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lovingmyselfcore · 3 years ago

Text

Skate Into My Heart

Chapter Three; Uh oh

BESTIES

I'M ALIVE AND I DID THE WRITING THING

@ciaraloves (or @perseusjackson-jasongrace ig) LOOK AT ME DOING THE THING

As soon as Nico left the locker room, Piper pounced on him. Literally.

He was forced to take a step back and caught her by the shoulders, “What’s up?”

She was practically vibrating with excitement, “Annabeth’s back!”

“Really?”

“Yeah! Come on!” She grabbed his hand and yanked him through the hallways and into the main rink where a crowd of people had formed next to the bleachers.

It was the rest of the team and in the center was Annabeth, a duffle bag slung over one shoulder, looking exhausted as all hell but she was grinning as the team peppered her with questions and play-by-plays of the practices she’d missed.

Piper shouldered them into the center so Nico was directly in front of Annabeth, Piper on one side and Calypso on the other.

“Hey, Nico,” Annabeth said, still grinning. She stepped forward for a hug and he let her, burying his face into her neck and breathing, already feeling the responsibility leaking from his tight shoulders. Annabeth was like a big sister to him, not that he’d ever admit that, but still.

“You want to get out?” Nico whispered into her neck.

“Yes,” She whispered back emphatically. Nico could barely stop himself from laughing but as they pulled apart he saw the genuine relief in her eyes and felt himself worrying. He needed to talk to her, about the team and skating, about Will and of course, if she needed to talk about why she’d been gone for so long, he’d do that too.

Apparently, Calypso recognized that too and, bless her heart, muttered something to Leo, and together they captured the team’s attention, allowing Nico to tug Annabeth away from the crowd and out of the rink. She sighed as soon as they were ejected onto the city streets. Nico stuck an arm out and she smiled and linked their arms.

“Where are you headed?” Nico asked as they walked the short distance to the car garage.

“Oh, probably just my apartment.”

Nico nodded, “I wasn’t sure if you’d be staying with your dad or not.”

She shook her head, “He doesn’t even know I landed yet. I’ll head over in the morning.”

Her voice was stiff and Nico took that as his cue to change the subject. “So I have something to confide in you.”

She perked up almost immediately and he swallowed hard. But she just looked at him with those gray eyes and he reminded himself that this was Annabeth. That she wasn’t going to get angry with him.

At least, he hoped not.

“I’m talking to one of the hockey players,” He said casually.

Her grip on his arm stiffened and he braced himself but she was still just looking at him.

Finally, she grinned, “So when you say ‘talking to’...”

He groaned and felt himself flush, “Oh, shut up! Just friends.”

She hummed and released his arm to dig for her keys in her jacket pocket. “Is he nice?”

“No, he’s a dick,” Nico said sarcastically.

Annabeth rolled her eyes, but she was still smiling. “I don’t know why I even bother.”

“He’s blonde,” Nico offered.

“Oooh,” Annabeth drawled.

He rolled his eyes and she burst out laughing, her voice echoing off the stone walls of the parking garage.

“Is he gay?” Annabeth asked.

Nico nearly flinched and passed it off with another eye roll, “I don’t know, Annie, that’s not something that’s come up in casual conversation.”

She glared at him and Nico, being the mature adult he is, stuck his tongue out at her. She did it back then shook her head. “Too much time with Percy,” She muttered and Nico snorted. She grinned at him.

“So he’s okay?”

That sobered her immediately. “Yeah. Well, as okay as he can be. I’m only here for like two weeks because he insisted I come back, but I’m leaving as soon as possible,” She glanced sideways at him, “Not to leave you alone again, though.”

He shrugged off the flash of selfish hurt he’d felt, “I’m good, Beth.” But he wasn’t good. He’d just told her about Will, and not even the start of the way his stomach would twist when he saw a new text from the hockey player and not the same twist when he panicked. And that also meant his chances of performing solo again were climbing. He didn’t know how to feel about that part.

“Stop that!” She exclaimed, halting once they’d reached her car.

“Get some sleep, Annabeth,” He said genuinely then smirked a little, “It looks like you need it.”

She threw a balled-up receipt she’d found in her bag at him, “Dick!”

~~~~

“Hey, Nico.”

Nico nearly leaped out of his skin, spinning to see Persephone in the living room.

She snorted, “Didn’t mean to scare you, sorry. Did practice go well?”

His phone buzzed in his pocket, “Yeah. Annabeth’s back.”

Persephone hummed, reaching up to untwist her hair, sending it cascading down her shoulders, “That’s good. I know you’ve missed her,” She said with a knowing look in her eyes that made him shift uncomfortably.

“Yeah, definitely, um, I’m tired we learned some new moves for Regionals today, so,”

“Yeah of course.” She was still smiling.

“‘Night Persephone,”

~~~

Nico flopped face-down onto his bed with a groan. He knew Persephone though he had a crush on Annabeth; he didn’t blame her, he’d never really made it a point that he didn’t. He wished he could come out to her and his dad, he didn’t really have a reason why he hadn’t besides the weight of anxiety on his lungs.

His phone buzzed again, and he wriggled upright to yank it out of his pocket.

Will: Distract me

Will: My mom is driving me insane

Nico grinned to himself, both of them were dealing with mommy issues at the moment.

Nico: idk how you expect me to distract you

Will: Just tell me about snakes or smth

Nico: you think i just have fun facts about snakes on hand?

Will: Yeah?

Nico: good

Nico: cause i do

Will: :)

Nico: snakes can slither 12.5 mph

Will: Good lord

Nico: snakes have internal ears but not external ones

Will: ??

Nico: they can’t create their own body heat which is why theyre in the sun all the time

Will: Hmmmm

Nico: they smell w/their tongues

Will: I thought they had nostrils??

Nico: they do

Will: what

Nico: it’s their Jacobson’s organ my dude it works in mysterious ways

Nico: not really but yk

Nico: sCieNcE

Will: ok….

Nico: if you get bored of snakes i’ve also got a bunch of random cheetah facts

Nico: i love cheetahs

Nico: very cool

Nico: fast cats

Will: Lmao go ahead

Nico: but first

Nico: why’s your mom driving you insane

Nico: if you want to tell me ofc

Nico: not trying to be weird

Will: Nah you’re fine

Will: She wants me to focus entirely on med school and not hockey

Will: She’s trying to get me out of it, actually

Will: Do something ‘respectable’

Will: Not turn out like my dad

Will: Even though dad has literally NOTHING to do with hockey

Will: And in my opinion he’s not bad. Not great. Not awful yk

Will: But hockey’s what’s putting me through med school so

Will: Gods, I really just burdened you with that I’m so sorry

Nico: med school huh

Nico: now i can say i know a doctor

Will: In training

Nico: close enough

Nico: you’re a great hockey player and you're going to be a great doctor

Nico: and you can always talk to me, will

Nico: you’re not burdening me with shit

Will: thanks <3

Nico didn’t understand why he blushed. It was a goddamn emoji. Calm down, Di Angelo.

Will: So we’ve been talking for a few weeks now. Can I call you my friend yet?

Nico snorted, feeling like he was fifteen again, sprawled on his bed, in the dark (because for some reason he didn’t turn his lights on) late at night, texting his- well, anyway.

Nico: yea dumbass

Nico: we’re friends

Will: Nice

Will: Now give me cheetah facts you adorable nerd

~~~

WILL

“Will? You good?”

Will blinked, Jason coming in to focus in front of him. “Uh, yeah.”

“That was believable,” Clarisse said sarcastically from behind Jason.

Will attempted to shake the fog from his head, “Yes,” He repeated.

Jason just blinked at him and Will was formulating an excuse for why he was so tired besides the fact that he’d spent all night talking to a cute figure skater with a ridiculous amount of animal facts stored in his small body when Coach Hedge’s voice boomed from his seat on the bleachers, “Solace! You alive?”

“Yes, coach!” Will shot back.

“Then why are you just standing there? Get back to the game! You too, La Rue and Grace!”

“Yes, sir!” They all barked back.

Clarisse gave him a once over before skating back to her goal and Jason went over to Will’s spot with him, “You sure you’re alright?”

“Yeah, just tired.”

Jason opened his mouth, probably to question why the mom friend of their group was tired enough he nearly tripped over his stick but Will just said, “It’s fine, Jase. It’s not a big deal.”

“Grace!” Coach Hedge screeched.

Jason gave up on trying to interrogate Will and skated back over to his spot.

~~~~

“Mama, please,” Will tried, but his mother cut him off.

“Willaim. Hush. How’s that girl you said you were dating?”

What?

He was silent for a beat too long.

“Oh, baby,” His mother’s thick southern accent drenched her words. “You broke up? I’m so sorry.”

Oh gods, Lou Ellen Blackstone.

Will and Lou Ellen had dated for two months a long time ago, and when they were still dating he’d told his mother about her to get her to back off of his personal life a little. Their break up hadn’t had a huge fallout, Lou Ellen had told him through tears in his living room that she was aromantic. They were still friends, had been even before they dated, actually, and talked to each other pretty regularly.

But the problem was, that had been three months ago, and he hadn’t told his mother about their breakup. He knew she’d ask why, and he didn’t want to out Lou Ellen or make her a devil in his mother’s eyes. So he’d procrastinated coming up with a reason until he’d forgotten about it entirely.

And now it had come back to bite him in the ass.

“Yeah we broke up a little while ago,” He forced himself to sound choked up, which wasn’t hard, giving the way his panicked brain was now sprinting in circles on his lungs. “I just didn’t disappoint you.” Probably the most honest thing he’d said in weeks, but that’ll be unpacked later.

“Honey,” She sighed sadly and Will didn’t know whether or not that was on his behalf or hers.

“Well, it’s okay, because I’m dating someone new.”

“Oh?” He could hear her spine straighten. “Is it someone I know?”

No, mom, it’s not one of the country girls I grew up with.

“No,” He winced at how southern he sounded. He’d been talking to his mother for five minutes. “You don’t know him.”

HIM. Good Gods, Will. Yeah, you came out as bi to your mom, but still, you haven’t actually mentioned a guy to her yet.

She was silent for so long his heart joined his brain in the track meet happening on top of his lungs. “What’s his name?”

He was so she’d spoken that he blurted, “Nico.”

What. The. Fuck. Willaim.

Apparently, his heart had won that damn track race.

“Well, what I was leading up to before you told me about what happened,”

Will hummed non-committally, trying not to sound like he was taking relieved breaths as she spoke.

“The family’s come for a reunion and you should bring that boy!” Will choked on his spit.

“Mom, I don’t know about-”

“No, William. There isn’t a set date yet so we can work around your schedule,” Fuck. “I insist, Will. I need to meet this boy you clearly like very much, even though all you’ve said is his name, a mother knows.”

Umm, what.

“Sure,” Will said, sounding a little strangled. “But we have a game this weekend.”

“Alright, William.” She sounded the way she always did when he brought up hockey. “But as I said, we can work around your schedule and his. Talk to him about it, and let me know.”

“Yeah. Yeah,” Will repeated. “I’ll do that.”

She hung up and he was left staring at the wilting daisies at his kitchen table.

What had he just done?

#skate into my heart au #solangelo #nico di angelo #will solace #nico x will #jason grace #annabeth chase #percy jackson #pjo fic #hoo fic #au #percy jackson and the olympians #heroes of olympus #solangelo fic #will and nico

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bloodfromthethorn · 3 years ago

Text

Friendly Fire

Mac tries very hard not to make mistakes, because whenever he does, people always, always get hurt. An army days fic.

Part thirteen of the July of Whump 2021 prompt challenge.

Also on AO3.

Despite what a lot of people seemed to believe, Mac did make mistakes. It didn’t happen all that often because he was viscerally aware that a lot of what he did was dangerous to more than just himself and that meant that you goddamn checked your working, but he wasn’t infallible. When he’d been younger, those mistakes had usually been small things, like falling out of a tree because he’d misjudged the distance between two branches or not picking up on his father’s mood quickly enough to avoid a lecture, but there had been some big blowouts too. The football field was probably the crowning example, but it wasn’t the only one.

Then he’d joined the army and been sent into the desert and suddenly the idea of making a mistake went from ‘possibly dangerous’ to ‘will almost certainly cost lives’. It was around that time that he started triple checking his working, just to be sure.

Which made it all the more horrifying when he did finally screw something up badly enough to get someone hurt. And, just in case that wasn’t punishment enough for his own stupidity and hubris, of course that someone would be Jack. Of fucking course.

He dug through the rubble like a man possessed, tearing open a gouge on his hand as he did so but not faltering for even a single second.

“Jack!” He didn’t dare raise his voice too high just in case any hostiles had survived the blast, but he needed his Overwatch to answer him. Since the wall had come down, he hadn’t heard a peep. “C’mon Dalton, you’re not going out like this. You do not get to die on me.”

He scrabbled for a moment against a chunk of sundried stone just a little too heavy for him to comfortably shift, then was rewarded with the smallest sliver of desert camo. More carefully, he tossed aside some of the smaller bricks, uncovering a gloved hand to go along with the arm he’d first seen. From there it was the matter of moments to clear the rest of Jack’s body, quietly thankful with each new revelation that at the very least he was still in one piece. Bruised and bloody, but whole.

And still not waking up. Maybe Mac wasn’t so relieved after all.

“Jack? Dalton? Can you hear me?” He felt for a pulse, gusting out a pained sigh when he finally found it – a little too fast for his liking, but strong all the same. “Thank god,” he breathed quietly.

There was blood around Jack’s eye from a gash on his forehead, with more dripping from a split lip, but otherwise he looked remarkably alright. No doubt his combat gear and dust coated skin was hiding a multitude of bruises and possible broken bones, but at the very least he wasn’t in danger of bleeding out. Or- well. A thought suddenly occurred to Mac and he spent the next ten seconds wrestling with Jack’s vest to get at his stomach to search for any signs of severe internal bleeding, not relaxing until his search turned up nothing more than unbroken skin.

“Okay,” he said more to himself than his unconscious partner. “We’ve got to get out of here. Stayed too long as it is.”

A glance around didn’t turn up anything he could conveniently use as a litter. He was thoroughly unwilling to leave Jack’s side while he was so defenceless, particularly when hostiles might be closing in, so that meant they were doing this the hard way. He started by untangling Jack’s rifle and making sure the safety was on before setting it carefully on the ground beside him; Jack would be giving him hell for messing with it, but if that was an argument he wanted to have then he was just damn well going to have to wake up and have it, wasn’t he?

Next came the man himself. Even though Mac was technically classified as a non-combatant, he’d still had to go through Basic with all the other recruits, so he’d done plenty of fireman’s lifts before. None of them had really prepared him for the added weight of responsibility he felt as soon as Jack was on his shoulders. He’d always considered their partnership to be two-way: Jack protected Mac and Mac protected Jack right back. It had never really felt this literal before though. Normally his protection came in the form of defusing a bomb before it went off, not bearing the man’s limp weight as they moved through hostile territory when at any minute a bullet could come their way.

But now wasn’t the time to be frozen by indecision and fear. Certainly not when he had to contend with the not inconsiderable weight of Jack and his gear, and then had to juggle his rifle in his free hand. Now was the time for action.

Without stopping to overthink it, he hitched Jack up a little higher and took off in the direction of their Humvee.

No doubt he made a hell of a scene pulling into camp and skidding the vehicle to a stop beside the medical tent, but by that point he was far too wound up to care. Jack hadn’t so much as stirred once, and while his breathing and heart rate were holding steady, Mac could feel his skin crawling with the awful sense that maybe something was critically wrong after all.

As soon as the Humvee came to a stop, he was on his feet and shouting, summoning the random assortment of medical staff who happened to be both in earshot and available. On the other side of the ‘road’, a handful of signalmen poked their heads out of the communications tent to see what was going on. Mac barely spared them a glance – all he cared about was getting Jack inside and to help as quickly as humanly possible and then finding somewhere quiet so he could have a breakdown in peace.

To that end, he hauled Jack back up onto his shoulders and met the medical staff halfway, breathlessly explaining what had happened. A gurney was unceremoniously shoved in front of him and he carefully tipped his charge down onto it. The second Jack was down, the staff were pulling him away, whisking him off for an examination inside. He took half a step to follow, but was immediately blocked by one of the nurses.

“Sir, are you injured?”

Mac barely spared the Private a glance, trying to push past but getting stopped by a firm hand on his chest. “No, I’m fine, but he’s my Overwatch, I have to-”

“Specialist,” the nurse said sharply, moving with him to keep him from getting past. “Your partner is getting the best care he can. If you’re not injured, you’ll need to report in. Only medical staff and patients are allowed past this point.”

A prickle-hot wave of frustration raced through Mac at being denied access to his partner, but it was almost immediately chased away by a wash of cold when he properly registered what the man had said. ‘You’ll need to report in.’ Of course that’s what he needed to do – standard protocol and all that. Theoretically he was already in violation of his orders by not having turned on his heel the instant Jack was in the hands of the medical staff, although he was pretty sure he could be forgiven in this particular instance.

