready leaving his fingers fluidly, as another arrow flies, Kang’s men clearly not hesitant with attacking us.
The lords are quick to retreat to the corner of the throne room, the doors they are heading off to locked and sealed. Cowards. Meanwhile the brave men, the ones loyal to Yoongi remain and draw out their weapons ready to fight the small bunch in the crowd. But the problem is Kang as he is the head of the lords, and his men are trained well and are killing more good soldiers than I’d like. But my main task is to cut off the arrows, protect the crowned prince and the man I love, whom I already gave my heart to.
‘’Interficite omnem!!’’ (Kill them all) a shout comes, but I’m to busy glaring at the archers upstairs to actually do anything else.
‘’Pull your shadows back, make a shield for yourself…’’ I end up shouting as a soldier rushes forward at the same time as an arrow flies, now mean for me. I swing my sword as if I would a baseball bat, arrow now deflected, and with the movement I raised my right foot up, which I proceed to kick forward, the soldier’s sword clashing into the front of the greave that’s protecting my leg successfully so. My foot comes in contact with his chest, and there he goes stumbling down the stairs, crashing into another solider.
Two strong hands grab onto the back of my chest plate and tug me backwards harshly, as two arrows now miss me hitting and breaking on the marble tiles on the ground where I was just standing. The gentle whispers I’ve gotten accustomed to, are now hisses and sometimes wails. But they are right in my ears, and a moment later the gentle caressing is back.
‘’No Yoongi…’’ I start to protest but swing my sword to chase away another soldier, as I pick up Jimin’s grunts and snarls of annoyance on my other side. Letting go of my concentration and worry about Yoongi for a second, I’m quick to disarm the solider slicing under the open helmet he’s wearing, blood spurring out. Assessing the battle, there’s only a few of our soldiers left, and the loyal lords are cornered across the room with Kang in the front looking like he’s getting ready to deliver another speech. The man has a silver tongue,and it is the only reason why he’s been able to raise up in ranks.
An arrow zooms past me, missing my ear for an inch. Turning back up the main archer is still clearly well equipped with many arrows and keeps shooting down, with two bodyguards at his sides. It makes me growl at him, as he shoots an arrow but I stand my ground.
‘’No!!’’ its Yoongi who shouts, and makes a jump towards me while Jimin is battling off more soldiers with his icy powers, having probably lost his sword. Hoseok isn’t that far away from us, but Yoongi the idiot he is jumps out in the open and towards me. The arrow only grazes the armour, stopping it enough so I can actually grab a hold of it. My brain catches up with the event a moment later, which prompts me to move forward yell stuck in my throat.
I grab onto Yoongi just as he grabs onto me, but force him to stand before me making the stupidest move I could have ever done; turn my back to the battle and danger ahead ‘’Pull your shadows onto yourself…’’ I start trying to push him sideways closer to Jimin and Hoseok who are still struggling with pushing the soldiers away, but there’s only the two of them. Taehyung is left in the corner of the room somewhere his grunts recognizable easily and Jeongguk has just disappeared hopefully not getting himself killed.
Which means I’m Yoongi’s last but first defence ‘’No! You’re going to get yourself hurt! I’ll handle this, you just need to grab the others and go…’’ he stubbornly persists on cupping my face, an arrow shoots hitting the side of my armour again, and bullseye-ing the smallest crack where only experienced arches know where to aim and succeed at it. But his shadows protect me from the blow, not even hissing or anything. The urgency in the whispers that have subdued are still present. A battle cry from a demon behind me, makes me push the prince away harshly, to get enough room to swing my sword up and deflect his blow holding my sword a bit wobbly as I didn’t readjust my standing position. He growls eyes blazing as he stares at me with blankness. Oh man he’s in for the kill this one.
And then his eyes widen. Glancing down the shadows that are wrapped around me have formed into a sharp spike that buried itself into the demon. Taking a step back he falls backwards, but I look up deflecting yet another arrow. This has to end; this whole thing has been messy from the very beginning.
My skin starts to tingle as my emotions raise up, anger and frustration of todays events piling up finally as I let myself feel them. Fire is the first element that easily ignites, sparkling over the tips of my fingers and grows into a proper fire consuming both my hands. The shadows do hiss and retreat but still remain on me as well as the flame that isn’t hurtful to them. It only brings reassurance in the chaotic mess of my surroundings and emotions. The results? The flame gets everyone attention to get directed at me, and once meeting Kang’s changed electric blue eyes the flame only grows spreading up my arms, while the asshole starts shouting to his men to kill me, the lords now forgotten for the moment.
‘’Get out Yoongi.’’ I state sparing a glance back at the stunned, but also angry looking prince.
‘’No.’’ I want to protests immediately push him away myself, but he’s quick stepping away from me, shadows now spurring from everywhere materializing and not simply crawling on the ground. They are all coming from him and are darker looking, like waves slithering across the ground unnaturaly. There are chandeliers, and torches lit around casting to much of bring lights for the shadows to spread out like they are doing. And it gets all the soldiers to stop what they are doing, and all of them nervously glance to the ground combat literally halted.
My fire is quick to burn out, as I take in the air that’s circling the room. With a flick of my wrist, and curling of my fingers a breeze moves around, ruffling clothes, and hair and extinguishing the torches. Its not much but it’s something to boost Yoongi’s power up. His father had powers, great dark powers, but nothing like him. And I know I’m repeating myself by now, but being fully awake I sense it. What he holds within. And it’s the same type of madness, that is inside me. I want to say we’re on equal ground, which I’ve never felt, or encountered in another being. It’s fascinating but also scary.
Readjusting my fingers across the handle of my sword, which I’m still holding, I watch as the shadows dance around tantalizing the demons around us.
‘’I suggest you drop your weapons, if you want your lives speared.’’ The prince speaks with a deep and serious, monotone tone. I can’t spare him a glance to see what’s going on in his head, I keep my eyes around but mostly flickering to the archers above us. I respect the guy that kept mostly shooting me, he’s really the best of the best, but I’m ready to kill him sooner rather than later. But like the others he has raised his hands up in a surrender like motion, but with his bow he’s still holding three arrows expertly.
It takes a second or two, and then the soldiers start to drop their weapons, while Yoongi’s men remain holding onto theire own. But when it comes to Kang…he remains glaring at the prince with the blue in his eyes. His ability is actually, to be able to boil someone’s blood. It’s a slow process but with it he can manage to kill anyone and torture them to great lengths to get the information he needs. Man, of many talents yeah, but a traitor. And now as his glare is directed at Yoongi, it clicks what he’s trying to do.
‘’Your majesty…’’ he starts while the boys start rounding up the men Jeongguk approaching Kang while he takes a step forward ready to plea or demand another law to be brought up or a birth right, but frankly I’m tired of all of this. I step in front of Yoongi even though he’s dangerous even to me in this state. But no fucks are given as his life is in question. With precision, and after having practiced this ridiculous move over a thousand of times (it was a stupid bet I made which made me learn this “skill”), I spin my sword in my hand, and let it fly forward, straight ahead. My eyes are quick to dart upwards onto the archer who’s quick to stab one of ours, with an arrow and proceeds to place the bloody arrow, into the bow. He meets my eyes hatred filling his, eyes colouring into an electric blue ones, just like Kang’s.
It all happens to fast. As the shout of the once great man echoes in the throne room, I throw myself at the prince again facing the archer as he shoots all three arrows now with an extra push it seems, because even with the powers I’m graced with I can’t stop what happens next.
The arrows unlike before easily pierce the armour that’s made with the toughest metal on earth, and dug up from the veryyyyy debts of hell. After all it is not completely indestructible. That’s why it isn’t that big of a shock that it gives in. I feel as if something simply prickles me. Once. Twice. And the thrice I have enough brain cells working to move my hand, anddd…thrice. The shadows now properly start to hiss, and shout, and wails fill my ears with such high frequency sounds that I feel like they are going to make my ears bleed.