But even then, he needed to report in. He had to walk up to his commanding officer and explain that because of his own stupidity and carelessness, he might just have gotten his own partner killed. Jack wasn’t well liked by the Brass, exactly, but he was certainly well respected and now Mac had to walk up to the Major and explain just how badly he’d fucked up. And then, assuming that didn’t get him transferred or demoted or fucking arrested, he was going to have to walk into the barracks filled with Jack’s friends and hope that none of them decided revenge was a dish best served hot. The Brass might not like Jack too well, but the men sure did.

Well, at least he had one thing going for him: since they were in the FOB and not the main operating base, he wouldn’t have to report directly to the Colonel. Small mercies.

“Specialist?” The nurse was saying, apparently alarmed by his sudden freeze. “Are you injured?”

“N-No,” he managed when he finally managed to find his voice again. The nurse didn’t look convinced, so he repeated himself more firmly. “No, I’m fine. You’re right, I need to report. Just- Look after him, okay?”

The nurse’s severity and concern fell away under a blanket of reassurance, his expression turning soft. “We will, don’t you worry. I’ll make sure someone lets you know when he gets moved to the ward, okay? You’ll be able to visit him then.”

Barely clinging to the present moment, all Mac could do was nod. The nurse gave him an appraising look, but whatever it was that Mac was projecting apparently passed muster because he nodded sharply and backed off, giving him one last glance before ducking into the tent and disappearing. For a long moment, Mac just stared at the spot where he’d been in the hopes that if he waited long enough, his brain might kick into gear before he had to face the Major.

Of course, it didn’t happen.

In a daze, he backed up from the entrance to the medical tent, glancing about in sudden self-awareness but finding himself mostly alone. The few people he could see appeared to be going about their days as normal, not paying him the slightest bit of attention.

Right. Things to do. No matter what had just happened, he was still on duty. He had work to be doing.

With a firm mental shake, he forced himself to climb back into the Humvee and drive it over to the much more suitable parking lot. He procrastinated for a few minutes then, sorting out his and Jack’s stuff and making sure the equipment he’d collected earlier that morning was still secure. It already felt like a thousand years ago. That done, he checked the vehicle in with the mechanics and headed to the command tent to face his fate.

Mac had never had much cause to interact with Major Torres beyond receiving the occasional direct mission brief or having to give an in-person report when a mission went sideways. Both cases usually ended up being pretty stressful affairs, either because there was a lot on the line or because Mac had to own up to some hare-brained scheme that would probably have gotten him court marshalled twenty times over if his skillset hadn’t been in such high demand. The result was that almost all of Mac’s recollections of the Major were coloured in shades of concern and unhappiness, despite the man himself having never done anything particularly bad to Mac himself. On the contrary, the man had been ridiculously forgiving of some of the shit Mac had tried to pull in the past.

Nonetheless, as he stood in front of him now, he couldn’t help but feel incredibly small.

“So you arrived in Sakini at 1300 hours?”

“Yes sir.”

“What was the situation on the ground?”

“At first, quiet. There were a couple of locals around, but they didn’t appear armed and they didn’t visibly react to our presence at all.”

“At first?”

Mac swallowed, willing himself to keep his thoughts in the right order. The last thing he needed was to add ‘filing an inaccurate report’ to his list of transgressions. “Jack – Sergeant Dalton – went out to do a survey of the area. I stayed back in the vehicle. When he deemed it was clear, he called me out while he set up on the roof of a building in- the town square, I guess.” He pointed at the appropriate place on the map, well aware that the handful of buildings hardly constituted a town, much less one in possession of anything resembling a square, but the building Jack had chosen had good sightlines and that was the main point.

“You went looking for the IED.”

“Yes.”

“Did you encounter any resistance?”

“No. The locals all kept out of my way, but not so much so I thought they were actively avoiding me. More like they just didn’t want to get involved in our business.”

“But you did find a device?”

“Yes sir, but not for an hour or so. It had been tucked into the gap between two buildings and blocked off with crates. Just getting to it took longer than it should have done.”

Torres’ expression twisted in something that might have been sympathy. Two US soldiers alone in possibly hostile territory for over an hour was never the start of a happy story.

“Once I did get to it,” Mac continued, bracing himself, “I was able to disarm it pretty quickly. The device was well hidden, but not particularly well built. It had a single failsafe, but compared to a lot of what we’ve been seeing recently, it was surprisingly basic.”

Evidently, his opinion was not welcome; the Major’s face darkened. “If that’s the case, then why is one of my men in the infirmary following an explosion, Specialist?”

He ducked his head on instinct, shame and fear washing over him afresh. It didn’t matter; what had happened, happened, and beating around the bush now wasn’t going to change that.

“Because I messed up, sir,” he said honestly. “The device was successfully disarmed, but before I could pack it up, Sergeant Dalton alerted me to hostiles closing in on our position. One of them must have been watching Sakini in case we showed up. There were too many of them for Jack to safely deal with alone and they were between us and our transport, so I came up with a plan to funnel them into a small space, and then trigger the explosion. It seemed like our best shot of taking them all out at once, so Jack agreed.”

Torres nodded, but didn’t interject with his own opinion.

Mac cleared his throat. “I needed a minute to rearm the device, and we needed to make sure they all got into position, so Jack acted as the bait. He took a few pot shots at them to get their attention, then made a run for it. Thankfully, they followed. I planted the device at a weak point on the building’s exterior, armed it, and retreated.”

“Dalton didn’t have time to clear the building?”

If Mac had been a little more dishonest – and perhaps less certain that he wouldn’t immediately get caught in the lie – he might have said yes. It still put him on the hook for blowing up his Overwatch, but it still felt a little less like a crushing failure on his part. But that wasn’t who Mac was, and even if it had been, it certainly wasn’t who Jack was, and the second he woke up he’d be asked to give his own account of things. The only way forward was the truth, no matter what it might be.

“Actually, he made it out okay. Things appeared to have gone perfectly but… I wasn’t watching my back, sir. I thought that all the hostiles had entered the building and I wasn’t careful enough. One of them managed to flank me. He was yelling something – I don’t speak Arabic – and dragging me back towards the building – I fought him, but…”

The memory flashed back to him, a warm hand painfully tight on his arm, the hard barrel of an assault rifle jabbing into his ribs, and neither of those things as scary as the IED he was being hauled towards. He’d tried to say something, tried to struggle, but the man had been huge even if he hadn’t had a gun to back him up. Mac hadn’t stood a chance.

Fortunately, Torres seemed to read into what he wasn’t saying. “Dalton doubled back to help you.”

“Yes sir.” His voice sounded small even to himself.

“And he got caught in the blast when he came too close to the building.”

“Yes sir.”

A pause. “Were you hurt in the explosion?”

Mac blinked in surprise, caught off guard. In truth, once Jack had gone down and stopped answering his radio, it had never occurred to Mac to even think about himself. “Uh, no sir. The man holding me was – he was between me and the device, so he caught the worst of it. Knocked him out, I think.”

“You think?”

“I- uh. I knew Sergeant Dalton was hurt. I was more focused on getting to him and getting him out than I was about the hostiles.” He knew it sounded bad even as he said it. He tried his best to look sheepish, but all he really felt was bone-deep weariness. He wanted this to be done. “I’m sorry sir.”

The Major shook that off, unconcerned. “With your Overwatch down, Dalton should have been your priority. EOD aren’t trained to be combatants.”

That wasn’t entirely true, but Mac was hardly about to argue with the man. Besides, he doubted it had escaped notice that he wasn’t wearing his sidearm; he’d been given one as part of his kit and told to carry it with him whenever he was in uniform, but after about a month of working with Jack, he’d felt safer leaving it in the Humvee instead. He wasn’t confident that if there was a hostile in front of him he’d be able to shoot them anyway, so carrying around a loaded weapon was more of a liability than anything. Jack didn’t agree, but he hadn’t pressed the issue.

“What happened next?”

“I found Jack buried in the rubble. He had a visible head wound and he was unconscious. When I couldn’t wake him, I carried him back to our vehicle and came straight here.”

Torres nodded slowly. “Do you have anything else of note to report?”

“No sir.” He held still, waiting for his verdict. He could personally point out about twelve different things he’d done wrong, and every single one of them added up to Jack in a hospital bed. If it really was anything worse than a concussion…

If it came to that, there wasn’t anything the Major could do to Mac that he wouldn’t deserve.

“Alright,” the man said, his voice heavy and drawn. “I take it you know that I’ll have to report this up the chain. Circumstances aside, catching your own teammate in a repurposed IED blast isn’t going to look good and that’s before we even get to you getting ambushed.”

“Yes sir.”

Torres sighed, looking momentarily softer than he had any right to after the shitshow he’d just heard about. “For now, the most any of us can do is wait for Dalton to wake up so he can give his own report. We’ll go from there. In the meantime, I’ll send some men out to Sakini to work on clean-up; you go get washed up. You’re off rotation until your Overwatch is back on his feet.”

The very idea of having a shower and going to bed felt utterly heavenly – just thinking of being gifted such a reward after what he’d done made something in Mac balk. He straightened up, trying to make himself look firm. “That’s not necessary, sir. I’m still fit for work.”

Torres paused in surprise, then gave him a quick look up and down. “You’re asking for another Overwatch?”

Mac hesitated, but didn’t back down. “Not permanently, sir. I know Sergeant Dalton’s tour is conditional. But while he’s in recovery, if there’s work that needs doing then I’m happy to do it.”

The Major didn’t look entirely thrilled by the idea, but he wasn’t turning him down cold either. Mostly, he seemed thoughtful. “It sounds like you were pretty close to an explosion yourself. You’re sure you’re in good shape?”

“I mostly caught the blowback, sir. Made my ears ring, knocked the wind out of me. Nothing serious, nothing permanent.” It was true, too. He really had gotten off incredibly lightly given the severity of the situation, and he could mostly thank the man who had been trying to kill him for it. He’d ended up acting as a surprisingly effective human shield, in the end.

Slowly, Torres nodded. “Okay. I’m going to ask you to get a medical check-up to confirm you’re as okay as you say you are, but if that comes back clean, you can keep working. As it happens, one of our other EOD techs – Garcia – is shipping out in the morning, and his Overwatch doesn’t have a new partner yet. You know Corporal Lee?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good. You can stick with him until Dalton’s back on rotation. Check in with him directly to get your instructions, clear?”

“Clear, sir. Thank you.”

“Good. Now, go get that check-up and find out what’s become of your partner. You know he won’t be happy about you working with someone else.”

Torres said it lightly, sharing something of an in-joke that Mac was only half party to. Jack had never properly explained the nature of his deal with Torres – and the Colonel above him – to extend his tour with some provisos, but he’d got the impression that there had been a lot of shouting involved. Honestly, he’d been glad to steer clear of it. Apparently, though, it wasn’t too much of a sore point with Torres anymore and Mac was grateful; he’d hated to know that Jack had put so much on the line for his sake.

With a clear dismissal, Mac saluted, then turned on his heel and headed back to the medical tent. He avoided the emergency area this time, electing instead to go into the space just beyond it that was set aside for the standard check-ups that active soldiers were routinely subjected to.

Stupidly, it wasn’t until he was gestured towards an unoccupied booth that he realised his palm was still coated in dried, flaking blood. In everything that had happened, he’d completely forgotten about the minor wound. Not that there was anything to be done about it now. It wasn’t like he could hide it and besides, it really was only very minor. It shouldn’t pose any threat to his ability to work.

When the doctor made it round to him, he suffered through the indignity of the exam with little grace, too worn out and drained to make small talk. Fortunately, the doctor seemed to understand his mind was elsewhere, because he maintained a solid professional demeanour throughout and didn’t prod when others might have done. He cleaned out the slice in Mac’s palm, agreeing that it wouldn’t need stitches, and carefully checked his torso for any signs of major damage. Finding none, he signed off on Mac’s duty form and gave him back his shirt.

“You’re Dalton’s partner, right?” He said, just as Mac finished getting dressed again.

Mac’s eyes snapped up to look at him. “Yes. Is he- Is there news?”

The man shot him a reassuring smile, flapping a hand to soothe his obvious concern. “Everything’s okay, calm down. He took a hell of a knock to the head, but there’s no signs of critical damage. We’ll be keeping him in for a few days for concussion and cognition checks and the like, but from what I’ve heard, he got off remarkably lucky. He’s sedated at the moment, but I think they’re planning to bring him around in the next hour or so – you can go and sit with him if you like?”

He made a vague sweeping gesture in the direction of the main ward, an obvious invitation, but despite his desperation to see that his partner really was still in one piece, Mac hesitated.

The last time Jack had been injured – a bullet graze over the meat of his shoulder that he seemed annoyed by more than anything – Mac had planted himself at his partner’s side and refused to budge. It had felt like the right thing to do; Jack had always made a point of sticking around whenever Mac was ill or injured, and the least he could do was return the favour. Besides, sitting and chatting with him was a lot better than continuously replaying the moment when the bullet had caught him, his cry of pain and surprise. Jack had certainly seemed to appreciate the company while he waited out the required bedrest portion of his recovery.

But that had been then, when Jack had been wounded by a bullet Mac couldn’t possibly have done anything about. Now, he was laid up with a head injury because Mac hadn’t been smart enough to watch his own back for all of five minutes and had ended up luring his partner into an explosion he caused. On every possible level, Jack’s injuries were his fault.

There wasn’t the slightest chance that the first thing he would want to see when he woke up would be Mac’s face.

He became distantly aware that he’d frozen in place and the doctor had started to eye him critically, so he slapped on what he hoped looked like a relieved smile.

“Nah, that’s okay. I don’t want to disturb him if he needs the rest. Besides, I’m knackered too.”

To his credit, the doctor managed to keep whatever he thought about that off his face. Instead, he offered an obliging smile. “Of course. You’ve had a rough day too.”

Mac nodded, then a thought occurred to him. “Can you let me know, though, if- If something happens?”

No matter how much Jack might not want to see Mac, the only way Mac would be able to not bear seeing him is if he knew that the man was going to be okay. He needed to know that his own stupidity hadn’t done worse than what he already knew about.

“Of course. You’re set up as his base contact anyway, so you’re supposed to be kept in the loop.”

He hadn’t known that Jack had done that, though in hindsight it made sense. He’d done the same the day after Jack had decided to stay on after all. Still, the very thought of it now, when Mac was just about the one person in the entire FOB who Jack shouldn’t be relying on to be there in times of trouble- It stung.

He buried the sensation as best he could under a wave of fatigue and hopped down off the examination bed. If he was going to have a breakdown over this, it sure as hell wasn’t going to be here.

“Is that everything?” He asked the doctor, wanting to be done and away from here.

He smiled. “That’s everything, Specialist. You make sure you get some rest before shipping back out tomorrow, okay? I don’t want to see you back here any time soon.”

“Sir yes sir.”

With that done and a form confirming he was ready for active duty clutched tightly in one hand, he scooped up his and Jack’s packs, as well as Jack’s rifle which he still hadn’t had time to return, and marched back out into the blazing sunlight.

The first few times Jack woke up, he spent the few minutes of consciousness he had in muddled confusion. There were bright lights and lots of sound, then pale blue moonlight and muffled voices, then light again – through all of it, he couldn’t have said where he was or what was happening. Everything was too distant and vague to grasp, and fatigue had sunk its claws deep into his mind, dragging him back whenever he dared to try to push ahead.

He couldn’t give up though. He might not know what was going on, but he was sure that there was something he was forgetting, something important. Whatever it was didn’t matter – all that did, was that Jack needed to wake up and get to it.

It wasn’t until he finally blinked himself properly awake that he was able to put some logic to the flashes he’d caught before. He was in a hospital bed, with the slowly undulating fabric of a tent above him – the FOB. That certainly made sense, given that he felt like he’d been hit by a truck, but it didn’t really explain the why of that whole situation and no memories seemed ready to spring forth from the depths of his mind to enlighten him.

Christ, what the hell had happened to him?

He crawled his hand over the scratchy bedding, searching for a call button and ending up surprised when he actually found one. Any higher tech than the stone age was normally reserved for the MOB, and since he was in a tent then he clearly wasn’t there. Shrugging it off as unimportant, he hit the button and waited.

A nurse appeared between the screens around his bed less than twenty seconds later. “Sergeant Dalton? Back with us this time?”

“This time?” He muttered, then regretted it when his throat rasped horribly over the words. Clearly he’d been out for a while.

Understanding brightened in her face, and she stepped closer to retrieve a cup of water from his bedside table and present the straw in front of his face. Uncomfortable as he was, he was pretty certain he could have held the cup himself, but it hardly seemed worth the argument when she was willing to do it. Besides, having a beautiful woman feed him by hand was hardly going to be the low point of his day.

When he was done, she returned the cup to its place and pulled out his chart. “Can you tell me how you’re feeling? Any pain?”