Miraculously, or probably due because of the numbness that spreads over me I don’t fall onto my knees or collapse, despite the throbbing in my chest, my hip, and hand that’s only intensifying pain gradually like a flood gate has been released spreading, my body clearly reacting to it while my brain is still at a standstill eyes focused on the electric blue eyes. Its as if he has hypnotized me, I can’t look away, even when something shakes me. But that’s when I regain my senses, as I blink confused meeting with a shouting Yoongi who cups my face with shaky hands, while the shouts of the shadows become more intense, but instead of making me deaf they go right past my ears. With the corner of my eyes, I notice its bothering everyone else as they are holding their ears.
So, it’s affecting them and not us. And Yoongi I think is oblivious to what’s happening around us, as the room gets more dim the shadows swallowing the chandeliers as they raise and fill out the room, shouting as if they are in agony. And its puzzling to me. My eyes dart down onto his body, but like before there’s not a thing standing out of place. He looks perfect like always.
But the nagging feeling of something hurting him, has my eyes drifting away seeing the struggling archer fighting approaching me whilst at the same time, take his chance to kill the royal prince. A growl from the monarch himself has the archer imobiled, cracking sounds brefly ghosting my hearing as his body twists oddly and then drop down, dropples of blood hitting a now fuming Jeongguk as he stands inches away covered in crimson splatters.
My head gently gets rolled back eyes landing on my beloved who is staring at me with pleading eyes, mouth moving and yet words and sounds muffled to my ears. I furrow my brows in confusion looking down at his lips trying to read them.
‘’…wake up…Y/N…please…snap out of it…’’ the words are weird. Why is he telling me this? Y/N? Is that my name? It must be…why can’t I remember who am I?? I just know I love him, and that…that...he is very precious and I need to protect him. As the pain gets intolerable, as if something pokes me in the brain, it registers how much agony I’m really in. But no shout comes, only my lungs deflating and eyes becoming heavy as well as my body.
He’s quick to react stepping forward before I can even think of stepping back. His arms wrap around me, taking a hold of the weight. Weight of the world that I feel like I have settled over the shoulders. And then his cool hand is back over my forehead and then my cheek, as he readjusts my head to rest comfortably against him. I stare at the way his eyes frantically take me in, my body going limp while he becomes taller, which makes me figure that he laid us down and is keeping me in his lap. But the worry in his beautiful silver irises, I’m not a fan off. I like it when he smiles. Because I can make him smile, I remember that much. And only around me, I know that’s the only time he actually laughs, or chuckles. His chuckles and giggles are the cutest thing I have ever heard.
‘’Yooongiii-yahhh…’’ I drawl his name out slowly, mouth filling up with an iron flavoured liquid. But I try keeping it down, and keep my face decent, despite falling asleep. I’m so rude. Falling asleep on him, and it’s not like I want to but I am feeling tired. Very, very tired.
‘’Yahhhh Y/N-ahhhh!!!’’ he shouts voice so rich and clear ‘’You need to wake up!’’ the exclaim brings a smile to my lips and a raspy cough as I try gulping down the annoying liquid cursing it in my mind, as it spills over the corner of my mouth ‘’Don’t you dare fall asleep on me…’’ he goes on angrily cool hand cooling me down ‘’Its an order!!’’ at that I want to snort, but my lungs have stopped working.
‘’Jagi…’’ but even though he’s looking like a god, skin white and pure like snow, hair darker than the night sky, red plump lips saying my name in a way that feels like dripping honey to my own ears, his hands gentle holding me with such strength but he’s treating me like I’m made out of glass.
‘’Don’t you dare!!!’’ he warns leaning in closer, lips landing on my own. But instead of my eyes widening they close shut a smile forming on my lips ‘’I love you.’’ Comes a whisper a moment later which gets my heart to pump faster holding on as much as it can, despite my mind getting hazy ‘’I love you, so you can’t leave me you hear me…you can’t…Y/N-ahh…’’
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Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3
Copyright 2018© by barbika1508. All rights reserved.
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toumakibangs · 6 years ago
Text
Lost in this moment
Prompt: “You’re going to take all of me, I don’t care if it’s too much.”
Jules’ Notes: This is a direct continuation of myfirst piece: “Feels like I’m all the way back where I belong”, but can be read on its own. Btw I think that my greatest talent lies in taking a prompt and turning it into something it was probably not meant to be at all.
That said: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JINPACHI!!! =ç___ç=
Very few experiences beat the sensation of utter bliss that comes with lying on the tall green grass of a hill, under the sun, shoes forgotten and a bottle of fresh water. After a terrific climb, and with your sworn rival sprawled beside you.
Especially when your sworn rival is also your long-term boyfriend, whose birthday you are celebrating in a way that is equally maudlin and idiotic. Much like your relationship as a whole.
- The Inter-High route, Yuu? Really?
It’s our Inter-High route, Makishima thinks as he fans himself and looks away, and I hoped you of all people would have appreciated the sentiment. But maybe it was just wishful thinking – maybe Toudou doesn’t care about these things anymore, after all; maybe this year’s competition of theirs, this thing they do of finding the best way to celebrate each other’s birthday every time, is meant to end with a clamorous and disastrous defeat on Makishima’s part. Maybe he’s just overthinking things, as usual, because Toudou is already poking his side and rising up on his left elbow to look at him.
- I’m right here. Pay attention to me instead of disappearing into your own head.
He’s puffing his cheeks and pouting like he did when they were kids, and Makishima is glad to be reminded that even though they’ve changed, there’s still something of the people they were in them: that hairstyles come and go, and faces wrinkle, that even your attitude shifts and adapts to the flow of time, but every person does indeed have an immutable core that’s theirs alone. It’s reassuring, when melancholy hits too hard, to catch a glimpse of it in Toudou’s everyday gestures.
Makishima raises his hand to smooth the line between Toudou’s eyebrows.
- Stop frowning, you’ll get wrinkles.
Toudou pinches his nose.
- Stop brooding, you’ll miss out.
- …on what?
Toudou bends down and kisses him lightly on the lips.
- On this beautiful day you were so lovely to organize.
Makishima grits his teeth and puts a bony hand on Toudou’s  face, pushing him away.
- Don’t make fun of me.
He makes to sit up but Toudou pulls him down again and keeps a palm on his chest. Makishima looks up at him: his features are more defined, his hair is longer, his shoulders filled out – but from this perspective, in front of the light and wearing his old Hakogaku jersey, Toudou really looks like his old self. Makishima knows the same can’t be said for him: he might be dressed in Sohoku’s yellow uniform and still be lankier than the average person, but his green mane is just a memory right now, his hair needing more resting time, nowadays, in between heavy bleaching and dying sessions. He likes to have it done before he goes home, usually, but this year it wasn’t possible. Toudou didn’t give sign of having noticed, and Makishima wonders when it happened, that he became the one in this relationship more obsessed with memories, anniversaries and appearances. Maybe when he left his homeland and decided to live his life in between continents, and holding onto the few certainties of his past became a necessity. Because if everything went on and changed while he wasn’t there, if he came back to a home that had left him behind, where he was supposed to fit?
Toudou’s voice shakes him out of his thoughts, and his index finger running on his cheek distracts him enough to prevent him from falling back into them.
- You’re doing it again.
- Doing what.
- Over-analysing something very simple. It was a wonderful surprise. I had lots of fun, even if you let me win because it’s my birthday.
- I didn’t. You won it fair and square.
- Then we’re really getting old, because that time was abysmal.
Makishima chuckles, and Toudou lies down at his side, caressing his arm.
- What I mean is: I’m happy to be here, with you. And I admit I felt very emotional the whole time it took to climb up here.
- Maybe that’s why your time was abysmal.
Toudou pokes his side and he squirms at the tickling sensation.
- Yours too, smartass.
*
They stare at the horizon, naked feet on the grass and an impromptu picnic improvised with the few things Makishima was able to order and have delivered at the top of the mountain, right on time. Toudou chuckles at the delivery van as it starts its descent.
- Always the high-end treatment, uh?
Makishima rolls his eyes at him as he spreads out a blankets that was included in his boxes and lays out a few fancy looking, sealed bowls.
- As if you didn’t enjoy being spoiled rotten.
Toudou shows him his tongue.
- It’s my birthday. I’m allowed to indulge myself today.