“Headache. Feels like I got run over. What happened?”

Her eyes flicked towards him, measuring. “How would you rate the severity of your headache on a scale of one to ten?”

“Four. It’s fine. What happened?”

She pulled a penlight out from the pocket of her scrubs and leaned in to examine his pupils. He let it happen with increasing impatience, long since aware that trying to rush medical staff when they were intent on checking him over was a losing game. Better to let her get it out of her system before pushing too hard for answers.

“Pupil response is normal,” she said after a moment. “It looks as though your concussion is clearing up nicely. Unfortunately you’re still in what we would consider the danger period for head injuries, so you’re going to be staying with us a few days yet for monitoring.”

That was annoying as hell, but with no idea what was wrong with him, he had no scale of what was reasonable. “Sure, fine, whatever. Can you please tell me what happened? I don’t remember getting hurt.”

Truthfully, he didn’t remember much of anything.

She hesitated, but she must have seen the determination in his eyes because she folded without further argument. “You were hit by falling masonry following an explosion. I don’t know the details beyond that. Your partner brought you in.”

His partner-?

Mac!

A rush of memories suddenly hit him, so sharp and fierce that he actually sucked in a hard breath in surprise. The IED in Sakini, hostiles closing in, an utterly insane idea from Mac that just might be crazy enough to work – and it did, right up until he heard a scuffle over the radio, Mac’s voice tight with stress saying, let go of me, we can’t go in there, there’s a bomb-

He hadn’t hesitated for a second to race back in the direction he’d come.

“My partner-” He said wildly, coming to life all of a sudden as cold terror rushed through him. “Mac- Is he- What happened? Where is he?”

Something had to have gone wrong. If he was alright then he would be here, teasing Jack for being so muddled and letting him see with his own eyes that he was unhurt. That was what they did.

The nurse’s hand pressed down firmly on his shoulder, forcing him back down from where he’d tried to jackknife upright. “Sergeant! Please, stay calm. Your partner is completely fine. Specialist MacGyver, right? He’s okay. No injuries.”

Jack’s wild eyes found hers and latched on, seeking truth. “He’s okay?”

“Yes. I promise you. When he brought you in, he wasn’t injured. He had a physical to clear him for duty and came up clean. You’re the one we’ve been worried about.”

There was a lot there that he needed to process, and most of it seemed beyond his exhausted mind, but he wasn’t going to let that stop him. Mac was okay. That was- well, honestly, that was far better than he had any right to expect given the nightmare situation they’d been in, and the fact that apparently Jack had just checked out and left the kid to deal with it, in hostile territory no less. God, he owed him a beer.

But if he’d been sought medical clearance, then that meant… “He’s back on duty?”

The nurse nodded, evidently surprised by the question. It was standard practice for uninjured soldiers to rotate as needed around their teammates’ injuries, and if Mac really wasn’t hurt then there was absolutely no need for him to be sitting around the FOB twiddling his thumbs. But, then, ‘standard practice’ had never been their way of doing things. Thanks to Jack’s very carefully worded agreement with the Brass, the pair of them should have been free to turn down any requests for temporary reassignment.

Then again, Mac didn’t seem the type to pass on a call to duty, particularly if there were lives on the line.

He nodded slowly, letting that knowledge settle inside him. Mac was alive and uninjured, if not exactly safe. Jack was – apparently – alive and relatively okay. A win all round, really – so why did he feel like something had gone horribly wrong?

“Okay,” he said slowly, then again more firmly. “So, doc. Give it to me straight: how am I doing?”

Jack had kind of assumed that Mac had been absent when he woke because it was clearly the middle of the day, which logically meant that he was off-base somewhere. That was perfectly understandable and given the circumstances, Jack could understand why he’d done it – Mac hadn’t known that Jack was finally going to wake up after all and since he’d apparently been in and out for three whole days, it wasn’t surprising he’d not elected to sit around, bored out of his mind. Still, that logic fell apart just a little bit when night fell and no blond bomb nerd appeared at his elbow.

He knew that Mac was his contact, which meant he must have been informed that Jack was awake and talking and yet- He went to sleep that evening with no visitors.

He slept in the next morning, unintentionally, so if Mac had stopped by before heading out then he would have missed him. He almost wanted to ask one of the staff, but he had a sneaking suspicion that the kid hadn’t been by at all and that… That didn’t feel right.

It wasn’t that Jack thought he was owed Mac’s time or attention or anything like that, but he’d kind of thought that he’d get it anyway. The last time he’d been stuck in the hospital ward, he hadn’t been able to shake Mac off for more than a few minutes at a time, no matter how much he’d pleaded with him to go back to the barracks and get some proper sleep. Any time one of the staff had tried to chase him out, he’d planted his feet and refused to be moved. It had been touching, in an odd kind of way, a clear demonstration of Mac saying ‘If you’ve chosen me, I’ve chosen you too.’

Now- Now it was different, and Jack was pretty sure that wasn’t a good thing.

Some careful questioning – and an outright demand for an explanation from Major Torres when he showed up to get Jack’s report – had brought some things to light, but made others even murkier. For one, Mac had actively requested to remain on duty. After what had happened last time, that was a big red flag in its own right. He did at least have Lee watching his back, someone who Jack knew to be a crack shot and clever with it, so he probably wasn’t getting himself into too much trouble, but still.

Torres had also made it clear that their failed mission was not being received particularly well by the higher ups. When pressed, he’d alluded to the fact Mac had – apparently entirely willingly – painted himself right into the corner and placed the blame directly on his own shoulders. Jack hadn’t been able to keep himself from swearing aloud. Goddamn self-sacrificing idiot. He’d tried to make it clear that Mac hadn’t been to blame for what happened, and Torres seemed inclined to listen to him, but the details of his report did match up squarely with what Mac had said. The only difference was that Jack wasn’t about to start playing the blame game.

All signs pointed to something being very, very wrong with his partner.

When that evening rolled around and there was still no Mac, Jack had been about ready to climb out of bed himself and hunt the git down. In the end he was spared the trouble by a surprise visitor – just not the one he’d been expecting.

“Jackie! You’re looking- well, a bit shit, honestly, but much better than before.” Corporal Lee – Ryan, to basically everyone who had known him for more than five minutes – stuck his head through the break in the screens and offered him a wide, toothy grin.

“Thanks,” he shot back, grimacing at him then stopping when it pulled at the colourful array of bruising he knew was adorning his face – and most of the rest of him, come to think of it. “What are you doing here?”

Ryan slipped through the screens to stand beside him, casting a careful eye over his injuries even while he waved a careless hand in dismissal. “Your boy got a splinter that I’m making him get checked out. Thought I’d stop by to see you since I’m already here.”

White, electric panic shot down Jack’s spine. “Mac’s hurt?”

“No, no, he’s fine! Yeesh, calm down. It really is just a splinter, I promise, cross my heart. If he was anybody else, I wouldn’t have made him come here but I swear to god, someone needs to teach that boy he’s not immortal.”

The words were clearly meant in jest, but Jack felt the pit of worry in his gut that had opened when he woke up without Mac beside him suddenly yawn wider. Mac had never been particularly good at putting his own safety on his list of priorities, and if he really was blaming himself for Jack’s injuries, then there was a good chance he’d be acting downright reckless.

“He’s been giving you a hard time?” He asked, just to make sure.

Ryan rolled his eyes. “Honestly man, I have no idea how you do it. I’ve been driving myself hoarse telling him to keep his goddamn head down and I’ve only been working with him a few days.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” he said, hoping his levity covered the ice crawling through his chest. Goddamn it Mac, you don’t get to do this. “You two have any trouble?”

“Nothing worth reporting on. More IEDs than I ever wanted to see in my life but that’s kinda par for the course, right?”

“Tell me about it.”

“But other than that, it’s been pretty quiet. Word got around that your boy took out ten hostiles on his own, so maybe the T-men are all too busy trying to stay out of his way. I sure fucking would if I were them.”

That did actually pull a smile out of Jack, despite everything. The situation was definitely FUBAR, but it was about time someone other than him realised the sheer elemental force that was a pissed off Angus MacGyver. For a skinny little bomb nerd, he packed a surprising punch.

“You haven’t seen the half of it yet.”

“You have no idea how horrifying that is to hear, thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Hey, you said he was here, right? In medical?”

Ryan rolled his eyes, smiling. Clearly he wasn’t distracted by Jack’s meek attempts at feigning disinterest. “Yes, he’s about twenty metres that way, and yes, I will tell him to come and see you as soon as that pretty blonde nurse stops flirting with him. I thought he was gonna come yesterday, but he ended up just crashing. Not sure he’s been sleeping all that well.”

The last was said with a quiet, gentle concern, the type of tone that made Ryan one of the most popular soldiers on base. He might be a devil in a firefight, but he was genuine and he cared about the men he served with well beyond what he was officially required to do. Jack was, not for the first time, very glad that this was the Overwatch Mac had been transferred to.

“Who does, in this place? Can you remember what your twenties were like? I’m glad I didn’t spend mine in this hellhole.”

Ryan shuddered. “I don’t think I was ever that young.”

“Me neither.” They shared a look of weary amusement as Ryan patted a warm hand to his shoulder and kicked off from where he’d been leaning against the bed.

“I’ll go make sure your boy doesn’t escape without saying hello. You take care man, okay? We’ve missed you in the barracks.”

“Not sure anyone’s ever missed my snoring before,” he shot back with a smile, then sobered. “And hey, thanks man. For watching out of him. There’s no one else I’d trust more.”

“Don’t sweat it. You’ve pulled my ass out of the fire before. You just rest up and let me take care of your bomb nerd for a bit.”

Mac knew that Ryan had only really been making him come to medical to prove a point and that it was all in service of trying to watch out for him while Jack was laid up, but he still found himself pissed off by it. He wasn’t a child in need of someone to pull out his splinters – he’d been perfectly capable of doing that since he was five. Besides, Ryan hadn’t even tried to pretend it wasn’t payback for Mac ignoring his warnings earlier that morning and momentarily ducking out of his sightline to check out a suspicious rock pile.

There hadn’t even been anything buried under the rocks – it was just a false alarm. He’d been back under the protective watch of Ryan’s scope inside of a minute.

All of this to say, he was pretty sour about the whole experience. The nurse was incredibly patient with him, raising an eyebrow at Ryan when he cheerfully explained the problem like he was a parent dropping a kid off at daycare. The attitude had not helped matters. Regardless, she’d sat him down and pulled out her disinfectant and tweezers, and hadn’t reacted at all to Mac’s stormy expression.

It was a waste of his time, and more importantly hers. There were soldiers here with real, actual injuries that needed tending to and here he was taking up space and resources for a ‘wound’ he had scarcely even noticed. Still, he was here now and it wasn’t like Ryan wasn’t going to give him shit for it if he didn’t stick around, so he stayed where he was, feeling worse with every passing minute.

The splinter was hardly difficult to find, in inch long fragment of wood sticking haphazardly out of the inside of his wrist. Too shallow to cause any real damage, but long enough to itch something fierce. It had taken all of Mac’s willpower not to scratch himself raw on the drive back. The nurse hummed in sympathy when she saw it, but didn’t take the opportunity to make a comment that would so visibly have been unwelcome. She simply disinfected her tweezers and got to work.

The process hurt, but it was superficial. More frustrating was the agonising amount of time she spent examining the wound, trying to make sure she’d removed every last bit of debris before she let him go. He knew that it was literally her job to thorough and that he’d live to regret it if there was something nasty still lurking under his skin, but he couldn’t help his own impatience. He’d done everything he could to avoid the medical tents in the last few days and now he was stuck here, no doubt metres away from his Overwatch.

The urge to give in and seek Jack out was almost overwhelming now that he was actually here.

He’d been told that he’d woken up and didn’t appear to have suffered any neurological effects from his injuries or from his extended sedation, but Mac couldn’t trust that until he saw it with his own eyes. If he hadn’t been so sure that Jack wouldn’t want to see him, he’d have been at his side as soon as he heard the news. As it was, Jack hadn’t asked for him so he’d stayed clear.

Ryan reappeared just as the nurse was smoothing a dressing down over the small gash. “Dalton’s a tough son of a bitch, huh?”

Mac’s head snapped up to look at him. “You’ve been to see him?”

“Yeah. And, as it turns out, I think he’s pretty surprised that you haven’t.” Ryan raised his eyebrows pointedly, somehow both a question and a condemnation. Mac was in no mood to answer either.

He shrugged. “I’ve been busy, and he’s been sleeping.”

“He’s not sleeping now.” Mac bit his tongue to clamp down on his response to that. Fortunately, Ryan didn’t seem to need one, because he continued, “He’s asking to see you. If you’re done here?”

The nurse, packing up her things, nodded amiably as an answer, then bid them both goodbye and left. Mac somehow felt more exposed with her gone and nothing else to distract Ryan’s attention.

He wanted to refuse. The only reason Jack would be asking after him is if he wanted to tear him a new one for being so uncompromisingly shit at his job that he’d nearly killed his partner, and Mac just didn’t think he was solid enough to take that right now. But, really, that didn’t matter. If Jack wanted to chew him out, then it wasn’t like it was anything Mac didn’t one hundred percent deserve. He’d have to face the music sooner or later and he stubbornly refused to be a coward about it.

“Okay,” he said instead of trying to find an excuse. “Lead the way.”

Brave face or not, apparently he was a coward in the end anyway, because he hesitated at the very last hurdle; it had taken Ryan physically pushing him forwards to get him past the screens surrounding Jack’s bed. The view that greeted him was- not unexpected, but hardly a pleasant one either.

Jack was awake and blinking at him, which was a vast improvement on the unconscious slump he’d worn the last time Mac had laid eyes upon him, but his face was also a patchwork of blues and purples, softening to a sickly yellow at the edges. He looked – well. He looked like a wall had been dropped on his head.

He opened his mouth with absolutely no idea what was about to fall out of it, but it didn’t matter because Jack immediately cut him off.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

It brought Mac up short. “I- What?”

“Me getting hurt. It wasn’t your fault.”

“Jack-”

“No, shut up, listen to me. I know you and I think I’m finally getting some idea of what’s going on in that idiot head of yours because you told Torres that you were to blame for all this. Isn’t that right?”

“Well. I am.”

Jack huffed, visibly annoyed, and Mac had no idea what he was supposed to do in this situation. He’d expected anger, shouting, not whatever this was. “Goddamn it kid. This isn’t on you, of course it isn’t. Why would you even think that?”

He’d apparently meant it as some sort of rhetorical question because he blanched when Mac put up a hand to count his mistakes on his fingers. Jack spoke before he had the chance to start.

“No, don’t actually answer that. Forget I asked. Look, whatever moon logic you’re using to blame yourself for this? It’s nonsense, man. And no one else is going to tell you that because they don’t know, but I was there, okay? I was there the whole time. And I’m telling you right now that you didn’t do anything wrong.”

Distantly, Mac felt his body trembling. This wasn’t what he’d expected.

“We were in a shit situation, and your quick thinking is what got us out of it. I’m the one who was stupid enough to run towards an active IED even when I knew it was about to blow. And even after that, when the person who’s supposed to be watching out of you was out for the count, you kept your shit together long enough to get us both home without any further injury.”

Mac blinked at him.

“You saved my life, man.”

That was too much. He hissed, flinching at the absurdity of it. “I nearly killed you.”

“Nah, I did that. My mistake, not yours. And besides, I’m fine – couple of bruises ain’t nothing.”

“You were coming back because I was in trouble. Because I couldn’t look after myself for three minutes.”

Jack was shaking his head and Mac wished he’d stop because it looked like it hurt, and he couldn’t bear any more of Jack’s pain right now. “We were surrounded by hostiles Mac. It’s my job to keep an eye out for them so you can keep your eyes right where they need to be, and even I thought they’d all gone into that building. Anyone outside of that was trying to keep out of sight and you had no way of knowing you needed to be watching for that kind of threat. That’s what I’m here for, remember?”

Unable to find words to refute him, Mac just shook his head adamantly.

His Overwatch’s gaze turned soft. “Hey, man, c’mon. You’ve got to know that you didn’t have any control over what happened, and the bits you did, you did great. You got me out of there all by yourself. So what’s going on man?”

Mac hesitated, feeling torn open and raw, but somehow still entirely safe under Jack’s eyes. When he said nothing further, Mac felt himself deflate. “I’ve never-” He stopped, retried. “I didn’t come out here to hurt people,” he managed quietly. “All I’ve tried to do is disarm IEDs and limit the destruction and then this time…”

“This time you were the one setting the bomb.” Jack’s voice was level, understanding and without judgement.

“Yeah. And, of course, not only do I manage to-” He bit off the end of that sentence, his breathing ragged. “I also nearly killed you.”

He was aware that there were tears welling in the corners of his eyes, but he honestly couldn’t have been sure what emotion they were trying to convey. He just felt overwhelmed.