*
The banquet is small, but colourful and tasty and a true delicacy after the physical exertion. It’s also reasonably balanced in terms of nutritional values, a coincidence too fortunate to not be deliberate. There is also cake, with a symbolic candle to blow out, but Toudou doesn’t comment on it except to say how much he loves it and how good it tastes.
A light breeze lifts up after lunch, and they watch white clouds run after each other on the clear blue sky – heads touching, fingers intertwined.
- Thank you, Maki-chan.
Makishima blushes.
- I-Idiot.
Toudou turns and stares at him with the kind of gaze that has always been able to make Makishima weak in the knees.
- I mean it. I had fun.
Makishima closes his eyes. So many years and he still hasn’t learned to be honest with his boyfriend while looking him in the face.
- It’s not kaiseki ryori.
Toudou scoots closer to kiss his cheek.
- No, although it’s us all the same. Mountains and bikes and rivalry and all that teenage drama, but also leisure time and comfort and…
Makishima turns on his side, interested.
- …and what?
Toudou moves a few stray hairs out of his face.
- Stability.
*
- So…
- So?
- …are you going to spill the beans and make me emotional for real, or what?
The best thing about Toudou is that he’s always been able to read him like an open book. Makishima has never really opened up to him, or anyone, so Toudou’s talent for entering his lover’s head like it was his own has always been less than a lucky coincidence and more a sign of the universe telling them they were supposed to stick together. So far, it’s been right. Makishima knew he should have prepared some kind of speech. Toudou likes speeches, and strong declarations delivered with fervour. But he’s never had the social skills necessary to hold his own with crafty words and charisma, always preferring to show what he felt, more like describing it. In his opinion, there are things worth not mentioning: feelings are much more easily and effectively conveyed through colours and music and sincere gestures, for example. But there are also moments and occasions in which words are necessary. He’s aware of it, and so is Toudou who, although he has clearly understood what Makishima meant with today’s celebration, is deliberately playing dumb in order to hear Makishima saying it aloud. And since it’s Toudou’s birthday, and he has promised himself long ago to always do his best to give Toudou what he wants and make him happy, Makishima complies. Also because Toudou doesn’t know everything.
- I could have picked the route of our first climb, couldn’t I? The one I won. Or the one where we made our first promise. It would have been quite meaningful as well. They were all obvious choices, but this one was the most obvious of all, and you know how much I hate being obvious.
Toudou hums in agreement. The day a critic will deem Makishima’s creations as anything but out-of-the-ordinary, his boyfriend will quit the fashion industry forever.
- I chose this route because even if I had already fallen in love with you by the time we entered our third year of high-school, it was in this moment of my life that I realized I didn’t want to let you go. Despite my dreams, despite England, despite everything.
He points at the hairpins that are only partially visible from their position, at the road covered by the high trees and then at the one downhill.
- There is where I considered ditching my team for a last chance to ride with you. My sense of responsibility won, and I kept my position, but it took all my self-control, and the knowledge that I could have been capable of acting so selfishly just for the sake of a climb with you shook me real hard. That is where I caught up to you, and I think I will never forget the way you looked at me when I reached you.
- Neither will I.
- There is where you told me you were grateful for what we’d had. And I remember having the clearest epiphany of my life, and a voice in my head telling me to not give up and hold onto you, do everything in my power to not lose you, because I couldn’t have afforded it. And I couldn’t stand it either, the idea of you not being part of my life anymore.
Toudou looks at him with misty eyes.
- And you didn’t, did you? Let go, I mean.
Makishima laughs drily.
- I latched onto you like vine.
- All the while making me believe I was the pressing one.
- You were quite insistent yourself.
- Touché.
Makishima takes a deep breath and leans back on his hands, hair flowing in the wind.
- Jinpachi.
- Yes?
- We came back here after more than ten years since those days, and this place still gives me the same vibes.
Toudou’s voice gets stuck in his throat.
- W-What do you mean?
Makishima looks up at the sky, lopsided grin in place to testify he’s restless and slightly nervous.
- I mean that earlier today, much like ten years ago, I raced up these hills with you, crossed the highest peak with your name on my lips and my brain yelling at me to not dare let you go. But we’ve already been together this whole time, so there isn’t much I can do to make my intentions and commitment clearer. Unless…
Toudou speaks in a higher octave.
- Unless…?
Makishima brings a hand to the back pockets of his jersey and rummages into it for awfully long seconds until his fingers find their target and he fishes out a couple of silver bands, simple enough to be discreet, fancy enough to show personality. Toudou doesn’t have to look to know what date is carved on the inner side of the rings.
- Unless you accept to climb this new mountain with me?
The answer is a heavy body slamming into him and sending them both toppling down the slope until they hit the bottom and Makishima finds himself squashed under his apparently dead boyfriend.
- Jinpachi g-get up. You weight too muc-
Toudou doesn’t listen to him and shuts him up with a kiss that has nothing to do with the chaste pecks they’ve been exchanging the whole day. It makes Makishima dizzy in a way that feels surprising, given for how long they’ve intimately known each other. Toudou pulls back only when absolutely necessary, but doesn’t move a muscle, staying pressed against his lover and looking down on him with a dark face.
- No way. You’re going to take all of me, I don’t care if it’s too much.
Makishima stares at him, dumbstruck, and Toudou stares back, serious – it doesn’t last long, and they start laughing soon after.
Of course I’m taking you, Makishima thinks in between heated kisses, it’s the least I can do, since you’ll have me.
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angeltriestoblog · 4 years ago
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I went from reluctant leader to ACTM officer!
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Kind of a late update but after what seemed like an endless discernment period and an unforgivably rigorous application process (on my part), I’m officially the Ateneo Association for Communications Technology Management’s Associate Vice President for Documentations! And yes, I’m aware that’s a mouthful so from this point on, I am referring to myself as ACTM’s AVP for Docs.
I honestly did not see this coming though: Freshman Angel stuck out like a sore thumb in her home org. In addition to finding all upperclassmen intimidating as I do with anyone born at least a day before me, I felt like I was just… not feeling it most of the time. All I lacked was a button that read “I really wish I weren’t here right now!” pinned to my shirt. It was only when I was a sophomore, familiar with the organization’s events and able to see them up close that I realized that I didn’t remember going through most of them myself. Although I’m pretty sure I was present because it was mandatory for all new members, I don’t recall going to a general assembly, being briefed on the different departments within the org, and especially being taught what our core competency was. I was very content with doing the bare minimum as a Docs Head: going to meetings to take minutes and do registration, nagging at the project heads and point people to submit the necessary requirements for post-documentations, and smiling shyly and saying “I’m ok!” when people asked me how I was.
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Although I was much more active in my second year, I never realized I wanted to increase my level of involvement until I went to LEAP, the three-day leadership training seminar in Zambales I raved about in my first semester recap blog post. It was there when I noticed the home aspect that ACTM prides itself on: everybody—regardless of batch and predetermined social circle—bonding in more ways than one, both with and without the influence of alcohol, just having a great time and joking around like they’ve been friends forever. I saw just how much ACTM was investing in me to help me realize that maybe I could be an officer too. Maybe I could contribute to the great culture that makes us so much of a family. But of course, that thought quickly found its way to the backburner the minute we boarded the bus back to Manila.
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I never really saw myself as leader material after several failed stints in my old school: I was the secretary who forgot to ask the teacher to sign the attendance sheet, or the vice president that ran out of the classroom first during earthquake drills when I was supposed to be last in line to check if all appliances were off. (In my defense, it was an act of self-preservation.) I didn’t realize it then while I was busy wreaking havoc in every homeroom class I found myself in but when I finally grew up, for the lack of a better term, I came to the conclusion that being put in charge of a group of people would only bring disastrous consequences and I didn’t want anyone involved in that.
Fast forward to several months later: I had an individual consultation with my boss Chelsea, the previous holder of my current position, to help with her plans in running for vice president of our department. Somewhere along the way, she tapped me to fill her shoes—a request that was met with a high-pitched “WEH?” that probably shocked everyone on the third floor of MVP that day. I had been diligently doing my work for two years, she said, just as long as she has so I knew enough about the processes. Back then, I was very preoccupied with two other extracurricular commitments and had plans of joining three more the next school year. My goals and ambitions were all over the place and I guess it reflected in the way I skirted around the topic because she just patted my knee (throwback to the time when physical contact was still acceptable) and told me to think about it. Real hard.