Jack put out a hand, setting his fingertips lightly on Mac’s elbow, the only part of him he could reach where Mac was keeping his distance. “That was the first time you killed someone,” he said calmly.

Wordless and bereft, Mac nodded. One of the tears slipped free.

“Ah, kiddo,” Jack breathed, leaning over a little further to grab Mac’s arm properly and pull him closer. Laid up as he was, he couldn’t offer much of a hug, but he was able to settle for tucking Mac into the curve of his arm and settling him there. “You didn’t do anything wrong, you hear me? I’m so sorry that you were in that situation at all, but you did everything right. Those men- They would have killed you and me and everyone in that village without hesitation, okay? I know it doesn’t feel like it, but you were protecting people Mac.”

Exhausted, overwhelmed, and with no way of voicing any of it, Mac just clung to Jack with a desperation he’d be self-conscious about if he was anyone else. Jack shushed him softly, running his hand up and down his back, and it was only then that Mac realised he was crying.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled wetly, not sure himself if he was apologising for Jack’s injuries or his own meltdown.

“Ain’t got nothing to be sorry for.”

“I do.”

“No, you don’t. I’ll keep telling you as long as you need to hear it hoss, but this wasn’t your fault. None of it.”

They stayed like that for a long time. Mac felt himself starting to come together again just a little, still raw and hurting but able to breathe again. It was imperfect, but it was still somehow the best he’d felt in days. When he pulled back his head to look at Jack, he found his Overwatch smiling at him.

“There you are. Had me worried for a moment.”

“Sorry.”

Jack snorted. “If you insist on apologising, you could at least have the decency to do it for something that actually deserves it. Like, say, driving Ryan up the wall with your reckless behaviour?”

Mac’s eyes dropped, flushing. Jack just laughed at him, warm and relieved, absent of any actual anger. That part would probably come later, but it was obvious to anyone who looked that Mac wasn’t going to be able to withstand that sort of attack right now.

“Damn it kid. You’re okay though, right? Not hiding any injuries or something?”

“No. I should be asking you that. You’re the one who nearly died.”

“I’m not that easy to kill, brother. And besides, I had you watching my back. I knew you’d get me home safe.”

Mac’s brow furrowed. “I don’t think unconscious counts as safe.”

“I’m awake now, aren’t I?”

“Jack.”

Unable to help himself, Jack ruffled a hand through Mac’s mop of hair, laughing when he chirped in alarm and rapidly backpedalled out of reach. “I’m going to be just fine Mac. Quit worrying about me. I’ll be back on duty and driving you crazy over the radio in no time at all.”

When it came, Mac’s smile was a careful thing. “Can’t wait.”

“Me neither kid. Me neither.”

#MacGyver #angus macgyver #jack dalton #sandbox #whump of july 2021 #fanfiction #my fanfic #fanfic

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bisexualcrowley · 4 years ago

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Stole the Show Pt.3

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Pairing: Dominic “Sonny” Carisi x Fem! Reader

Chapter summary: Y/n takes Sonny home for a drink after a successful rehearsal, and things get a little heated

Content/warnings: Smut/nsfw content, some fluff? Cursing, mentions of drinking

Word count: 1,709

A/n: Finally updating this series hjsksjs, definitely because I spent ages revising and not at all because I’m procrastinating an essay

"Hey, Carisi! Why dont’cha come to my place for a drink! I just crushed every frickin’ song we did tonight, I feel like that’s cause for celebration!” Y/n grinned at her friend as they walked along a back hallway in the theater, leading Sonny to God-knows where, a voice in the back of his head chiding himself for not memorizing the theatre’s whole layout.

“I’d be down for that! Got nothing better to do, anyways” The taller detective grinned, giving Y/n a playful clap on the shoulder. “You did real good in there, doll”

“Hell yeah I did! I’ll meet you in the lobby in five minutes, just gotta grab my stuff. Oh also! Congratulations, Cannoli Boy, you’ve been granted the honor of carrying my bag”

Y/n shot back with a playful wink before turning on her heel and disappearing into a dressing room, leaving a dumbfounded Sonny laughing in the hallway.

“Cannoli boy?” He mumbled to himself with a grin as he walked back up the hall towards the theatre’s exit. He was thrilled to see how confident Y/n had become again; it had been years since she had seemed so genuinely happy about work.

Luckily for Sonny, the previously packed lobby has begun to clear out, leaving only a few stragglers who seemed too excited to want to leave the theatre remaining. The detective chuckled at the scene as he leaned casually against a wall waiting for his partner, the childish glee of a nearby group of theatre nerds bringing him a feeling of comfort he hadn’t expected from such a scene.

The wait wasn’t long before Y/n emerged from the back hallway with her duffel bag swinging heavily on her arm and a smile painting her face. Sonny broke into a grin as she sauntered over to him, doing a shockingly bad job at concealing the pride she felt from the night’s performance.

In an oh-so-graceful way, Y/n shot her partner another wink before heavily shrugging the bag off her shoulder to land in his arms, Sonny catching it without a fumble.

“You’re a real charmer, y’know Y/n?” Sonny snickered as he tucked the bag under his arm, leading his partner out the door into the night. Had it been any other situation Y/n would have come up with some sly remark in response, but still riding the high from the night’s success she chose to just laugh it off, allowing her friend to call over a taxi for the two of them.

The ride passed quickly, Sonny repeatedly trying to hit a higher note in Mamma Mia and each time failing horrifically and sending even the driver into hysterics each time, and before they knew it, the pair had arrived at y/n’s apartment.

40 minutes and a half bottle of tequila later, y/n found herself sitting sideways on her chair and staring at her partner while he circled a finger over the rim of his empty glass. Was it what it's called, a chair? One person couch? Loveseat? She was tipsy enough for the word to be completely lost to her, the only thing worth focusing on in the moment was Carisi.

Sonny was lounging casually on what Y/n was sure actually was called a couch, his long legs slung up onto a coffee table as he rambled on about how fucking much he loved puppies.

Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was leftover adrenaline or maybe the alcohol was simply lessening her guilt towards being attracted to a coworker. Either way, for what felt like the millionth time since they had first met, Y/n found herself wondering how it would feel to have his lips crash desperately against her own, to have his perfect hands ghost over flushed skin, what it would be like to thread her fingers through his goddamn perfect hair

She felt a not-so-subtle twinge of arousal as her eyes met Sonny's again, his eyelids drooping lazily as he smiled towards his friend.

Fuck he had a gorgeous smile

“Want another?” Y/n questioned with a nod towards Sonny's empty glass, hoping to distract herself from her insistent thoughts of his fingers tracing along her neck, across her lips...

Wordlessly Sonny held out his glass, pulling Y/n out of her thoughts which were growing embarrassingly more inappropriate with each second that passed by. Absentmindedly she got to her feet, wandering over to the counter where the bottle of alcohol sat waiting, trying not to take notice to the slick feeling of her now soaked panties rubbing against her core with each step.

From behind her, Y/n heard Sonny get up, say something, but her continuous flow of filthy thoughts was a bit more than distracting. Planning to ask her friend to repeat whatever he had said, she left the bottle on the counter and turned on her heel towards him.

Much to her surprise and no doubt Sonny’s as well, as she spun around to face him, the detective had gotten up from his seat and was reaching around her for the bottle himself, landing Y/n sandwiched between the cool marble of the countertop and the firm form of Sonny Carisi.

Had it been any other time, they would have laughed it off, ignored the ay their hearts fluttered at the close contact. Turns out they were just the perfect amount of tipsy to have completely forgotten their usual actions, leaving them frozen in that position.

Looking up at Sonny’s uncharacteristically shocked expression, Y/n bit her lip, hesitated momentarily before giving in to the wave of courage that had washed over her. “...Can I kiss you?”

Blue eyes widened in surprise, narrowed as he tried to figure out if he had heard his partner correctly. He figured he must have missed something, tuned out some inside joke, but nodded hopefully anyways, and was immediately met by Y/n’s arms flying around his neck and her lips crashing against his.

Sonny retuned the kiss without hesitation, his own arms winding around her waist and tugging her hips against his. It didn’t take long for the two of them to start grasping at each other, one of Sonny’s hands snaking upwards, into her shirt to grasp at Y/n’s breast while she rocked her hips into his, grinding down on the rapidly growing bulge in his pants.

Y/n was sure her pants were as drenched as her panties by now as her hands flew upward to tug at Sonny’s hair, drawing a whine against her mouth from the taller figure.

“Holy shit, Sonny...” Y/n gasped when he pulled off her mouth, his chest heaving and lips swollen and she was sure she looked no better.

Far past the point of wanting foreplay, Y/n released her grip on Sonny’s hair so she could reach a hand between their heated bodies and roughly palm at his swollen erection, earning a choked moan and a thrust of his hips into her hand.

“Fuck, Y/n. Need you,” He hissed, stepping back to tug desperately at his belt. Y/n felt the same, suddenly unable to keep herself from him any longer. Frantic hands flew at the fastenings of her pants, kicking them off along with her panties as Sonny did the same beside her.

The moment his aching cock was freed from his boxers Sonny threw himself at Y/n, pressing her back against the back of her couch and grinding his length against her inner thigh, the slick feeling of his pre-cum so close to her core making her eyes fall shut.

“Don’t be a fuckin’ tease Carisi” Y/n whined, fingers threading through his hair again and tightening when she opened her eyes again, being met with Sonny’s intense stare.

His eyes stayed locked with Y/n’s, breathlessly watching the little ways she squirmed with each glide of his cock along her clit, and when he finally pushed into her, inch by inch until he bottomed out, Y/n let out an animalistic howl, crying out at the sensation of her walls clenching around his girth.

“Y/n...” Her name fell from his lips as a desperate groan.

To her relief he took no time in working up a rhythm, slamming his hips into her own again and again until she was crying out with each thrust, moaning and whimpering as each drive of his cock into her aching cunt hit something deep inside.

His hips pistoned into her over and over, one hand clutching the back of the couch Y/n was pressed against and the other clasped on her thigh, no doubt leaving bruises while his cock slammed into her g-spot and left her gasping beneath him.

As Y/n let out another wanton moan, fingers slid downwards to press against her clit, and the slight amount of friction mixed with Sonny’s increasingly rough thrusts was exactly what she needed to push her over the edge, back arching and eyes clenching shut as she succumbed to the pleasure.

Y/n’s climax triggered his own, and with a wrecked moan Sonny came as hard as she had, crying out shamelessly against her chest. He continued thrusting, fucking his way through both their orgasms as his release began to drip down Y/n’s thighs, his muscles tensing under her when his body finally stilled.

Completely and thoroughly fucked out, Y/n gathered her last remaining bits of strength and rolled over the back of the couch, collapsing on the pillowy cushions and dragging Sonny with her. Sonny, being a fair bit larger than Y/n landed quite unceremoniously on top of her, drawing an “oomph” from him and a worn out snicker from Y/n.

“Shhh, no talk, just shut up n’ sleep” Y/n mumbled against the taller figure’s neck. Sonny, too exhausted to put any effort into speaking did just as she said, and with the vague thought that tomorrow morning would be uncomfortable, Sonny drifted off to sleep, Y/n softly snoring beneath him with her legs tangled in his own.

#stole the show series #sonny carisi series #sonny carisi imagine #sonny carisi x reader #svu smut #sonny carisi smut #peter scanavino #law and order: special victims unit #sonny carisi #svu

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tracynotabi · 3 years ago

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Riptide Day 0-1

So I wasn’t going to record my time in Ohio, just because I forgot to take pictures and we weren’t really mobile, but looking back, there were just too many memories to forget and I just really wanted to share with everyone how much fun this community is, despite the fact that we were canceled.

Most people will be referred to by their names, but I’ll introduce them with their tags first. If you see this and would like your name removed/changed, please let me know.

Also, some of this is not a perfect play-by-play because I am writing purely from memory.

Also, please note, there is degeneracy.

Thursday; September 9, 2021

Starting off the day, Kevin (The Doctor) and I had basically no sleep. We woke up at 7am PDT (read: 6:30am but too lazy to get out of bed) after getting to be around 4-5am mainly because Kevin wanted to hang out with his friends in Discord before he leaves them for the whole weekend. Me? I was just procrastinating on packing.

Joey (Big Large) texts in our group chat that we never got rid of from Emerald City that they’ll be at my place in 10 minutes with Ivan (Ivayne), because they were driving up north from Elk Grove, which is about 20 minutes south of where we live.

The plan was to drive to Robert (PotatoesAreYum)’s place and then make the two hour drive to San Jose, where we would catch our 1:45pm flight.

Why did we do this? Because our tickets were canceled for Blacklisted 6 and we couldn’t get refunds so we only had credits to work from, but apparently, Sacramento Airport did not have available flights to Ohio that were by Alaskan Airlines.

We took off, leaving Sacramento and heading to Davis. Part way through, we get a text from Robert asking how far out we were, because he had to poop, but we were 11 minutes out.

Robert, the descriptive man he is, describes that his poop was ready to crown, so he was good. I thanked him for the visual, because goddamn, I needed another one after getting a Snapchat from Joey the night before of his ass hanging out in jorts.

Robert: At least I didn’t sent a picture like Joey. But if you want a picture, I could send you one. Me: I would cancel your flight.

We end up driving south to Kevin’s brother’s house, where we tried to find a Jack in the Box that was on Google Maps. We spent about five minutes looking for it before ultimately giving up and going to a Hawaiian BBQ/Donut shop. We were just as confounded as you are probably right now. Food was OK.

Kevin’s brother insisted the Jack in the Box was there but for the life of us, we could not find it. He took us to the airport and off we went to Chicago. Yes, they played Smash at the airport, because this is what Smash players do.

They also played on the flight. Sidenote: there was this very loud cat in the aisle across from me that was meowing like crazy.

Flight from Chicago to Cleveland sucked. It was hot and cramped and they took our baggage away.

We land in Cleveland at about 11pm? Parker (Boringman [Sip Mastah]) was waiting for us at our gate because he had landed an hour before us.

We go down to Ground Transportation to reach our shuttle when I read the little red tag one of the flight attendants gave me. It said that our baggage would be given to us at the end of the flight.

... Well, we had just passed through security and going down the escalator at that point.

Well, fuck.

We run into Washington at baggage claim and I’m panicking because I have no idea if our luggage is going to pop out at baggage claim. Joey, Kevin, and I go up the escalator - the WRONG escalator and we go up a flight too much. We go back down and the airport’s just empty.

Makes sense, it’s 11pm EDT and there’s not a single worker in sight.

Robert texts us saying our luggage popped out and I hate life because the wording on the ticket, I swear, implied it wasn’t going to come out of baggage claim.

We go back down, grab our luggage, say bye to Washington, and head on our to the shuttle wait area.

There, we run into Luke (Yung Quaff) and Will (Twisty) from Massachusetts. Apparently, they had been waiting for the shuttle for over an hour and it was about 11:30pm at this point in time and we’re so tired because we’ve been travelling the whole day and there were people waiting for us to goon with.

We get to the shuttle and it’s an hour to the resort. Crying inside.

We check in and our room is on the other side of the resort from Guttey and Spencer (Mr. Watch and Learn)’s room even though they provided our confirmation number when they got their hotel room. What the hell.

Seeing everyone in that room was so amazing. I can’t remember everyone there exactly, because let me tell you, that room at one point probably had more people than it should have and we most definitely violated some kind of fire hazard.

Friday; September 10, 2021

Twisty ended up staying the night in our room because we had a two bedroom, two bathroom suite with six people. Our suite had a king bed, two queen beds, and a queen pull-out from the couch. Joey and Robert - the two largest people - stayed in the king bed. Kevin and I shared a queen. Ivan had a queen. Parker had a queen. Though I believe the first night, Parker and Ivan shared the queen (?) and Twisty stayed on the pull out.

Twisty barrel-rolled the whole night.

The bed squeaked so much it was insane. I think it only really bothered me, but that was fine because the guys needed their rest more than I did.

Spencer, the god that he is, ended up driving from Long Island to Ohio, and he offered to take us to go get some groceries for his room and us at Meijer.

It seated five, but I don’t really count as a full human size-wise, so I sat at Kevin’s feet, who was sitting in the passenger seat, underneath the dashboard, while Guttey, John (Gluteus), and Luke sat in the back.

Shoutouts to Meijer. Had a ton of awesome stuff.

A bunch of wings and thighs that probably weighed as much as a chicken itself plus 2 Liter Coke for $8.

It was all a blur, but we ended up in the Chad Room at some point - the Presidential Suite, just as crews were starting.

We end up meeting Yuko, who had a very large speaker about the size of me curled up. He ended up making an entrance and there’s a video on Twitter where you can just hear Joe (Qtip) go, “I’m scared.”

Also ran into Zoey (Frost) again. :) Haven’t seen her since she left NorCal. We ended up just talking a bit, catching up, before I think Kevin needed me to go back to our room for a Wii.

I ended up walking entirely back to our room on the other side of the hotel - next to the convention center, getting out Wii, only to find out two things:

1. We didn’t have composite cables. 2. There was no other outlet.

We ended up getting kicked out after Qtip’s team won anyway.

Can’t remember anything else, other than the goon was too hard and too real but if you would like for me to include anything that happened while I was there, let me know! :)

#Riptide #Undertow #Project M #Super Smash Bros #Fuck Nintendo

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fruitcored · 4 years ago

Note

hi king.. dreamyjaylen 12 perhabs

12- things you said when you thought I was asleep

hi thank you for suggesting this and also thanks for being patient while i procrastinated on this for almost a week <33 this is set in early season seven btw. also posted to ao3 here!

Sleeping through the night is out of the question entirely at this point, but this is the worst time to wake up. It’s not light out yet, won’t be for hours, but the city isn’t silent enough for Jaylen to fall asleep again. Judging by the ambient noise seeping in through the window behind the kitchen table, fans are already swarming in for an early Garages-Tigers game.

Sometimes there’s the light patter of rain to drown it all out, especially this time of year, but tonight there’s nothing to keep her and her thoughts company. Nothing to pay attention to.

Jaylen used to think she was a shitty sleeper, even before everything. Now she could kick herself for whining over five hours of rest. It’s not about the exhaustion anymore– it’s about the loneliness. The physicality of the thing that never quite feels so bad when she’s got someone else to focus on. She can never get her mind to rest when she’s alone, and with Dreamy sound asleep in the other room, Jaylen feels more isolated than ever. Alone comes so easily these days, but the noise never leaves. There is no peace.

Even returned from the dead, there is no respite. Fucking figures.

Without even really thinking about it, Jaylen’s picking up her phone and scrolling to her contact list. It’s only once she finds her thumb hovering over Mike’s contact page that she realizes what she’s doing– more out of instinct than out of will at this point. But even if he could hear Jaylen now, he’s got no way of responding.

Jaylen just wants to talk to a familiar face, no strings attached, and there’s not much of that going around these days.

All her teammates avoid her nowadays. Jaylen’s not naive; she sees them eyeing her like she’s some sort of caged animal, and nobody wants to be the one to toss her a slab of meat. They’re all scared they’ll be next. Which is fucking stupid– they all know full well she’s only hit players on opposing teams.

Anyways, she doesn’t think any of them would take too kindly to a late-night cold call. Duende offered Jaylen his number when she returned from the shadows, along with a hell of a lot of leeway when it came to missed practices. He told Jaylen she was welcome to call him if she needed anything at all. Still, he’s no Mike.

No– that’s not fair to Teddy. Nobody could be. Regardless, calling him wouldn’t do Jaylen any good. She wants someone who’ll talk to her like a person, not like a captain.

“Fuck it,” Jaylen grumbles to herself before pressing the dial button next to Mike’s name. She sits and traces the grooves of the wooden kitchen table while she waits. After five full rings of the dial tone, the line goes silent for a moment too long, and then it’s the same shitty little voicemail message in his shitty little Bellevue accent that Jaylen always teased him for.

“Hey! It’s Mike. Um, I guess I’m not here to pick up your call right now, which means I’m probably playing ball. I’ll call you back when I’m done, but in the meantime leave me a message. If it’s urgent, code word is knuckleball. Peace!”

Then she’s left to the silence of the message recording, and blood pounds in her ears against empty static. She’s only just gotten used to that feeling.

“Hey. It’s me.” Jaylen pauses for a moment like Mike could somehow respond, then berates herself for even considering the notion. “I… I don’t know. I just wanted to talk. To somebody.” Voice low, she curls into herself, suddenly self-aware.

She lets out a ragged exhale, just to get something out into the stale air. Just to fill the silence. “I didn’t know who else to call. I think most of me is still in there with you.” Begrudgingly, Jaylen lets herself imagine Mike listening wordlessly at the other end of the line. Like he’d shut up to save his own life.

“Nobody knows what to do with me anymore. You’d get that, I think. Everyone either loved or hated you. But with me… I don’t know.” Jaylen worries absently at a cuticle, and it doesn’t even bleed for a change. It’s long since stopped hurting when she does that. “It’s almost better when people hate me, or fear me– because at least they know what they’re getting into. There’s no sugarcoating it. They should be cautious, sure, but for themselves. Not for me.”

Jaylen imagines being around her is like standing too close to a fire. All of her feels crooked and rough and wolfish in a way that she’s never known before. She’s always looking to break something.

“I like it better when people are straightforward, when they can talk to me without acting like I might, like, combust out of nowhere. Even Dreamy looks at me like I’m delicate. I just want someone to treat me like a person, and she of all people should get that.”

Jaylen doesn’t know when she got louder, but suddenly she’s hyper-aware of the dissonance between her voice and the hollow air on the other end of the line. She chokes out another shuddering breath, and the next inhale tastes hot and cloyingly metallic.

The realization that she’s talking to an empty room does nothing for Jaylen’s confidence, but she presses on, softening her tone.

“I just… I love her so goddamn much. But I’m always afraid I’m hurting her, and she’s afraid to tell me. She doesn’t need to… to try and save me, or anything. Nobody needs to. The fans brought me back fucked up, and now they can deal with the consequences just like I am. I didn’t choose to come back this way, but I chose to hit all those players. Every single time.”

It’s true. And the worst fucking thing is that some hungry part of her needs that choice, relishes in it. If Jaylen could go back and live a normal life, she would in an instant, but here at least she means something. At least she’s useful. Whatever this game has put her through, it’s made her more real than she was before.

As for more alive. Well.

“I mean, I deserve to be held accountable like–” Jaylen stops short at the figure in the shadows of the bedroom doorway.

Her hands shake as she sets her phone facedown on the kitchen table, and she tries not to sound too guilty. “Dream.”

Dreamy blinks, still bleary-eyed, and Jaylen curses herself for not thinking to put on a cup of coffee in advance. “Babe. You don’t need to, like, hang up. I don’t wanna interrupt.”

“No, it’s fine.” Jaylen looks down at her hands. “I was... talking to Mike. Or his voicemail, I guess. I didn’t know who else to call.” When she glances back up at Dreamy, Jaylen doesn’t think she’s imagining the pity in her eyes.

Dreamy gives a quiet hum of understanding, already drifting over to stand behind Jaylen at the table. “Bad night for sleeping?”

Jaylen shrugs. “As per usual. Figure there’s no point in trying anymore.” She shifts to glance up at Dreamy. “How much did you hear?”

The ensuing beat of hesitation is just enough for Jaylen to feel appropriately self-conscious. Their shitty old radiator shudders to a start behind them. “A bit,” Dreamy admits. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but. Thin walls. I couldn’t sleep either.”

She sets a comforting hand on Jaylen’s shoulder, tracing a sleep-warm thumb over the back of her neck. Every touch burns a little bit, since Jaylen’s come back, and she shoves down that initial instinct to flinch away. Instead, she leans into the warmth. Dreamy takes a breath. “I’d always be honest if you were hurting me, you know.”

Maybe a little too much doubt seeps through in Jaylen’s short sigh, because Dreamy repeats, “I would, Jay.”

“I know you would,” Jaylen replies, carefully measured. “I’m just afraid that I’m doing it without even knowing. I want to know how I make you feel.”

Dreamy nods in the corner of Jaylen’s eye, and Jaylen tries to focus on the soft pressure of Dreamy’s thumb skimming over her skin. “Do I suffocate you?” Dreamy asks, more vulnerable than she was a moment earlier.

“No,” Jaylen replies immediately. “You’re the only thing that grounds me, most of the time.” It’s the only thing she knows for certain.

It takes Dreamy a moment to respond.

“I thought you were gone again when I woke up,” she says, tone unreadable. The city buzzes on in the silence between them, already rousing itself slowly. “I thought maybe you’d been incinerated again somehow, until I heard your voice out here.”

Jaylen swallows numbly, and it tastes like smoke. “Sorry.” She wishes she could say more.

“Don’t be,” Dreamy murmurs. “Point is, I want you here. I don’t think we have a choice at this point, but you aren’t making me stay. I could leave if I wanted to.”

“Nothing is a choice these days,” Jaylen says. No matter how different life has become since she’s returned, things started changing far before that. Whatever life was before blaseball, there’s no turning back. None of it matters anymore.

It’s like she’s rotting away from the inside out these days, like she’s making up for lost time. It’s impossible to deny the blood pull at the heart of her, raw against the transience of her will. With every game, every wrong pitch, she becomes more myth than human. It’s all a balancing act, and Jaylen is losing.

“Right. So I just don’t want things to feel any more... wrong than they have to be.”

Jaylen laughs, hollow. “Too late.”

“Maybe so. But we’ll figure things out.” This time when she glances back at Dreamy, there’s none of that cautious reverence in her eyes. It’s softer, more familiar. It feels like a promise.

Sometimes Jaylen forgets she’s alive, like her body still doesn’t quite know how to operate. Every burning touch is a reminder of the way she’s spent the last five years. But when she looks up at Dreamy, Jaylen already feels more real. Dreamy is here, and Jaylen is too, and the tangibility of that makes it feel like it matters more.

#also thanks for the beta i appreciate u <3 #i swear i meant to write this earlier but then we played chess for five hours so.#who's winning now #blaseball #jaylen hotdogfingers #dreamyjaylen #fic

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chaoticspacefam · 4 years ago

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2020 In Review: Wordcount Tag

I was tagged for this by @actualanxiousswampwitch , thank you! I’m not sure who’s already done or been tagged for this cause I am, once again, late to the party LOL but I shall (no pressure and sorry if you’ve already done it!) tag: @rainofaugustsith , @darth-bagel , @thatmmolesbian , @thelastenvoyyy and anybody else who wants to do this. Yes, I promise I mean you!

Words: 45,314

Published: 0 (I’m not counting the couple of Six Sentence tags I’ve gotten, they’re snippets of an unfinished piece & are included below instead :), or roleplay replies, cause that feels like cheating lol.) I actually wrote a lot more than I thought I had, this is a rough guesstimate as well, as my oneshot WIPs tend to be all over the place across something like 6 different documents, some of which have existed since 2018, so I had to guess at how far up to count from the end for some of them, but I think it’s a fair guesstimate XD I also have included lore/worldbuilding docs in this because that was a 3-month long Lockdown 1.0 Boredom/”Canon is a trash fire so I’m ignoring that and making up my own lore” passion project and I’m goddamn proud of how much I wrote for that. It’s the most I’ve written in one stretch (think I finished it over a span of 3 nights or so, once I’d done all the research and made all the notes ofc ^^)

Not Published: 45,314

The Breakdown:

swtor - 45,314

for creeping shadows (my main longfic/part one of the subterfugeverse series) - 1,553 - Aria, stop being difficult! *shakes fists* XD

oneshots - 16,223

lore/worldbuilding (for subterfugeverse naturally) - 23,001 (is this ALL tomato alien lore? pretty much, yes, yes it is :’D ~400 words is “the WIP reworked timeline to correlate my worldbuilding with the canon timeline that was released”, but 98% is just...me thinking way too much about Purebloods and how they deserved way better goddamn lore. I blame @fluffynexu ‘s amazing tomato worldbuilding posts, reading them when I went looking for “canon” lore one day for the rp is what got me started down that rabbithole (it’s awesome and if you haven’t already you should totally go check hers out too :DD), I had a “fuck you then canon I’ll do it myself too >:L” moment and once I started I couldn’t stop until I’d crapped out literally over 20k words on the subject *whispering* thank you LOL)

zephyrverse au bonus oneshots - 4,537 (stuff I wrote to fill in time gaps or “just cause I had a plot bunny”, relating to mine and k-christine’s zephyrverse au rp. None of these will likely be posted publicly, but they still deserve to be counted as words I wrote this year :’D

As you can see, most of my “muse” this year came from sporadic oneshots :’D The Ahaszaai twins also properly plot-bunnied their way into my brain in late 2019 and haven’t stopped making a nuisance of themselves the whole fucking year. Every time I tried to carry on with a chapter, one of the two of them would pop up like “Nooo write about ME! pay attention to ME!” - Yes, Ni’kasi, I will get to you this year, I promise XD

New Things I Tried:

Just Writing. Not worrying about whether “it wasn’t part of the next chapter” or “it comes from a part in the story that I’m nowhere near close to posting yet”. If I felt like writing something, or for a specific pairing/feeling/scene, whatever. I wrote until I ran outta muse juice. Yeah, it meant I didn’t technically “finish” anything this year BUT - the important thing is I wrote stuff. and that’s all that really matters, eh? :’D

Polyam ships! May not seem like a big deal but I spent a long time talking myself out of them because of internalised toxic monogamy and finally saying “you know what, fuck it! I can ship three or more people together and it can still be a perfectly wholesome, healthy and loving relationship and that’s okay” was a BIG thing for me this year.

Dialogue Scripts: which I didn’t count as wordcount because really it’s just word vomit of general tone/inflection and dialogue that I came up with right before falling asleep which I didn’t want to lose. Basically, if an exchange or a particularly punchy or moving line of dialogue popped into my brain but I wasn’t ready to write the whole scene that it fit into out, but didn’t want to forget the line(s). I wrote it out in movie script/script-style roleplay fashion e.g. Character’s Name: (emotion, hand gestures etc.) [Dialogue here] and so on. I know this is probably a well known trick of the trade, but I never took it seriously until this year. Seriously, do it. It’s great.

Favorite Thing I Wrote:

Hmmm, a snippet for Andronikos/Ni’kasi that I started this week which isn’t posted yet (saving it for this week’s Six Sentence Sunday so look out for it! :D) was pretty fun to work on, I love their dynamic and Kas is suprisingly fun to write for.

Also the Aria/Vano proposal scene that I posted a snippet for the week before last. I’m having great fun with that scene, and I really enjoy putting a non-serious spin on the classic “proposal scene” tropes. Can’t wait to finish it, though it may be a while before the full one goes up on AO3, as it depends whether it ends up fitting in as part of the mainfic or as an additional oneshot

And I have a D’leah/Kissai oneshot that I need to give another once-over before I finally yeet it onto AO3 and Tumblr for you guys to see :’D

Favorite Fic I Read:

@sleepswithvillains Eleanora/Quinn fic, Helplessly Hoping. I’m horribly behind on chapters and I gotta catch up and read the finale this week, but it’s been a helluva great ride and I’ve thoroughly enjoyed the story! <3

Also The Invitation collab with @tishinada featuring Zas and Fiona had me squealing, I can’t wait to catch up on HH and see more of these two, they’re adorable ;-; @a-muirehen ‘s Relu/Merkara series of course! I’m a complete sucker for (friends to lovers to in Ariano’s case but yea pfpfpf) enemies to lovers ships and these two are just so good, I am on the edge of my seat every time we get a new snippet for them, ngl (grimace emoji) @darth-bagel ‘s Sylvas/Graz’zt and Sylvas/Liz/Rilfaen snippets which they’ve been spoiling me with on Discord @mercurypilgrim ‘s Ven’fir/Quinn AU oneshots, Cloudbank (Western was a particular favourite, but all are very good!) and of course @rainofaugustsith ‘s Lana/Viri updates are always fantastic, some personal favourites from this year were Almost There & Memory of Healing :3 (I totally still go back to read Commander & Advisor too sometimes, getting to see Viri be a little diabolical and messing with “MiNiSTeR LoRMaN!” was and still is my favourite thing XD)

If I’ve left you out I’m sorry!! These were the ones that stuck out in my memory, but I’ve loved everyone’s writing this year, it’s been great :3

Writing Goals:

to actually finish and post chapter 8 & 9 of Creeping Shadows. Then we’ll get to the meat and potatoes of the story and maybe Aria will stop being a brat and fighting me every time I try to stick to a semi-regular update schedule Get off my butt, finalise the name and get started on Ni’kasi’s part of the Subterfugeverse story. Maybe run the updates in-tandem with Creeping Shadows but idk if I want to wait till after CS is done before I start posting Kas’s side, or do them side-by-side yet, we’ll see ;) Keep writing! I know better than to pressure myself by setting a specific word count goal, that’s never worked well in the past

At least 2 chapters of each of the works mentioned above would be great though, more would be better! We’ll see how I go

Words of Thanks:

honestly, to everybody in the fandom I’ve met this year. Anybody that I follow, thank you for being there and engaging with me and/or posting amazing content for me to look at! I came over from deviantART where the SWTOR fandom is incredibly small and generally quite inactive and the contrast since moving over here has been incredibly uplifting. I very nearly cancelled Creeping Shadows and stopped posting fic for my SWTORverse altogether because I got next to no engagement on dA and it was very disheartening to the point where I felt I could enjoy the game and the rp partners I had, but the solo projects I’d put so much thought, time and love into already weren’t worth continuing. You guys took that spark and kept it going and I really don’t have enough words to say how grateful I am for that. Even if I haven’t published much this year, making posts on this tumblr, interacting with everyone and working on lore, plot points and so on for Subterfugeverse has kept me going through the Hellish Year of Nightmares that was 2020 <3

to the amazing new friends I’ve made in this past year, who have listened to me ramble about headcanons, character backstories, writing snippets (and rambled/sent some back), keep being awesome: @walk-ng-d-saster , @darth-bagel , @kyber-heart , @deepseacritter , @thedinalixlegacy to further friends and meme tag buddies, I get so excited every time I see a mention for a new meme or ask game in my inbox, so thank you!! : @mimabeann , @palepinkycat , @a-master-procrastinator , @raven-of-domain-kwaad , @actualanxiousswampwitch , @thatmmolesbian , @a-muirehen to my regular commentors/rebloggers/likers/askbox lurkers, I see every one of you and every time your users pop up I grin like a kid in a toy shop: @starlightjedi , @sparkles-and-rust , @wilvarin-chan , @sunsetofdoom , @ask-an-andalite , @thelastenvoyyy . @lyrishadow and more because Tumblr only goes so far back and I have the memory of Swiss Cheese. If you regularly comment, like, reblog, or anything, from me, know that I see you, and I love and appreciate you for it! <3

I couldn’t possibly remember to tag everyone and I promise if I missed you out it’s not because I hate you! Anxiety just sometimes be a bitch and I don’t wanna look like a clown calling someone a “friend” if I’m not explicitly sure we are, in fact, friends. I think you’re all awesome and I’m so glad to have moved over here and met you all <3

#long post #wordcount year review tag #elven's writing: stats #repost bc i goofed some links woops sorry everyone #^^;#will i eventually post any of this stuff? yes!#i will. i just...don't know *when* the time will be right for most of it hahaha #the only bits i won't post are the zephyrverse-specific oneshots cause i just don't feel like i want to #but everything else will (eventually) in some capacity be thrown into the void for all of you to read #shameless friend appreciation post #shameless mutual and follower appreciation post #<3 #swtor sort of

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 years ago

Text

Mr. Self Destruct 2

Part One

Warnings: Bucky’s a bastard, control, PTSD and other lovely mental issues, noncon (forced masturbation and oral)

This is dark!Bucky Barnes and explicit. 18+ only.