I guess this lockdown period also served as the time for discernment I needed: I weighed the pros and cons, made the necessary trade-offs, and got the insights of those I trusted, mostly by pestering them with uppercase keyboard smashes. I’d think I had a final decision one day then wake up the next, completely changing my stance. It’s not like I didn’t want to serve—I guess I just wasn’t giving myself permission to believe I could. I can’t really pinpoint when it happened but one day, my brain went: “What the heck. What could possibly go wrong?”
After making the decision to run, I felt at peace, no longer overthinking about every single thinking that could possibly go wrong, just eager for the day application season would formally start. Well, that is until I received the actual notification from the Ateneo ACTM page that said a Facebook group for all AVP aspirants had been made. I tossed my laptop aside and started yelling, much to the dismay of my mother who was on the receiving end of all this panic. Over the next few days, I would watch the electoral talk that followed, a webinar of sorts that basically gave a rundown of the process we would have to go through should we want to take on the challenge. 
One of my requirements was a long-ass form complete with questions about myself, my leadership skills, the department, and the organization. I remember looking through the platforms of the Executive Board applicants during the first wave of elections and saying to myself, “Wow, I hope I don’t have to fill up something that long. I would cry my ass off!” only to find out that I would have to submit almost an exact replica of that and truly enough, cry my ass off. While Noelle, our EVP, was glossing over everything, I took these pictures on my laptop’s photo booth to express my frustration and sent them to my friend Julia, who was also watching via Zoom. I was actually very paranoid that I had my video on during the call and would end up exposing my contorted facial expressions to all 70 people watching the livestream. Thankfully, the universe was merciful enough to be on my side at the time.
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Believe me, I wanted to get started with the work the minute the virtual meeting ended: I felt like I needed to so everything wouldn’t pile up and paralyze me on the day of the deadline. But even early on, I was already pretty overwhelmed and I couldn’t bring myself to do anything. So I lay down on my bed for the rest of the night and played Ribs by Lorde on repeat. It was an effective coping mechanism then but I instantly regret it the next day once I realized just how much time I had wasted doing nothing when there was so much to be accomplished.
I answered the introspective questions pretty quickly: thanks to my sense of self-awareness, I was able to identify my strengths and weaknesses well. What I really struggled with was the platform. I couldn’t generate any original ideas that I felt could solve the problems I spotted—I had wondered if I could just copy paste Chelsea’s platform and add comments such as “Same” or “RT” on the side and call it a day. Thankfully, this is what individual consultations were for. I contacted Elise, a co-Docs Head from the previous school year, and Gella, my boss back in freshman year and both were kind enough to bounce ideas off me and give me reassurance that the working drafts I had in my mind were actually worth executing. With their insight (and a lot of ice cream), I was able to finish my application form days before I expected to.
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I also wrapped up shooting my platform presentation ahead of schedule. I couldn’t find any decent background at home besides this one cabinet but I failed to notice that part of its door was actually faded until I was already done filming. In an attempt to hide it in a way that still appeared on-brand, I slapped some star and cloud stickers on the video and claimed that it matched my own name. The only obstacle I had to overcome was practicing for my panels.
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The fact that my question and answer session with the Executive Board was to held be online instead of in-person given our circumstances was supposed to comfort me somehow. But either way, not knowing which answers were going to be expected of me gave me a great deal of anxiety. To stave off this irrational fear, I prepared a Quizlet with 27 potential questions or points for clarification on one side, and my response on the other, which I rehearsed with just the right amount of uh’s and um’s interspersed to make it look as spontaneous as possible. Maybe my greatest sacrifice though was boycotting any TV shows or movies until I was done presenting because even the most mindless programming could take away precious brain cells needed to retain more important information.
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On the day of my actual interview, I was feeling pretty confident. I had gone the extra mile by preparing an hour early and recording videos of myself answering my imaginary questions on my laptop camera. This way, I felt like I was simulating the actual experience. But not even this form of planning could have prepared me for the real deal. I wish I could tell you more about how it went but I was so nervous that I blacked out. I vaguely remember puckering my lips and flashing a peace sign every time I didn’t know the answer to something and had to respond with, “I will look into that if I ever get the position.” I also remember that not a single one out of the 27 questions I had committed to memory was asked.
As expected, I was the most relieved when it was over, I didn’t even feel embarrassed until much later on. I got out of my smart casual attire, slipped into some pajamas, watched a movie, and finished the tub of Coffee Crumble waiting in the freezer as a reward. Two days later, I had received a message from Chelsea asking if she could call me. My friend Iverson had said that results are announced to all applicants via phone call before being released to the public at night. It’s not a clear indicator that I was the one they chose, which was horrifying because who wants to be rejected over the phone? My younger self hated Joe Jonas and what he did to Taylor Swift for precisely this reason!
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Thankfully, I was only met with good news. Chelsea had told me that I had been chosen by the Executive Board and I was ACTM’s new AVP for Docs. I hadn’t eaten breakfast at the time despite the fact that it was 10 minutes to noon at the time so it took a while for my nutrient-deprived brain to generate the appropriate reaction. The joy kicked in eventually: I jumped up and down and yelled I’M SO HAPPY so many times once the call ended that the words have started to lose meaning.
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Since then, I’ve spent my time familiarizing myself with my roles and responsibilities while getting to know everyone else on the team. I’ve had a video call via Google Meets with the people in my department where we leveled off, got to know one another better, and set our goals for the year as we watched Chelsea eat pasta. Very wholesome! EC Wars was also pretty fun: all eight departments of the organization were head-to-head in different challenges. It kinda reminded me of high school intramurals but with less broken friendships. We had to auction one another a la Unsubtle Syota Searching, make a Tiktok introducing our department, its relevance and the roles of each member (which officially launched my career as the org’s official Kris Aquino impersonator), and had a chaotic game of Bring Me through Facebook Messenger. Yes, it’s possible but not if you’re a PLDT subscriber! I also got put in a group with other members of the EC for an activity where we had to make an IMC campaign for a chosen advocacy. As the Mind Readers (named as such because of the multiple instances we sent the exact same message at the same time), we were assigned to tackle sustainable fashion and I have to say that our finished product was, as Dani Rosales herself would call it, “hot”.
This week, we’re on to the more serious stuff: revising internal procedures, refining platform points, etc etc. The fear caused by my self-doubt is further compounded by our current situation, which is keeping us from performing our tasks the way we envisioned we would. But I am a hundred percent confident that since I’m with the right people and we’re all doing the very best we can, it’s going to be one crazy fulfilling year ahead for all of us. I’m endlessly grateful to ACTM for taking a chance on me! Shoutout, of course, to: (1) Chelsea for serving as the final push I needed to decide that serving this organization is what I wanted to do; (2) all my friends who told me I had nothing to worry about while I was being neurotic and who were the first to congratulate me and say that they told me so; and (3) my parents who listened to my rants even if they were 90% org-related jargon.
Wishing you all love and light,
Angel
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daleisgreat · 4 years ago
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2019-20 TV Season Recap
Previous TV Season Recaps - (2013-14 | 2014-15 | 2015-16 | 2016-17 | 2017-18 | 2018-19) JULY 2, 2020 UPDATED WITH RANKINGS FOR WATCHMEN AND FINAL SEASONS OF GAME OF THRONES CLICK HERE TO JUMP RIGHT TO THEM Greetings, and welcome to my yearly TV season breakdown of all the shows I followed that were released during the past school year. For newer readers, please take a peek at previous TV recaps above that go as far back to the 2013-14 season. I usually try and watch a couple more shows during the summer and will update the top of this entry with an addendum link to new shows I kept up with during the summer. I will keep up my tradition of beginning with some animation shows….