Summary: Bucky has been left by his closest friend. With no other choice, he works for Stark Industries in the name of both Stark and Rogers but before he can begin his new position, he is mandated to attend counselling. With you, the company’s resident therapist.

Note: This is gonna be a three-parter because I’m a goddamn liar, y’all. But I hope you guys like this. Love y’all.

Anyway :) Please like, reply, and/or reblog if you read.

Bucky

Bucky liked to watch her squirm. She tried not to but the little tic in her finger and the way she scrunched her brow gave her away. It was amusing to watch her try to act like it was all normal. Naked and vulnerable in her chair.

She was resistant that day. Their first session after his first mission, she’d been compliant. So shocked she couldn’t think to fight him. Now she’d had time to think but not long enough. Her blouse was torn on the floor beside her chair, the rest of her clothing strewn around it. She shivered as she slumped over the notepad rested on her crossed legs and listened.

“I leave tomorrow,” He said pointedly and she sat up. She used her notepad to shield herself.

“For a mission?” She asked.

He nodded. “I know you’re thinking of trying something, why wouldn’t you? But this is your warning, there will be consequences.”

“Bucky, I’ve only ever tried to help you.” She shivered and sat straighter. “Why are you doing this?”

“Aren’t you supposed to figure that out?” He stood. “Those little notes, isn’t there some explanation?”

“No, you’re supposed to work with me through these issues, not against me,” She watched him near. She winced as he stopped before her. There would be bruises where he’d grabbed her.

“You got something to cover yourself up?” He asked as he reached out to touch her neck. She drew away from him and pressed herself to the back of the chair. “Cause I know you’re a shit liar.”

“I’ll figure it out,” She brushed his hand away and her eyes widened and flicked away from him. He was hard. She could see it. He only just realized it, how painful it was. He backed away. “Can I get dressed now?”

“We still have a few minutes,” He checked his watch and she shifted in her seat. He chuckled quietly and turned back to her. “Ask me nicely this time, doc.”

“May I please get dressed?” She said stiffly.

“Good girl,” The words slipped out and her face tensed. “Yes, get dressed.”

She set aside her notepad and gathered her clothes one at a time as she pulled them on. Her blouse had no buttons left and she kept her blazer closed. She frowned as it did nothing to hide her bra.

“Next time, listen,” He remarked as he turned and walked along her desk.

He reached down to rub his aching crotch. He pulled his hand away and played with the paperweight on the corner, shaped like a crow. He stared at the desk and thought of pushing aside the papers, the little decorations, the pens. Pictured her, for just a second, bent over it. He set the paperweight down.

“Just know,” He crossed the room and took his jacket from the rack. He turned back as she shoved her feet into her heeled boots. “If you do decide to get smart, I will find out.” He pulled on his jacket and flicked the lock of the door. “This…” He swirled his finger in the air, “...can get so much worse for you.”

Reader

Ten minutes after Bucky left, you took your jacket from the rack and did it up to your chin. He was your last appointment but you were expected at a support meeting that night. You dialed the number and waited for an answer.

"Hey, Mr. Hogan, yeah, no it's fine. You're going tonight? Okay, tell Ron I'm sorry, he's gonna have to walk through the meeting himself. It's nothing, just an appointment I forgot. Yeah, I have such a full calendar…"

You barely heard Happy as you recited your lies. You just didn't have the energy. Or the strength. To be entirely honest, you were terrified. Bucky terrified you. Staring at him, entirely bare to his predatory gaze, no escape in sight, your heart raced and you felt the world collapse around you.

You were also embarrassed. Not just by what he made you do but that you'd lost your control as his therapist. You didn't run the sessions anymore, he did. You'd broken your professionality and even your own integrity. Bent so easily to his will and all because your own fear.

He hurt you that day. You hung up the phone and grabbed your bag as you replayed the scene. He told you to undress. You refused. He repeated himself once and promised he wouldn't again. You still didn't. His hand was at your throat in an instant, the tear of fabric jerked your body and filled the air. He shoved you back and you fell into the chair.

You undressed then. He circled you. Got close enough to touch at one point but didn't. When you were naked, he sat and bid you to do the same. You took your notepad and waited for him to start.

You trembled as you hailed a cab. In your head, you weren't out on the New York pavement but still trapped in that office. With him.

You paid the driver and hurried up your walk. You locked the front door behind you and looked around your small townhouse. It was a habit now. You inspected everything, locked every door and window them second checked them.

Worse was that, no matter what you did it wouldn't keep him from following you. From getting in if he wanted to. The realization came and went over and over but you never truly forgot. Bucky Barnes grasped your life in his fist. At a whim, his vibranium fingers could crush you.

You slept on the couch that night. Unintentionally. You dozed off as the tv glared and hummed. You didn't think you'd be able to sleep at all and your rest was shallow and periodic.

He was leaving that day. He was probably already gone but that only started the timer until his inevitable return.

Four days. You heard of Bucky’s return in passing at the tower. You skirted away to your office, half expecting to find him there. It was empty and your second appointment of the day was due in five minutes.

They arrived shortly after and you welcomed them in with your usual courtesy but the rest of the session was spent, peeking over at the door. Waiting for Bucky to burst in and tear the walls down. But he never came. Not during or after. Your third appointment went by just the same and you hesitated to leave for the day.

Should you wait for him to come and terrorize you? Now that was inane. You should go before he decided to drop in. Go home and hide under your covers like the child you felt. How was it that he made you feel so small when he wasn’t even there?

Bag in hand, coat slung over your arm, you rushed down into the mid-autumn chill and hailed a cab. You procrastinated to get a new car since your old one had sputtered out. It wasn’t that you didn’t have the money but work had got ahead of you and life had fallen behind. Excuses. Your worst fault. You always had a reason why not and yet your job was to hold others accountable. How ridiculous.

Front door, locked. A small reassurance to your growing paranoia. You twisted the latch behind you and dropped your coat on the table just inside the table, your bag disposed atop it lazily. You kicked your shoes off and flipped on the lights. You held your breath as the front room lit up. Empty. Another relieved sigh.

You walked carefully around the furniture, as if scared to attract the attention of the beast who wasn’t there. It was difficult at first, almost as if it wasn’t your home anymore. As if your entire existence was being wrenched from you by his metal fist.

You cooked your supper in silence. The clink and clatter of dishes the only noise, the occasional running of water, too. You ate in front of the television, eager to kill the eerie quiet. Some mindless game show, the answers you couldn’t think of but were sure you knew.

You finished and rinsed your dishes before you returned to the couch, shielded by a thin throw, eyes observant and straying. You were almost in a trance. Dread clouded around you in a haze.

You didn’t know how late it was when you found the strength to get off the couch. You climbed the stairs and swept through your bedroom to the closet like bathroom attached to it. You cranked the shower so that it quickly filled the space with steam and undressed as you stared at yourself in the mirror.

There was a fear in your eyes you’d never seen before. A weakness. You weren’t this person. You worked hard for years to achieve your position, you were never one to wilt beneath anothers glare.

You should have filed a report that day; with the company, with the police. But then you closed your eyes and saw Bucky’s. Heard his promise echo in your head. Lined pockets and badges hadn’t stopped him before and the heroes who had, were gone. And you surely were no match for him.

The rivers ran over your skin and diverged along the peaks and values of your body. You barely felt them. The cleansing you hoped for did not come. You still felt terribly filthy, entirely helpless as you turned off the faucet and shivered in the aftermath. You rubbed dry your hair and wrapped your body in the soft linen.

You had left the door slightly open, the steam dispersed quickly as you pulled it the rest of the way. You nearly stumbled and caught yourself on the door frame as you crossed the threshold to your bedroom. He was there.

His broad shoulders faced you as he stood beside your bed. His dark head was lowered as he stirred around in your night table. Your breath caught and you glanced at the door which led to the hallway. Then at your barely covered body.

“Busy day. Missed you at the tower.” He said without looking back at you. “Sit down, will you?”

You didn’t move. He huffed and raised his head. He leaned back and pushed his shoulders apart.

“You know I’ll make you sit, so just do it.” He warned.

You neared the bed and turned. You sat on the end of the bed and waited, listening to him snooping around in your drawer. Your skin was on fire. You knew what was in there and he’d no doubt found it by now. He was toying with you.

“Lose the towel,” He said as he spun around and you felt him get closer.

You stood to pull the fabric from beneath you and he tugged it away from you swiftly. He rounded you and stopped before you. You kept your eyes on the floor. You wanted to cover yourself but that had grown futile by now. He’d seen your body; human and flawed.

He brought his hand up before your face. Your eyes almost crossed as you looked up at the small silver device in his hand. You blanched and blinked at your hidden pleasure. Your little vibe, ‘bullet’, it had said on the package. How appropriate that was the one he chose.

“I want you to use it.” He said plainly. You heard his smirk but didn’t look up at it.

“Why are you doing this, Bucky? It’s not going to solve anything. You’re only making it worse. This is escapism, not resolution.”

“Use it,” He took your hand from your lap and shoved the toy into it. “I thought we were trying to open up to each other, doc.” He slowly backed away. “So go on, open up.”

You turned the toy between your fingers. Your thumb ran across the small black button at its base and you chewed the inside of your lip. Your legs were like stone, heavy and hard to move. Bucky’s breaths, quiet but deafening amid the silence, urged you on.

Your hand shook as you rested in on your thigh and forced your legs apart a little at a time. You bit down painfully and tasted the blood. Your vision blurred but you wouldn’t let the tears fall. You slid the toy along your thigh and clicked the button. The whir of the tiny motor buzzed against you.

You crept up and felt as if your body would give out. As if every muscle would split and you’d be left in a heap before him. But that didn’t happen and when the vibe traced along your pelvis you inhaled sharply. You slipped it just along your lips and froze. Mortified at the sudden rush of heat to that one spot.

“A woman you’re age should be married, shouldn’t she?” Bucky’s voice shook you, the toy just above that sacred bud. “Or have somebody?”

You stopped and looked up at him. His gaze was focused between your legs. Eager and expectant.

“Divorced. Just...didn’t work out.”

“And did you buy those before or after the divorce?” He asked.

“Some before, some after,” You replied.

“Go on,” He nodded. “Don’t stop ‘til you’re done. Understood?”

You looked down again. Humiliated. “Yes.”

You pressed the metal tip between your lips and braced the mattress with your other hand. The vibrations radiated from your clit down your thighs. You breathed out your nose loudly and lowered your chin to hide your face. Out of habit, you swirled the vibe around your bud and your entire body tense.

Was it better to resist and hold onto to your integrity or fold and have it done and over with? You struggled against yourself. It wasn’t long before you were wet. Before the tide grew unbearable and overwhelming. You were ready to drown in it, your nails dug into the blanket and your legs quaked.

You sensed a shadow, felt the cold fingers on your chin. Bucky forced your face up and you squeezed your eyes shut. “Look at me.” He demanded.

You reluctantly obeyed and met his startling blue irises. Your lips parted and your hand worked without thinking. Almost there. You choked on the moan that rose and snapped your mouth shut. The ripples flowed and left you trembling. His hand dropped down to your throat and tightened as he held you in place, watching you fall apart before him.

The vibe slipped from your fingers and you grasped his wrist. As the after waves twisted and turned, he released you and tore his arm away. You fell back on the bed and pushed your legs together. You crossed your arms over your chest and slowly curled into a ball. Reality fell down like hail around you and battered your skin.

“Think we should have a session tomorrow doc?” He paced around the end of the bed. “Hmm? Noon work for you?”

You stayed silent and covered your face. You could barely think. Barely focus on his taunts.

“If it doesn’t,” He came around and dragged your hand from over your face as he bent over you. “Make it work.”

He dropped your arm and turned away. You closed your eyes and listened to his footsteps pass through the door, fade down the hallway and along the stairs. You didn’t move. You weren’t sure you could. You just languished, numb and yet feeling all at once.

You cancelled your meeting with Ron at noon. It was a simple walk through of the next support group and as of late he'd been content to run them on his own. And you were content to let him. So forgetful that your calendar was the only order left in your life.

He didn't knock. He entered and lock the door as he had the last two times. You looked up from your desk as he strolled in and plopped into the chair across from you.

"Are we going to talk today, Bucky?" You challenged.

"You really think that's still going to happen? That it would help?" He scoffed and leaned back, his knees wide as he planted his feet.

"I do think it would help."

"Did it help Steve?" He asked pointedly. "Did he tell you he was leaving?"

"I wasn't his therapist. Besides, if I was, confidentiality would preclude me from--"

"You weren't his therapist?" He tilted his head and smirked, just a little. "Something else?"

"We were colleagues. I helped him set up support for those left behind." You explained evenly. "Our relationship was professional."

"Maybe you should've been his therapist." Bucky mused.

"Steve didn't think there was a place for him here. He was wrong but you must know he wasn't very good at admitting that." You set down your pen. "There's a place for all of us."

"Jesus, do they teach you these little bullshit platitudes in school or are you really just that stupid?"

"The hardest part of dealing with our issues is admitting we have them at all. Steve didn't want to face this world anymore, didn't want anymore challenges. And you--." You paused and tapped your fingers nervously on your open notepad.

"I what?" He urged.

"You think taking control, too much control, will make up for your loss of control in the past. You don't want to slow down and let the world, let time, do its work. You don't want to admit that you're afraid."

"Neither do you," He countered. "Hmm. You sit there, you chew on your lip, you hide your face, try to hide your body, and you think I can't see that your scared."

"Does it make you feel better? Truly? What you're doing?" He stayed silent and his smirk disappeared. "Does it remind you of what they did? A role reversal maybe? You try to control my body like they did yours."

"Enough!" He kicked the desk suddenly and you jumped. "I'm not trying to control you, I am."

"Bucky--"

"I told you I didn't want to talk." He spat.

"Then what do you want?"

His metal fist balled and his other hand slipped to his thigh. His fingers crawled upward and he palmed his crotch and shifted in his chair.

"I want you on your knees." He snarled.

You cringed and sat back in defeat. "It's not too late to stop this...to try."

"You can get on your knees or I can hold you down and fuck your face until you puke all over that pretty little blouse." He undid his fly and slid his hand in his jeans. "I'm done playing your game. You're gonna play mine."

You wrung your hands for a moment before you caught yourself. He didn’t miss the hint of your anxiety, the drawn line of your lips as you held back a sneer. Your fear mixed with a sense of anger. You weren’t an angry person but you felt the unusual creep of red in your chest.

The standoff ended quickly. You rose, hands on the desk to steady yourself, just a second before you stood on your own two feet. You rounded to him as he watched. His gaze never strayed, his victorious leer followed your every move. Every single step of your surrender.

You stopped before him, closed in between him and the desk. You looked down at him as he pulled apart his fly and guided his cock out from the denim and cotton. You lowered your head and your shoulders dropped.

“Bucky…” You pleaded.

He leaned forward and grabbed your hand. He stretched his vibranium palm across your hand and jerked you closer. You were forced to bend as he pressed your hand to his hardened length. You flinched and he pushed your fingers taut around his shaft.

“It is too late,” He said. “I made up my mind a while ago.”

Your knees buckled and you almost swayed. You stared at your hand and knelt before him. You were forced between his legs as the desk was close behind you. He drew his hand away and gripped the arms of the chair.

“Go on. I trust you know what you’re doing...unless that’s why the marriage didn’t work out?”

You recoiled and he growled. You glared up at him defiantly. “Don’t.” You warned him.

“Don’t?” He grinned. “What are you going to do about it?”

You stared back at him darkly. He leaned forward and grabbed your head with both hands. He pulled you close and your hands clapped against his thighs as he forced your head down.

“Open up that damn mouth before I break your jaw. I’m tired of listening to it.”

His cock pressed against your lips and he didn’t relent. You couldn’t turn your head away, couldn’t escape his vibranium grasp. So you opened your mouth and he pushed you down entirely. You gagged as he shoved himself down your throat. You grabbed his thighs desperately, unable to breathe, as he held you there.

You kicked your feet behind you and he finally eased up. Just enough for your to pull back but keeping his cock in your mouth. You gasped around him and he forced you back down.

“Don’t you go passing out now. That won’t stop me.”

You shuddered and let him guide you. He was big enough that your jaw began to throb in pain and your throat felt shredded from his repeated intrusion. You never quite caught your breath as your saliva dripped down his dick. You felt sick. Disgusted by him, by yourself, by your weakness.

His groans rose and chilled you. Added to the nausea as it boiled in your stomach. The salty taste of him made you gag again but he only delighted in the contraction of your throat. All you could hear were his treacherous growls and the revolting gulping of your mouth.

“You don’t know how much you’re helping me, doc.” He said. You almost stopped as his voice startled you but he kept you going. Faster, faster. Your entire head swelled in agony. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

His fingers rubbed circles along your scalp, still tight around your skull, ready to crush it at one misstep.

“I already feel better. More in control. Clearer.” He purred. “I see the world before me and it’s all thanks to you.”

Your eyes watered as he sped up again and gave you no chance to keep up. Your head spun with each descent along his thick cock.

“I see you bent over that desk. On the couch. On the floor.” He rasped. “I see it all. My hands around your throat as I use you so easily.”

He sighed and shivered.

“I’m in control again. I’m myself again.” He grunted suddenly and squeezed your head between his hands.

The warmth filled your mouth and choked you as it slid down your throat, his cock pounding his cum deeper and deeper. Then he stopped. He pulled you off of him and dropped you like a forgotten doll as your body crumpled beneath you. You coughed and spat his cum onto the floor with a heave.

You got to your knees and crawled around the desk blindly. You stood as you heard a zip, sensed his shadow as he stood and you felt your way into the small bathroom just along the wall. You nearly fell inside and caught yourself on the sink. You retched into the porcelain, your entire body spasmed as it revolted.

“Don’t forget to tick the box, doc,” He called from the office. You looked over as he pulled the hem of his tee straight. “Think maybe we should see each other more often. Since we’re making such good progress.”

“Get out,” You pushed yourself away from the sink and turned to slam the door. You locked it and backed away dizzily. You fell down onto the toilet and gripped your temples. You could feel his hands still, slowly caving in your skull.

“I know you got a full schedule tomorrow,” He said from the other side of the door. “Maybe we can arrange an after hours session again.” He chuckled and you heard the small taps as he walked his fingers down the door. “We should...fit something in before my next mission.”

You didn’t answer and waited for him to leave. You listened to his ominous footfalls in your office, the open and close of the door, the frightful silence that followed.

You looked down at your shaky hands, spittle and cum dried along the front of your blouse. Your stomach churned and you stood to grip the sink again. You didn’t stop until you were empty and weak. As hollow as the shell you’d become.

#mr self destruct #miniseries #short series #bucky barnes x reader #dark!bucky barnes x reader #dark bucky barnes x reader #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes #dark!fic #fic #dark!verse #darkverse #au #mcu #marvel #dark!#captain america

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a-secondhand-sorrow · 5 years ago

Text

when things start changing (we'll be changing with them)

(read on ao3)

The night of her graduation, Zoe steps into her backyard and is greeted with the sight of her boyfriend sitting at the base of a tree, eagerly demonstrating to her little cousin how to fold the dandelions sprouting around the base of the tree into a proper flower crown.

She can’t help the smile that comes to her face at the sight of him, sprawled out onto the grass as though he were designed to be there. Zoe has seen Evan Hansen in almost any scenario: folded into chairs, cross-legged on harsh tile, standing in a crowd and by himself and tucked neatly by her side. She considers herself well-versed in the many ways he can occupy a space. It’s something she prides herself on, her general knowledge of him and how he may look in any given scenario. There’s something so beautiful about the way he exists - even though it can be cramped, contained, and achingly hopeful that he’ll just be ignored, she can see the beauty even in those moments. And when he unfolds it’s even better. When he sits up a little straighter, lets his legs rest unlocked, and his hands - moving even when completely relaxed - make slower, more confident journeys around their surroundings, she’s reminded of just how far he’s come from the anxious senior tripping over his own thoughts every time he opened his mouth in the course of two school years.

From where he lays sprawled on the grass, he looks almost relaxed. The grass doesn’t seem to bother him, and his legs are crossed gently with one foot under his right knee while he leans over, his always-moving hands quick and gentle over the stems of the dandelions. She can hear snippets of his words, quick and defined but still somehow low and soothing. He’s actually a very good storyteller, especially around little kids. By the sharp giggles that float over her mom’s gardenias and the stone patio pavement to greet her, he’s pulled out his skills to wax poetic on the method.

In one fluid motion (and wow, she never thought she’d be using the word fluid to describe any movement Evan Hansen made) he twists off the crown and drops it onto the little boy’s head. For a moment, the light caught by the dandelions seems to radiate through the kid, and she can only stare while he hops up and runs off to boast to the other kids, who are playing on the old, creaky swing set. Evan watches him run, the amusement and gentleness on his face fading so slowly a person less versed in Evan Hansen wouldn’t have even noticed. His eyebrows furrowed, meeting to deepen the crease in his forehead, and her stomach dropped with his hand’s descent to trail at his shirt hem, twisting and pulling in his constant, quiet gesture of anxiety. Before she tells her legs to move, she’s already across the patio and halfway to where Evan sits. Her footsteps are nearly silent in the cushioned grass, but Evan’s eyes turn to her before she can fully reach him anyway as though he could feel her nearby. Automatically, she feels her lips curl into a grin, one that his gaze lingers on for a moment; she’d applied a new, slightly darker lipstick for the occasion, redder for spring and for graduating and for the yellow sundress she also donned, and she knows that he thoroughly enjoys the novelty of it just as he seems to enjoy her in all forms.

She sinks to sit next to him, indifferent to her dress, letting her legs cross at the ankle stretched out in front of her. “That’s cute,” she says, by way of greeting.

The responding shrug is felt against her shoulder, where the fabrics of their respective tops snag a little with Evan’s movement. “It’s easy. Little kids are cute, so whatever you give them is cute too.”

“Tarantulas? Scissors? Stomach flu?”

“I...yeah,” he mutters, and she laughs. “I guess those aren’t so cute.”

“You’re right, though. Mostly. They are cute.” She turns her head away from her cousins and looks to his face in profile. The summer sun seems to soak into the smooth brown skin stretched over his cheeks, and he blinks quickly. “I didn’t know you could make flower crowns.”

“I am a man of many talents.”

“Hidden depths, as they say.”

“Like an onion,” Evan lets his head drop so his cheek rests on the top of her head.

“An apt metaphor. All of those onions lying around with their depth, no layers to be found. Point to the writer for the fantastic metaphor.”

He laughs, but it’s a little weak. When he responds, his voice is low. “Shrek has me mixing up my metaphors.”

“Well, that’s obvious,” she murmurs back. She drops a hand to his thigh, warm even through his jeans. “What’s up?”

He shrugs again. “Parties just - they aren’t really my crowd.” And then, as though realizing a possible situation in which anyone could take a bit of offense, he rushes to neutralize it. “I mean, I didn’t mean to, like, take off, I just. It was kind of a lot and it sucks because it’s your party and I want to celebrate you but, you know.”

Zoe is just thankful he’s not apologizing - even a few months before, that would’ve been riddled with apologies that he didn’t need to give. “No, I get it. It’s a lot of people, and they’re not even nice, they’re just - my family. There. Being a lot. I’m glad you left when it was too much.” But he doesn’t un-tense, and his fidgeting persists, so she does, too. “I’ve barely had a chance to talk to you today.”

“Well, it’s been busy.”

“I know, but I still feel bad.”

“Don’t,” he says immediately, with a sudden ferocity in the tone she never would’ve expected. His hands still, and he lifts his head from hers to pull back and look her in the eye. “Zoe, please don’t - don’t feel bad for living your life and accomplishing things, okay? Because I’m here even when none of that is happening.”

She blinks once, slowly, and nods a top-to-bottom nod. “Okay,” she says, her eyes flicking over his expression. His lips thin into a line, and it’s then and there that she decides for blunt honesty over anything else. “I don’t - I don’t feel bad for that. I don’t...that wasn’t the right word to use. I just meant that I...I miss you. And it’s stupid because I’ve seen you all day, it’s not like we’re long separated and pining or…” She thinks of the acceptance letter sitting on her desk, the train tickets already booked for mid-July, the textbooks and purple-and-gold paraphernalia she’s yet to buy, and she wonders if the trove of emotion she’s just struck in her own chest is the same one that Evan is feeling. “I’m proud of myself and I’m happy to graduate, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t rather be sitting here and making flower crowns with you.”

Evan shakes his head, a quick, uncertain thing. “I don’t - you can’t mean that.”

“What?” she responds, trying to duck her head to catch his eye, but he won’t look at her. “I mean it. I mean it wholeheartedly. We only have...we only have so much time left. I don’t want to miss it.”

He swallows harshly, and Zoe realizes that this is what was really on his mind. Her departure date for NYU is scheduled for a little over a month later. She reaches for his hand.

“I know things are changing,” Evan says finally. “And that’s...that’s okay.”

“‘Change is okay,’ said Evan Hansen, never,” Zoe says, only half-joking.

“No, I...I mean it.”

She raises an eyebrow.

“I’m okay with it,” he says more firmly. “I know it has to happen. I know it’s good. NYU is your dream, Zoe. I’d never dream of not wanting you there. We’re changing along with everything else.”

This time, she’s the one who swallows harshly. “I know we are. I wish that…I wish that you could come with me. I want NYU, but I don’t know if I’ll make it through without you.”

“You will,” he says. “You’re the strongest person I know, Zoe.”

“But-”

“You can - please don’t let me hold you back.”

She stills. “What?”

“I-” Evan looks so different than he did before, so much more uncertain. His hands are fidgeting again, and she reaches over to rub circles into the back of his hand. “I can only think that I could be holding you back. I mean, I’m working at Pottery Barn, the most boring of all stores. Community college is the best I’ll ever do. I don’t know if I, I’m not certain when I’m gonna leave this town. So don’t - I would absolutely hate it if I thought you were waiting for me. It’s the other way around. I’m waiting for you, okay? Because I want you to - to go to NYU, and have the time of your goddamn life. And I just want you to know that I’m always here, no matter how long it is, no matter how much you change. I’ll change with you. I’ll learn. I’ll-”

“Hey,” Zoe says gently to cut him off. She reaches forward to him, and he reaches for her like a little kid clutching a stuffed animal, like someone coming home after years away, like he’s afraid she might disappear. As he buries his face in her neck and her arms tighten around him, she realizes that this is not Evan panic. This is - this is Evan sadness and Evan worry. About her.

After stroking his hair for a moment, she speaks. “I promise you, I won’t stop doing things on your account. You have my word. But I’m not going to get up there and forget about you, Evan. I’m going to think about you - probably too many times to be healthy, to be honest, and I’ll force you to Facetime with me at all hours when I’m procrastinating and you’re trying to convince me to just do the damn work, and I’m going to keep loving you and I’m not once going to doubt that you’re still here.”

Evan nods against her shoulder, and she continues. “You’re my North Star, Evan,” she whispers. “I could pick you out from anywhere, and you’ll always be the brightest light I see.”

“You’re the same for me,” he whispers, his breath hot against her skin.

“I mean it. I’m coming back to you no matter what,” she says, her words low but her tone sharp. “Nothing could stop me from coming home to you.”

He pulls away after another moment and sighs. “We should probably get back in. I know your mother spent weeks planning this.”

“More like planning since I was in elementary school,” she says with a sigh to match Evan’s. As he moves to stand, she reaches out to grab his hand and halt his progress. “Not so fast, though,” she says, tugging him back down towards her. She’s not quite ready to give up this, his skin on hers under the June sun.

When he just raises an eyebrow, she raises one to match it. “Don’t I get a flower crown?”

His laugh is sudden and bright, an explosion of color against a grey conversation. “Of course,” he says around a wide smile. “It’s your day, after all.”

“Along with the other two-hundred students.”

“Yours and yours alone.”

“Oh, well, if you insist.”

As Evan sits down again and his fingers find purchase with the many small flowers popping up around them, Zoe allows herself to just look at him and be okay. There’s no pressure in their little haven around the tree, and in that comfort she thinks of her words from before. I’ll come home to you.

She can’t help but think that the boy across from her is more of a home than the house they sit outside of, and when he presents her with her flower crown and presses a kiss to her cheek, she’s only more certain of it.

#deh #dear evan hansen #bandtrees #zoevan #evan / zoe #evan hansen #zoe murphy #mine #dear evan hansen fanfiction #dear evan hansen fanfic #my work #so will i #inspired by #ben platt

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charmingturkeysandwich · 5 years ago

Text

fireworks (that went off too soon)

Hey there! This is a CS one shot. An AU in which Killian is the lead singer and songwriter in a band that sounds suspiciously like Fall Out Boy...

Summary: Emma and Killian were friends in college, but haven’t spoken in 9 years. Killian’s band’s new single changes everything.

Words: 4400ish

Rating: Teen? (Swearing, References to Sex)

Also on AO3

Big thanks to @awkwardnessandbaseball for reading this over, correcting all my dumbass mistakes, and helping me polish this up pretty :) (The title comes from my favorite Fall Out Boy song, Fourth of July. It’s heavily featured in the story sung by Killian’s band.)

---

It was 3pm on Friday the 13th – also a Full Moon – when Emma Swan finally had the meltdown she’d pressed “pause” on about nine years earlier.

(Nine years, three months, more accurately, but who was counting?)

The work week was winding down. The get this done today or be fired tasks had been completed and all the emails had been answered and it was about time to start doing the bare minimum to run down the clock to 5:01 when she could, without regret, run screaming from the building and put her god forsaken job out of her mind for two days of rest, relaxation, and rum.

(Definitely the rum. Or maybe it had been upgraded to a tequila weekend.)

It was Pandora’s fault, really. (A fitting name for opening up an emotional box inside her soul that had been sealed for quite a long time and with very good fucking reason.)

Usually Emma listened to wordless music – movie scores, Vitamin String Quartet and the like – so as to keep the creative juices flowing without breaking her train of concentration. But having reached the procrastination part of the afternoon, she thought, what harm could there be in listening to a little regular music?

Emma had always had a soft spot for pop/punk/emo music. It brought her joy even when it wasn’t joyful, which is either a sentiment only shared by lonely foster girls or perhaps all emo kids, but did it matter? It was her kind of music. Long before she met Killian Jones.

But then she met him. He was an insufferable ass at least 2/3 of the time, but for the other third of his life, he was sweet, funny, and musically a goddamn genius. His voice was smooth and warm, he could play guitar like it was in his DNA, and his lyrics were both relatable and completely original. She was half in love from the start, so of course she pushed him as far away as possible.

(Love is patient; love is kind. Love is slowly losing my mind)

He was aloof. At best. They were college kids who shared a dorm building and not much else, not until their roommates fell in love with each other. That’s around the time they started spending an inordinate amount of time together. He was fucking anything with brown eyes and tits and she absolutely did not care and everything was fine. They were friends, kind of. She was a fan of his band, but not in the groupie way. She had no intention of being just a notch in his bedpost or a line in his song.

(As it turned out, she ended up becoming both. Eventually.)

When he wasn’t playing shows in dive bars (or fucking freshmen girls in a shower stall of their dorm hall’s shared bathroom), he spent a lot of time in Emma’s room. Mostly to avoid Mary Margaret and David in his room who were, as he called it, “the most sickly sweet love story this side of the Atlantic” and “a complete buzzkill to complex song-writing.” And she was OK with it. She loved when he would compose while she read. And they had the best conversations. They challenged each other on everything from politics to pie flavors and she’d never been so stimulated by someone of the opposite sex in her life.

Intellectually stimulated. In the brain.