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South Park - This is a slight improvement from last year’s season, and it continues South Park’s return to form of episodic storylines. There were a couple dud episodes sprinkled in, but I was a fan of most of the ten shows this season. Standouts were cable TV installers fighting the war on streaming services, criticizing the Chinese government’s censorship to the point of getting South Park banned in China and an awesome season finale that sees Randy’s pot farm in despair when pot is outlawed during Christmas season so he turns to growing cocaine and gets everyone, including Santa and Jesus, hooked on it. Grade: B Simpsons - Last few years I have stuck to watching a few episodes a year of The Simpsons and Family Guy to at least have that constant association with those long lasting shows. Usually it is only the season premiere, finale and the Christmas episode of each show. The Simpsons I will also watch its annual Treehouse of Horror special, but something about this season kept me coming back to it where I watched nearly half of their episodes this season. They had their first ever Thanksgiving of Horror special which I was surprised with the amount of gore that got in. With this being the first full season of the show where it officially fell under the Disney ownership umbrella, there are now constant Disney, Pixar, Star Wars and Marvel references throughout, but likely due to the nature of the show it was not that intrusive to put up with. I really dug an episode with the Flanders coming to terms on reconciling with Maude’s death in a ‘special’ episode. Other fun episodes were the return of Sideshow Bob for the Christmas special and a touching season finale centering around Santa’s Little Helper, complete with a flashback to a clip of the very first Simpsons episode in 1989. Grade: B+
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The Conners - Loving how most of the cast is settling into their roles by this point. I was thrilled to see the family regain ownership and reopen ‘The Lunchbox.’ Loved episodes that centered on that homey diner in the original. Sara Gilbert and John Goodman continue to carry the show on their backs. Seeing Dan’s dilemma of coming to terms with accepting the passing of Roseanne and committing to Louise was a chase that was worth following all season and had a gratifying payoff. I loved the ups and downs of Darlene and Ben’s relationship this season, and Ben has easily won me over as a regular on the show and I hope he is there to stay. Harris on the other hand…not so much. I would love to see more of DJ and his family in the mix, and it is disheartening to see he seems like such an afterthought of the show. Seeing Becky’s newfound motherhood troubles were a bit much to keep up with but it had its moments. One nagging issue I have with the series that has now been back for three seasons is that they never addressed what happened to Jackie's kid yet from the original run which is kind of ridiculous. Not even in a passing ‘Fred has custody now on the other side of the country’ sort of way. I was hoping to see Fred make a surprise return for an episode or something to address that, but will have to keep my fingers crossed for season four. Loved most of this season minus the Harris-centered episodes, and a couple of plotlines and barbs that felt like overkill. Grade: B+ Arrow – It was bittersweet to see the final episode of Arrow this past January. It was the last show I kept up with in the DC line of CW shows since I dropped the other couple midseason last year because it became too much to keep up with. Oliver had a fond farewell as the entire season built up that Olly would be riding off into the sunset this season. This season saw the continued use of jumping back and forth between current and future timelines where Oliver’s two children, Mia & William are all grown up and doing their own vigilante justice. I watched the entire five part Crisis on Infinite Earths crossover special between all the DC-CW shows. I will not attempt to explain it because my brain will explode in doing so, but it has a major impact dealing with Oliver’s fate and it all comes full circle in the finale with a heartfelt memorial for Oliver in front of a lot of familiar faces that were delightful to see again. The memorial saw an absolutely killer speech from Diggle that had my emotions running wild.
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Arrow has consistently remained my favorite DC show on the CW. It had a touch more edge than the other shows which eventually morphed into a carefree, watered down formula I could not tolerate anymore. It sounds like there will be a new spinoff show with Mia and William starting next season, but I think but this seems like the perfect jumping off point from the ever-growing lineup of DC shows. There were times I felt like I needed a guide to keep up with all the time travelling plot threads, but the recaps helped keep me in check, and this was a great way to wrap up my favorite show of the CW-DC ‘Arrow-verse.’ Grade: A The Witcher – I heard a lot of positive buzz going into this Netflix original series, and being only eight episodes did not seem like too much of a commitment so I dove right in. The videogames this series is based on have been in my backlog forever so I cannot say how they compare, but I was won over by the two main characters of Geralt and Yennefer. Jaskier the bard was also the perfect companion to provide brief moments of levity. Henry Cavill has a tremendous presence as Geralt, and comes off as one powerful badass not to mess with. My favorite episode is where Geralt competes against a couple other factions going up a mountain to hunt a dragon that has many fun twists and turns. It would not be a medieval fantasy show without a big awesome setpiece war of a finale, and Witcher also delivers on that front. Only nitpick I have is sometimes the lore can be a bit dense to keep up with, but at only eight episodes that does not prevent it from being an easy recommendation. Grade: A-
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Castlevania – The third season of the Netflix original show based on the hit videogame series is easily my favorite season of the three. There are several separate story arcs transpiring throughout the season, and most of them I was able to get into with the exception of Alucard's odd arc where mysterious loners seek his guidance who oddly turn on him for not revealing all his secrets after only a week under his tutelage. The rest of the cast had vastly more intriguing storylines. Trevor and Sypha are an adorably deadly couple that find themselves helping out a village filled with all kinds of dark secrets. Forgemaster Hector is wrapped up in a pickle of a situation as a prisoner of vampires who want global conquest. Forgemaster Isaac had an arc that I got into where he also is on his own quest for taking over the world. Something about the way it was written this season especially made it pop for me with each episode having one or two standout sessions of conversing. That boat captain especially, I want him to come back after his enticing conversations with Isaac! The last two episodes packed a really mean punch and compensate for the lack of action for the rest of the season. Sure as hell hope to see a fourth season soon enough! Grade: A Star Trek: Picard - During the early weeks of the global pandemic we are now in, a lot of streaming services offered extended free trials. I took advantage of that for CBS All Access, which is the exclusive home of Picard. Despite being nearly 20 years older since we last saw him as Picard, Sir Patrick Stewart remains masterful in the role. Now that it has been about a month since I wrapped it up, I am kind of 50/50 on the first season of Picard. There were some characters that I did not care for, but the show ultimately came together for a semi-decent season. Loved the expected old faces that returned for rushes of nostalgia I was totally into, and am glad only a few older faces returned to save room for future cameos. Took a while to get use to watching Star Trek in a serialized format with story arcs lasting the whole season, but I liked the crew Picard assembled by the end of the season, and although the season arc spiraled into a bit of a mess by the season finale that I additionally will refrain from attempting to explain, a big part of me is feeling like the cast was starting to organically gel by the last episode which leads me hoping for a better dynamic in season two. Grade: B-
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Star Trek: Discovery (Seasons 1 & 2) – That CBS All Access trial wound up getting extended further into two months for me so I once again took advantage of that to plow through the first two seasons of the newest core Star Trek show, Discovery. The first season was a bit of a chore to get through. After an explosive two episode season opener setting up the protagonist Michael Burnham, the show gradually got less interesting as they mixed in plot tropes I despise like time travelling and alternate dimensions that play a major role in the first season. I will give props to a guilty pleasure time loop episode I was all in for however that can easily be watched in its own without taking in the rest of the serialized plot. I was not that into Rainn Wilson before, but his recurring role here as con-man Harry Mudd was my unlikely favorite character of the first season. My main gripe about the first season is it is all about Michael, with the rest of the crew primarily relegated to B and C plot affairs while most other past Star Trek shows shined the spotlight on the entire crew. The second season is a step up with some noticeable improvements. I liked the introduction of their versions of Captain Pike and Spock on here that drastically helped the rest of the cast to step up. Seeing Spock & Michael’s sibling rivalry and their past revealed as the season went on was an arc that I was able to invest in. Discovery did a little bit of fleshing out of some parts of the rest of the crew, but it could have done better where instead a lot more emphasis was placed on Michael's character making silly Jennifer Garner-esque reactionary faces. She does a mean vulcan eyebrow though, ditto with Spock! Special effects are in a league of their own, no idea how they have the budget for it with nearly every episode having a ton of spectacular action scenes. TNG nut in me would prefer Discovery to dial back the action a notch or two, but supposedly the new Pike spinoff show, Strange New Worlds, will do that next year. Season 1 Grade: C- Season 2 Grade: B- ====================================== UPDATE – July 2, 2020 ====================================== A couple weeks after I posted this originally I did one of them free one week trials for HBO Max to crank out two more shows I have been meaning to get to for quite some time so here are my thoughts on them….
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Watchmen - The 2009 film is extraordinarily polarizing among anyone I talk to. I have a love/hate/love relationship with it myself. The HBO TV series from several months ago appears to be the same from the first few people I spoke with about it too after finishing it earlier this week. It is set in the present in 2019, some 34 years after the events of the graphic novel. I was hooked by the end of the first episode which had an impactful viewing experience due to the similarities of how the police are portrayed in Watchmen to the recent real life events/riots/protests in recent weeks. Nearly every episode had an interesting hook that spiraled into another arc that had its own callback and references to the original story and how the present world in the show was still enduring the rippling effects from the conclusion of the original saga. The second half of the season has a different dynamic to it once certain revelations are made of key characters and other characters are introduced. Seeing each episode’s dose of Ozymandias’ journey from the past 34 years had me scratching my head where it was going until his arc came full circle and it all pleasantly came together. A couple little twists and turns did not sit well with me in how the finale played out, but for the most part I was absolutely invested in the series throughout and hopes the show gets picked up for a second season which is currently in doubt because the season one showrunner feels the first season put an overall conclusion to Watchmen all together. Grade: A-
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Game of Thrones - I finally got around to watching the eighth and final season of Game of Thrones. I somehow managed to escape spoilers all this time too. Was in no rush to see it due to noticeable step down in quality from the seventh season based on how rushed it felt and how it crammed two seasons of content into one. Unfortunately the same can be said here for the last season. The thing is though the first half of season eight is extremely good. Episode one is all about reuniting the characters and setting up for the battle of all battles against the undead army that has been building since the very beginning of the show. I loved how the second episode gave nearly every character a moment of their own to take in their presumable last evening before the fight ahead as they basked in each other’s fellowship and drink. Then the battle itself was a huge undertaking for a TV show to pull off a battle scene of that magnitude for over an hour, even with a premium HBO budget. There are parts where I can nitpick and see where they tried little camera tricks and implemented other special effects tomfoolery to give the false illusion they were on par with the AAA budget cinematic battles of The Lord of the Rings trilogy, but by and large that battle with the Whitewalkers is an impressive feat of television filmmaking that I will never forget. Loved every chapter of that third episode. If you have fallen off of Game of Thrones after season seven, then do yourself a favor and at least watch episodes two and three of the final season. Now if the series would have ended after that big battle that would have been ideal, but there was still one Queen Cersei to deal with…. …and the final three episodes of the season eight dealt with the rest of the kingdoms building up for one last battle to take over the Red Keep and remove Cersei from the throne. The final three episodes feel overwhelmingly rushed and should have had their own expanded season, and that is saying something because those episodes are all longer than average episodes and around the length of a movie each. While the first half of the final season has key characters meet their demise in a blaze of glory, the final episodes have anticlimactic finales for fan favorite characters and it felt like the writers were trying to make the best of the worst situation for trying to wrap up the show. There are a couple fleeting moments I enjoyed for certain characters having a gratifying conclusion to their stories, but I could not shake this gut-wrenching feeling throughout the final two episodes that the wheels were quickly flying off the rails. For what it is worth, I did like Bran and Jon Snow’s final destinations and scenes for how they were shot and am now relieved I have now got this show out of the way. I avoided reading recaps and spoilers, but had a feeling this was not going to be a good season due to a general lack of reaction and enthusiasm for the final season as it was transpiring, minus a little optimism for the aforementioned midseason battle. The series finale came and went without much of an online reaction to my surprise and in the succeeding months little murmurs of ‘meh’ was what I picked up on in the general sense of how it wrapped up when asking around….and I am essentially on board with that after seeing it myself. Now with that out of the way…should I read the books? Grade: C Past TV/Web Series Blogs 2013-14 TV Season Recap 2014-15 TV Season Recap 2015-16 TV Season Recap 2016-17 TV Season Recap 2017-18 TV Season Recap 2018-19 TV Season Recap Adventures of Briscoe County Jr: The Complete Series Baseball: A Ken Burns series Angry Videogame Nerd Home Video Collections Cobra Kai – Seasons 1-2 Mortal Kombat: Legacy - Season 1 | Season 2 OJ: Made in America: 30 for 30 RedvsBlue - Seasons 1-13 Roseanne – Seasons 1-9 Seinfeld Final Season Star Trek: Next Generation – Seasons 1-7 Superheroes: A Never-Ending Battle Superheroes: Pioneers of Television The Vietnam War: A Ken Burns series X-Men – The Animated Series: Volumes 4-5
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someaveragechick · 7 years ago
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a refined story on how love broke my place in this world
so how’d i come to be here typing up an essay which i know will go unread?   JULY 2016; a bad decision to move schools lead to spurts of bullying, turning a bubbly 15 year old into a 16 year old who quite bluntly, just wanted to die, which she tried very hard to do for quite some time. deteriorated self esteem lead to a thirst for love and acceptance, a need for emotional safety. so after being objectified by boys, mesmerized at the idea of an escape, and terrified of what i became capable of, i moved schools again. and this brought us to July, 2016.
new school, new opportunities, and then there was him. a boy with big brown eyes, soft lips and a heart of gold, and there i was, awkwardly standing in the way of his locker. fast forward past the early morning to late night conversations, weeks of bonding.... and we’re brought to SEPTEMBER 2016; i knew that id fallen deeply for him, further than i’d fallen before, or at least so i thought. but of course, i became fearful as memories of every guy who ever did me wrong flooded in and suddenly like the monster i’d become, he became just like every other guy in my eyes and i denied my true feelings for him, in the classic me way of dealing with my emotions, i messed everything up. i lost all my new friends, i lost him and i lost myself again, but i told myself he was just like the rest, except he wasn’t because i couldn’t just get over him. and so we stopped speaking. i sank back into a place far too familiar, numbness accompanied by blades and the dark part of tumblr, that go me through until:
NOVEMBER 2016; i started going to the gym to distract myself, and i felt like i could say with all honesty i was getting over him. last minute change of mind, and i decided to go to my schools formal, i wish i could say i wore white in the spirit of new beginnings but if i’m honest i just liked the dress, and apparently he did too, enough to come whisper in my ear that i ‘looked alright’.... BOOM FUCKING CRASH BANG, the smallest comment moved mountains for me and like an unrealistic cartoon, my heart flew out of my chest. so i messaged him that night and we spoke until the early hours of the morning, and every day since.
JANUARY 2017; it’s a fair way to skip but lets just cut it down to this, school holidays kicked in and like Romeo and Juliet we fought against how everyone felt about us being together, spent almost every day of the summer together and went on adventure after adventure, we even said how we could never get bored of each other, spoiler alert, i’m the only one who stuck to my word. so anyway, January, we became ‘official’, went on double dates with my best friend and when they broke up we would talk how our relationship was going to outlast everyone we knew.
FEBRUARY-JULY 2017; we did a lot together and created heaps of little traditions. painted walls, went rollerskating, drank and sung around campfires, walked on beaches, kicked the footy, cooked, adventured, lived together. we were each others bestfriends and we fell back on each other. i put every ounce of energy i had into him. any money i got would go towards dates or giving him little surprises to brighten his day. what can i say? i put him before my family and i truly believed with all my heart that we would be together forever. he got new friends and school stressed us both out, it would be an understatement to say we were both failing school, but we were trying. i believed in him, because he had so much potential to do great, with a kind heart and a great brain in that big head of his, i believed he could do anything he put his mind into, where it be football, school, work or photography, i wanted him to be happy, and its how i lived those months. wanting him to be happy and to love him. 
TIMELINE BREAK; people were cruel, and he was a big softy, he was my big softy and i thought that if i could put all my love and energy into him that i could protect him, we argued for a while, but for two weeks leading up to August, i learnt to be calm and stopped every argument because i just thought he was stressed over school and the assholes of the world. they told him he should drop out, they made him think less of himself and i hated them for it, because i thought he was worth so much more. 
AUGUST 5TH 2017; we went shopping to get ingredients for a recipe he really wanted to make, we danced and goofed around, then i dropped him home so he could get ready for a party he was going to. i’ll add that this was also the same day as my dogs birthday, so whilst he was out i was occupied singing happy birthday to a dog wearing a party hat, irrelevant but okay, back on track, the (supposed) love of my life kept calling me whilst he was drunk all night, every 15 minutes, he started to feel sick so i told him to go sit down somewhere and sip water, last i heard from him. i was worried sick because i couldn't be there to look after my drunk mess. AUGUST 6TH 2017; i went over to my hungover mess’s house, we were being cute, we had sex we cuddle we laughed, we were happy. my parents came and picked us up and took him to his footy final where i stood there in the rain watching him with my parents (side note, my parents hated him at first, but by this stage they loved him, like reeeeaaally fucking loved him). he came back to mine after and we did what we usually did, laughed and loved. that night he broke and decided he wanted to break up with me because he was having a meltdown over some older guys accusing him of throwing up on the carpet of the party he was at. so i did what i always did, i cared for him, loved him, tried to help him, and in return for loving him, he broke up with me, and gave me the biggest load of verbal abuse as he did so. i broke. AUGUST 7TH 2017; i ditched the first part of school to go see him, he got on the bus and moved closer to me and put his hand on my leg, i felt relieved, as if i actually believed in that moment that he realized how badly he’d been treating me, but nope. an hour later he basically said we were still over and he didn’t want anything to do with me. AUGUST 10TH 2017; gotta hurry this up, i was a mess i hadn’t eaten in days and i was imploding. so i reached out to someone who was at the party to find out if it was him who threw up at the party and if his meltdown was worth losing me, but i found out more than i was supposed to. this boy, this boy that i would've taken a bullet for and gave my everything to, cheated on me with some girl who had zero self respect, was in a committed relationship with ecstasy, but whatever right? she was known for doing that shit, but nah, next thing i know he is following her around like a lost puppy. THE REST OF THE STORY; so after not even 2 weeks we spoke again, we decided mutually that we would get back into a commitment but not be officially in a relationship. and this lasted for a while, we were having sex again, and a lot of it and then one night i rush to the hospital and watch my favorite family member pass away, i was a mess and i needed him, but here we go again,whilst i was trying to call him to tell him my grandad was just had emergency heart surgery and didn’t make it,  he was at a party getting with the same girl.  AND LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, I FORGAVE HIM, AGAIN. so we were committed again and he called me and i roasted him and so he begged for me not to go and said he didn't want that other girl and that she was just a distraction because he missed me, even added that he was going to cut ties with her because he loved me. so the next day he did, not... he did not, because if you haven't already realized this boy is the biggest liar i have ever met. so we were together again, and i later found out he was still messaging her pathetically, trying so desperately to get her attention, and he made me feel like shit he really did, some of the verbal abuse hit me deep down to my core. (i’ll just add here that he had sex with that girl whilst we were having sex) anyway, after he betrayed me 3 times, he promised it was never going to happen and that i’m all he wanted and that he would protect me. skip to the end, he went to a party and got with 4 different girls, lied about it, and then blocked me on everything when he found out that i had found out. that was a very short way to end it but it was dragging on. WHERE I AM NOW; am i still broken? yes very, unlike him i truly felt in love and that isn't something that is easy to brush off. what do i think of him now? let’s just say i really had hope for him to change, in fact i was the only one who believed in him in the end, i was the only one who cared deeply, but well now? lets just say a tiger can’t change its stripes. he found me as a bitter monster and left me when i became pure and sweet. i found him as a pure and sweet boy with potential, and when he left me he left me as a bitter, manipulative, lying, monster. funny how the world works.
 it’s a long journey and my heart still aches from time to time, but if he wanted to put that sort of life style before someone who truly cared and loved him, then i know that he doesn't deserve me. those big brown eyes are as cold as ice, his heart of gold turned to stone and the boy i fell in love with it not the same one that broke me.
he made me lose my place in the world, he made me second guess my worth and my right to wake up everyday, i felt like numb worthless space.  i know who i am now and i’m ridiculously proud of myself, and i can not wait until i find someone who i can love and not fear.  i will just keep adventuring until i bump into someone, the right someone, who appreciates every little thing i do, because if i could love the wrong person this much, i cant imagine how much i can love the right person.
 so until then i will keep growing, because there’s a bubbly 15 year old who deserves it. -S.a.o 6th of November 2017
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iammarylastar · 7 years ago
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The Exception
Here is a litlle something I wrote after watching The Exception. Thanks to my bêta girl @tigpooh67 you’re awesome😘 And thanks to all of the amazing fanfic writers here, who inspired me with their words. @frecklefaceb @kenzieam @beautifulramblingbrains @singingpeople @oddsnendsfanfics @pathybo and my ultimate muse @ashtotes 😍 Enjoy! !!
‘Knock knock’
She startled at the sound, closing the field of her bittersweet memories. Her hands still busy doing the dishes as she gets lost in her thoughts for what seemed a lifetime.
Stefan.
It has been weeks since she had sent the book to the headquarters where he was supposed to do whatever paperwork his country needed him to, where a contact in Berlin secretly messaged her.
She was wondering if she would ever get a chance to see him again, ignoring unknown answers of whether he received the book or if he was even still alive. No letter, no telegram. Nothing. The spy agent who informed her vanished. Just like she had. Gone. No news yet.
When she finally arrived in London she endured a dreadful debriefing from the secret agency that sent her to the Kaiser’s house. 
Their concern or more accusations she may have turned her coat and collaborated with the enemy. After all, “Women are weak sometimes” they said.
She spit out all the details she could, talking everything about Captain Stefan Brandt, making sure to pass him off as a double agent, a traitor to his country who had saved her life. Saving her in so many ways. 
Her hierarchy had trusted her and due to her service’s records, foreign languages skills and condition, hired her as a voice coach. Her duty was to teach the spies-to-be everything they had to know about German accents, habits and subtleties of dialect, depending on where they would be based or supposed to be from.
She also taught women the smartest way to use their ass and boobs to lure men. First and foremost, Officers or high-ranking Generals.
Men are weak she said, and stupid especially when it’s about bang one out. Best opportunity for pillow talks.
She knew too well about what she was talking, not bothering to warn the ladies from falling in love. Because that’s not something you could neither choose nor control. If only she wouldn’t have falling for Stefan so deep and hard, she wouldn’t have felt this alone and desperate. 
Her job provided her enough money to rent this place, relatively safe since they assured her she wouldn’t go back on the field.
Being busy kept her from turning mad, she had so much work with the soldiers it really helped to fill her mind with something else other than him.
She already was preserving the memory of him in her mind and under her skin, literally.
Of course there were a number of suitors around her, all willing to put either her in their bed or a ring on her finger. After all, women like her were hard to find; Smart, Courageous, Beautiful, Single and Employed. 
But there was no way she could respond to any of those pretenders. 
She was his and only his. No one compared to her German Captain, ever.
She opened the door, still lost in her thoughts, her hand left the doorknob to finish wiping them on her white apron.
“Yes?” As it slipped through her lips before she lifted her gaze up to meeting her visitor’s piercing blue eyed stare which she knew and missed so much.
She gasped in shock, her hands gripping her chest, her eyes widening and trying to focus on the man in front of her through fresh tears.
He was alive. And he was here.
She was as beautiful as he remembered. Even sweeter as it was the real her, not the ghost image which had haunted his dreams and thoughts for the latest 5 months.
If only she knew. If only she knew the depths of his feelings, the risks he had taken to join her. His slightest heartbeat, breath and movement had been only for her. For this moment.
Stuck outside the threshold, his legs paralyzed and his arms heavier than stone, he felt like that awful day when he woke up from his belly’s surgery. 
Miraculously alive but skinned alive. The tiny pieces of the shrapnel burst within his bowels and liver, burning hell each time he tried to breathe.
The sight of the love of his life had his body screaming out all the pain hidden inside for months, worrying to death and endlessly waiting for some good news of her safety. The pain in his heart, whilst forced to accuse her of being Jewish, murders and intelligence, charging her of crimes for high treason to save his own 'so-called Nazi’ neck. He held back some tears that furiously knocked behind his eyelids.
They shared kind of the same stare they already had, that day they were forced to part, to save their lives. A sacrifice they both had paid the price, that unbearable lack of each other, but which none of them regret.
Now they were together again. Almost. A single step and he would be able to touch her. The tips of his fingers were tingling at the thought but his damn feet stayed glued to the ground.
Tears were already rolling down her cheeks, her beautiful face lightened by a warm smile, the corners of her lips he couldn’t wait to kiss trembling with emotion. 
She fought the urge to burst into tears, her body screaming its need for his, to hug her tight and never part again. She couldn’t make a move though, her lips agape, the air stuck in the top of her lungs. No words allowed leaving her tongue.
Chuckling, he scratched the back of his neck, like he was searching for the right words. Swallowing hard, he just let it go. 
“Ma'am” he finally broke the silence. 
“My name is Stefan Brandt and I was wondering what yours was.”
He finished his sentence in a large grin, waiting for her to tease him back. 
She chuckled, eased by having her cheeky bastard back.
If he wanted to play that game, she was totally in. They always had been good at teasing each other. 
“Mieke Brandt” she simply uttered in a smile, wiping her wet cheeks with the back of her hand.
He couldn’t help but step forward, his hands cupping so gently the sides of her soft face, his lips burning painfully to be so close to hers and so far in the same time.
Their breaths mixed the same air and they both fought the urge to melt into each other, savouring the slightest second of their reunion. 
“Your husband must be so proud of his exceptional beauty of a wife.” He whispered, his thumbs caressing her cheeks, helping her face to get rid of all the tears that continued to flow down. 
His fierce look was roaming all over her face, from her hazel eyes to her wet lips. It took all he had not to eat her mouth up, tear off her clothes and lick every piece of skin he could to taste her again.
His eyes were telling all what his mouth couldn’t, the lump in his throat barely allowed him to breathe, his emotions invading every cells of his.
I miss you. I love you. I want you. Forever.
She had read him loud and clear, and though she’d rather have heard his low voice saying those words, caressing her ears and echoing through her heart to her core, having them screamed by his heart and soul had her heart grown heavy. 
She wouldn’t complain having her beau speechless: both his lips and tongue could be used on better purpose.
“I know” she smiled before pulling him in a so awaited kiss, moulding her mouth with his, allowing his tongue to enter.
His tongue softly caressed hers, in the sweetest kiss they ever shared.
But the sound of her moans vibrating in his throat went setting fires all over his body and he knew there was nothing else to do but let his desire take control.
He walked her backwards, one hand leaving her skin just to throw the door shut before being glued to her again.
Stumbling back, she suddenly hit the wall behind her, eliciting a gasp from her lungs. 
Their teeth bumped under the shock and Stefan pulled back to check on her.
“You OK?” Are the only words allowed to leave his lips before she assaulted them again in a hungry kiss, biting his lower lips, then nibbling along his light stubble jaw until her lips were met with his ear, she licked while teasingly whispering
“Take off my clothes”
He chuckled, his 5 o'clock shadow scratching the delicate skin of her throat where he was nuzzling his face.
She practically could feel his grin grow whilst rolling his eyes. 
He reluctantly pulled back, leaving the warmth of her neck to meet the fire in her eyes.
Her sultry tone just added more fuel to his fire and his cock got harder at the reminding of how wet, warm and sweet it was to fill her core. 
She was acting like a tigress, her nibble fingers attacking the buttons of his shirt while her tongue continued its wild dance with his.
She was so eager to feel his skin on hers, her fingers couldn’t work quick enough. Tear then rip the shirt off crossed her mind but she finally managed to slide her hand under the fabric and stroke his pec. Racking her nails on the hard muscle had revived the memories of their lovemaking and had her turned on even more.
His large hands had already rid her of her apron and were now working on unbuttoning her dress in her back when he felt her opening her thighs for him as she managed to lift her right knee and clung onto his upper leg. 
No way could he longer resist that invitation. After 5 months of starvation, his cock longed to be buried inside her, her tender flesh pressing around it as she rocked her hips on him, his palms massaging her breasts.
His hands left the last button, her plump cheeks being preferred. He squeezed them tightly, eliciting a sexy groan from both of them and had no choice but crush her body with his, pinning her against the wall.
He found an unfamiliar bump when his shaft grinded against her usually flat belly.
Time seemed to stop. His brain was overwhelmed with what he was feeling around his lower belly while his whole body froze.
His hands slide from the back of her thighs to her belly, as he pulled back, like in slow motion. 
He scrutinized the shape of his hands cupping the mount of her rounded stomach. Standing still, out of breath, he was marvelling at this unexpected strange shape, wondering how he could have missed it. 
Unable to take his eyes off of his cupped hands, he threw just a quick glance to her face, where he could read pure relief and happiness through the flow of renewed tears.
He knelt down so his face leveled Mieke’s swollen stomach, his hands still glued on the thin fabric of her blouse covering her bump, as he finally dared to lightly caress it with his thumbs.
He embraced a career in the German Army to follow the footsteps of his father and grandfather, to the fate of the men if his family, all dead in action on the field, covered with military medals and distinctions but both leaving widows and young orphans behind them. He could settle for this life which he didn’t much care of, filled with whores or one night stands who never loved or even cared about him. This life full of pain and solitude since her mother passed on.
So dying for his country seems to be the better option.
He now was realizing he never have been so wrong. 
He had chosen the Captain ranking for the legacy, the medals for the prestige, the uniform to get the girls, the duty as his destiny, waiting for the day he would die. That was his so-called life.
Mieke had changed that. She had changed him.
He ran out of Germany, leaving all this stuff behind him, to join Mieke.
He was a deserter of his country, a traitor of Motherland, a disgrace and a shame of the Army but he really didn’t care. Who would want to be a German solider in these times of war? A country which allowed and encouraged the murder of its own people, men, women and children simply because they were Jewish?
FUCK!
He felt like he wasn’t a soldier or a countryman anymore. All he wanted now was to belong to her. This is where he wanted to call home. Mieke. And the little life she was carrying. A new beginning. His family.
Mieke looked down at him, her fingers racking through his short hair, then slid from the back of his neck to brush his stumble and uttered with a shaking voice, holding back from vanishing in a pool of tears.
“I was so scared you never will come back to me and never get to know your child…” her last words turned in a loud heartbreaking sob.
Lowering his gaze he put his forehead against her bump while his hands tightly squeezed the sides of her waist.
Towering over him, she could see his shoulders lightly shaking, his cries muffled into her bump, and she felt his hands grasping her flesh deeper , his fingers dug into her sides, never letting her go.
Lifting up pleading eyes on her, he finally managed to reiterate what he asked months ago. 
“Marry me Mieke. Now. Today.”
She silently nodded her head, her smile illuminating her face drowned in tears.
Stefan stood up, and in a swift movement captured her face and spot kissed on every piece of skin he could, drying her happy tears with his lips. He felt Mieke melting in sobs and a knot tightened in his guts.
He pecked her closed eyelids before pressing his lips on hers and finally pulled away. 
Narrowing his eyes whilst trying to read the expression on her face, he gain his courage and asked:
“Is that a yes?”
She chuckled, her wet hazel eyes looking deep into his blue stare, amazed by the handsomeness of his face and the tenderness of his gestures. He brushed her perfect features and downed her palms to her waist, his eyes never leaving hers.
She mouthed yes and he felt blessed like no man before him, staring at the woman in his arms, his absolute everything. The need to be united as one overwhelmed him and he crashed his lips on hers again.
She gasped when feeling lifted up, two hands firmly grabbing the back of her thighs. His mouth crashed on her opened lips and his tongue filled her mouth. Her legs automatically found their way around his waist, her wet folds screaming his cock’s name.
She was clinging on him like there’s no tomorrow, pulling him in a deeper and passionate kiss, her hands eagerly touching and squeezing every part of him she could.
Tightening his grip on her ass, he helped her to increase the friction of their intimate parts, still separated by their clothes.
He walked them through the corridor, blindly heading to her bedroom or whatever place he could lay her down and finally make love to her.
Lost in their moans and strokes, the world and time disappeared.
Before he got lost in her, a last thought flashed in his mind. 
His family.
One love. One duty. One decision.
The Exception
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