By junior year, the two pairs of roommates had moved off-campus, opting to share a three bedroom house while they finished up school. Killian’s band was starting to actually make something of themselves, but he vowed to get his degree (this pretty face won’t last forever), and Emma played tutor for him when he skipped class for weeks on end so he could play some gigs on the west coast.

They were friends. They were equals. They meant so much more to each other than “just” friends or study buddies or housemates or anything, because the past three years had been the most stable years in either of their lives and it was all because of the support they received from each other in the darkest nights and the brightest days and seriously.

Fuck Pandora.

It had distracted her when she was in the middle of perfectly pleasant procrastinating. Now she was getting off track. Frazzled. Fucking pissed.

With her work mostly finished, she had decided to listen to Panic! At the Disco’s station. It was a safe zone – the best of two different genres: emo and pop. She bopped along to Blink 182 and “the Ballad of Mona Lisa.” She swayed and swooned a little when “Secrets” by One Republic played. And she got a good laugh at “I’m Not OK (I Promise),” remembering the days she’d scream “I’m not o-fucking kay! [trust me]” every time she got into a fight with the foster mother she now loved so very much.

But then there was a dramatic twist and a cinematic sweep and that voice and before she could switch the station, some warning popped up at her, removing all the buttons and controls and displaying the error message of SOMETHING WENT WRONG and all she could think was no shit, Sherlock.

Killian’s band got big when they were 21. And stayed big. The band broke up once, briefly, but they’d been dancing around the American Top 40 for at least 6 of the last 9 years and as much as it hurt her to hear his voice through a radio and not through a wall of their shared house, at least the lyrics of the songs never stung her before.

Because they’d never been about her before.

It was the summer before senior year, late that June, and Killian had just returned from a little pop-punk festival in Seattle. She’d picked him up at the airport in Portland (Maine) and had been chatting his ear off about how much better “our” Portland was from “theirs” (Oregon), but Killian had been largely silent.

Which was out of character to the extreme, his little creative writing/song composer mind always racing and his far too pleasing voice always spilling from his stupidly attractive lips.

“What is up with you, Jones? I just said that they have better lobster in Oregon and you didn’t even react.”

From the passenger seat, he played with the window controller, the air whooshing in and stopping to the rhythm of Seven Nation Army AKA the world’s most overplayed song that wasn’t sung by Ed Sheeran or Taylor Swift.

“Hmm? Oh, it’s nothing, Swan. A problem for a different day, to be sure.”

His voice had been quiet, unsure. That wasn’t him either. This was the asshole who could start a trend with a typo and who claimed to have made a girl come with nothing but his voice. His level of confidence was infuriating, but unshakeable.

(He made forgetting the words to his own songs look attractive. And that was an eventual Buzzfeed headline, not Emma’s own assessment. Obviously.)

“Killian, what’s up? Did the festival not go as well as you wanted? From what I saw on YouTube, it seemed awfully successful.”

“Aye, love.” He perked up just a bit, finally turning toward her and smiling. “It was grand.”

“And you’re brooding because, what, you’re worried that feeling happy for too long will sap you of your emo energy or something?”

Her attempt to lighten the mood didn’t seem to take, though, and Killian turned back out the window like he was practicing for his very own music video.

When they got back to their house, Emma grabbed his clothes and Killian lugged the musical equipment and neither of them said a word.

Fog had rolled in, or maybe it was on its way out, and if it weren’t for the green leaves, it might have felt like October. But there was something about his expression that was a hell of a lot more December. Something ending.

They were lingering almost awkwardly in their kitchen, Emma trying to casually wrack her brain for how to pull Killian out of his little funk, when he interrupted her with an overdramatic clearing of his throat.

“Ahem! Fancy a drink, Swan?” Killian extended a shot glass to her, a dark liquid inside that couldn’t be anything but spiced rum.

“What’s the occasion?” she asked hesitantly.

“Perhaps… perhaps it’s a celebration.”

“…of?”

“Your business sense, of course!” He lifted his glass toward hers for a clink and then downed the shot faster than she could even raise hers to her lips.

“What kind of business are we talking here? I’m not sure if this is the setup for an idiot joke or a reference to lyrics you swear you told me you wrote but never actually did.”

“Ah, love, no. Not that, this time anyway. Actually – actually, it’s about the band. And ‘Grand Theft Autumn.’ They loved it like you said they would.”

“They being?”

“The record company. They loved it. And they want it. And us.”

Holy shit! She knew it. They were going to be famous. Killian deserved it so much and they were going to be huge and everyone was going to love him just like she did and –

Wait.

“When you say they want you… do you mean, like, deferred acceptance so you can finish college or…”

“No, love. The boys and I … we’re packing up and moving to LA.”

She was dumbfounded.

“LA?”

“Aye.”

“When?”

“Monday.”

That’s right about the time her stomach dropped to her heels and the rum threatened its way back up her throat and perhaps onto Killian’s perfectly rumpled white shirt.

She just – wasn’t ready to let him go.

She could hear his honey-smooth voice drift through her head, his own lyrics seeming oddly relevant to this dramatic turn in her life.

Maybe he won’t find out what I know; you were the last good thing about this part of town.

So they drank. And drank. And drank some more. They were more honest with each other than they’d been in three years. She told him how much she hated that he thought setting his clocks early would keep him from being late. And he told her that he didn’t truly think that… it just had fit as a song lyrics and he felt like he needed to “make it authentic by living it.”

She called him pretentious and he called her painfully adorable and neither were true and yet somehow they felt like the perfect identifiers for the characters they were trying to be when they weren’t with each other.

So of course she fell into bed with him that night. Her bed. The twinkly lights hung around her ceiling were flickering as he kissed a trail down her neck and she tugged off his way-too-tight jeans and dear fucking lord if she thought the only thing he could do with his tongue was sing, she was officially wrong.

But come morning she was officially gone. As the sun rose on a rainy June Sunday morning, she slipped out of her bed, slid into whatever clothes she could reach without making noise, and jogged all the way to David’s brother’s frat house to hide until Monday came and went and when exactly did her life turn into an emo song?

When I wake up I’m willing to take my chances on the hope I forget

September. Friday the 13th. Pandora malfunction. Her brain was reeling and her heart was shattering all over again, because the song pumping through her pathetic tinny Dell speakers was, on first blush, just another of his melodramatic fictions, a series of sentiments that sounded good together but that he’d never actually experienced (he’d admitted the best songs were much like Hey There Delilah… a lovely story and 0% real). But she could hear something genuine in that still so attractive voice. And then… a few familiar thoughts.

I’ll be as honest as you let me

I miss your early morning company

If you get me

You are my favorite ‘what if’

You are my best ‘I’ll never know’

She’d turned off her phone the morning she’d left him in her bed. Kept it off until Tuesday. And blocked his number the minute she turned it back on.

Goodbyes were bad enough. To have been reduced to his very last college-one-night-stand? She couldn’t face it.

(Especially because she’d realized mid-fuck she’d kind of always wanted to be his forever, or whatever overly-romantic hyperbole he’d scoff at before writing it down in his notes.)

She hadn’t let herself think of him for longer than the span of one of his songs since that day. Even then, she’d usually change the channel. It was just too hard.

But could this one actually be about her? And if so, what the fuck was she supposed to do with that? Cry? Scream? Sue his sorry ass for slander?

(Not that one.)

She’d made a lot of mistakes in her life. He’d never been one of them, not until the end. Is it possible that didn’t need to be the end at all?

My 9 to 5 is cutting open old scars

Again and again til I’m stuck in your head

He’d probably had a lot of almosts. Maybe he’d just gotten better at faking genuine emotion in his songs. There’s no way he still thought about her. Even for lyrical dramatics.

I wish I’d known how much you loved me

I wish I’d cared enough to know

I’m sorry every song’s about you

The torture of small talk

With someone you used to love

Well there you had it. Small talk? They hadn’t talked in years. And she already knew every song was total bullshit, made up longing. Some of his best lovelorn pandering (that she admittedly loved) had been written when he claimed to be incapable of actual love. When he would only sleep with dark-haired, dark-eyed girls who didn’t want anything more than a good breakfast the next morning.

(I’m not looking for a soulmate, darling, just a beauty without a gag reflex, he’d repeated on many occasions. Sometimes literally to the women he was hitting on. And yes, they did usually blow him afterward and he would inexplicably tell her and she Did. Not. Care.)

(Until the day she realized she always had.)

A week after he’d moved to Los Angeles had been the 4th of July. It being summer and most of her friends working various jobs, she didn’t think there would be a huge party. James had insisted, though, that they needed to celebrate the fact that their friends were getting famous. David had pointed out the irony that the band – Killian, Will, Robin, and Graham – were all from outside of the USA. And yet they were being celebrated on America’s birthday.

“Stealing things from others is the American way. Now drink, little brother!” James had shouted just before his frat brothers lifted him into keg stand position and he chugged.

Emma wasn’t one for keg stands, so she’d opted for drinking straight liquor instead, and from what she could extrapolate from the massive headache the next morning (in addition to the vomit in her bedside garbage can), she had likely drank that bottle in its entirety.

After the opening of Pandora’s box that fateful Friday the 13th, Emma couldn’t think of much else but her almost-maybe-something Killian Jones. Suddenly his stupid band was everywhere and that stupid song was everywhere and she was feeling a deep longing to connect with that girl who had two whole albums by two different bands written about her to see how the fuck she coped with old wounds being opened every fucking visit to the grocery store.

(Then again, Brand New and Taking Back Sunday weren’t quite so mainstream. Maybe that’s how she survived.)

(Is that what you call a getaway? Tell me what you got away with, cause I’ve seen more spine in jellyfish; I’ve seen more guts in 11 year old kids.)

She’d taken to keeping the radio off at all times, and humming the Star Spangled Banner when she couldn’t escape Killian’s stupidly attractive and all-too-familiar voice gracing the airwaves.

Ruby asked her out for drinks, and alcohol was exactly the cure for her current tumult, so she agreed on the very specific request that they hit the country bar downtown instead of their usual Rabbit Hole escapades. Which worked out great for avoiding song-specific reminders, but sadly didn’t keep all Killian talk at bay.

“By the way, how have you been holding up?” Ruby asked, probably in response to Emma’s downing two shots – one of which that had been intended for Ruby – in the first minute or so at the table.

“What do you mean, holding up?” She wasn’t that transparent, right?

“Well the song… the one Killian wrote about you. It’s, like… huge. Weird how he waited this long. Did he warn you first or anything?”

… what? It wasn’t about her. Sure, it kind of, a little bit, had some moments that seemed like they could be inspired by her. But it had been nine fucking years and she hadn’t seen him since the morning she slinked away from their house and it’s not like he’d ever reached out or anything (or at least he didn’t try very hard, because blocking a cell phone number wasn’t like blocking a whole-ass person), hence her nine years of denial and shoving down her feelings like the very opposite of the emo kid she once was.

She probably looked like that stupid meme of the lady thinking about math and her heart was beating nearly out of her chest, but somehow the only sound that made it out of her mouth was, “huh?”

Ruby, bless her heart, was much better at dealing with, you know, life than Emma was. And sorting through feelings and coping with unprecedented situations that Emma had so far only seen odd iterations of in Hallmark movies or … emo music videos, probably.

“The song. Fourth of July. It’s been a while since he wrote a song about you and I mean usually they were about pining for you, which is a little more tolerable, probably. But this one… I don’t know. I just figured you probably didn’t appreciate it, and that’s why you were drinking my shots.”

Another lame, dumbfounded response: “What? Killian’s never written a song about me.”

Ruby’s eyebrow shot up to her hairline (the way Killian’s always had when she said something silly). “So all that shit in college was…?”

“Made up! Ruby, he was a creative writing major. He just made up characters and then wrote songs as if he were them. He never actually wanted to date anyone. Just fuck anything that resembled Megan Fox.”

Ruby didn’t say a word. She stood, walked to the bar, ordered two drinks, and sat back down with Emma a few minutes later.

“Sweetheart. You sure are dumb for a smart girl.”

And that’s how Emma’s Enlightenment began.

As it turns out, Killian’s creative writing skills were great, but not quite as great as his love for his best friend.

Yep, love. Apparently he’d loved her.

There was a reason he’d really only fucked girls that looked nothing like Emma.

There was a reason he had valued her input so much in his music.

There was a reason he’d hung out with her so often and it had nothing to do with Mary Margaret and David’s grossness.

Keep quiet; nothing comes as easy as you. Can I lay in your bed all day?

Fuck.

“Why didn’t he tell me?!”

Ruby laughed at her, which was totally uncalled for, but also kind of made a lot of sense if she had the ability to think of any of this objectively.

“Oh, honey. He told you every goddamn day in those songs. And how he acted. You’d have to be blind to not realize how much that boy loved you. So he assumed it was a ‘no’ from your side. And then after you slept with him and then he poured his heart out to you and still nothing? That was kinda it for him. But I mean, it’s been so long. I can’t believe he released a song about that now.”

At that, Emma’s jaw dropped. Hard. There was an audible pop and damnit, she was going to have to ice that later, probably.

“How do you know I slept with him?!”

“… because you had a fight about it literally in front of every person you knew?”

HUH?

The buzz of the alcohol was nothing compared to the stinging behind her eyes and the pain in her gut and seriously had the past decade actually been a very different reality from what she’d been living?

And how had Mary Margaret, AKA the Secret Spiller, never told her that A) Killian loved her or B) that Emma had apparently had a blacked-out fight with him in front of everyone?

Emma’s Enlightment continued.

Apparently no one spilled the secret because no one knew it was a secret to start. Much like Killian had, everyone thought that Emma knew his feelings, but that she just wanted to be friends.

And after the blow up on the Fourth of July, they just assumed she didn’t want to talk about it.

While David and James and a bunch of their friends were playing beer pong and Mary Margaret and Regina were trying to find another pair to play cornhole, Emma had been nursing a bottle of Jack Daniels from the roof of the frat house. She’d crawled out of Jefferson’s window, much to his annoyance (he worked in the morning and needed to sleep), and she just watched. Everyone was having a good time. The best days of their lives were now or even tomorrow.

But hers were yesterday.

So she drank and she drank and she drank until the boys were lighting off fireworks and Belle had started a chant of USA! USA! And out of nowhere she saw the floppy brown hair and scuffed-up leather jacket she’d been wishing for every minute of the last week.

“Swan! I need to speak with you!” he’d called up at her, perched on the Lion statue at the front entrance.

But, of course, he’d been pulled in a thousand different directions as soon as everyone else saw their about-to-be-famous friend. So Emma drank and drank and drank some more, not prepared to actually have to say goodbye this time.

Ruby wasn’t sure how long it took until Killian made it onto the roof with her. She did know they’d only been talking a few minutes when Emma started screaming at the top of her lungs about thanks for the memories, even though they weren’t so great. That seemed to have really upset him, because then he started screaming about why the bloody hell did you sleep with me then and Emma had cried but ultimately said she didn’t mean to and he needed to just leave because that’s what he was going to do anyway and there was no reason to feel sorry for her.

There had been more screaming that wasn’t quite intelligible (thank goodness), but when all was said and done, Killian had told Ruby that he laid it all down on the line, how much he loved her, how he wanted her to go with him to LA, how he really would burn down the whole city just to show her the light, but she’d said no. Emphatically.

Before crying so hard in Jefferson’s closet that he threatened to take her to the ER. When Emma passed out, Killian had carried her to his car (the only sober one) and carried her into her room when they got to his now-former house, leaving her with a kiss on the cheek and his later assurance to Ruby that at least he had tried.

And Emma didn’t remember.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Emma muttered to Ruby.

Was there anything worse than finding out something that could have changed your life nine fucking years too late? She had never loved anyone like she’d loved Killian. It had been the easiest relationship of her existence. She’d never felt more safe, more valued, more… loved. But she’d thought it was friend-love.

(Even after the amazing sex.)

What a fucking dumbass she was.

Ruby left her to gather her thoughts/sulk in the corner for at least three line dances before she came back over to their table, bringing Emma a nice tall water as she cleared the un-drunk Long Island Iced Tea from next to Emma’s slumped head.

“I don’t think I can ever un-fuck this up,” Emma whined into her elbow before sitting up to chug the glass of water.

“I do have his number,” Ruby offered.

Hey um Ruby gave me your number and apparently I have a lot to apologize for

Congratulations on the fame also by the way I loved you every minute of every day

This is Emma, remember me? Apparently your song about me is doing really well

Hey Killian, I was wondering if you ever made it to this side of the country any more

I don’t know what to say except I’m sorry

After about 15 failed attempts to send him a message that would convey the depth of her regret, she nearly gave up. Hands shaking, legs bouncing, lunch threatening to make an encore appearance, she pulled up the lyrics to his new song, took a screenshot,

And all my thoughts of you

They could heat or cool the room

And now don’t tell me you’re fine

Oh, honey, you don’t have to lie

And added:

I’m not fine.

It was a very painful 26 hours before she received a response, a screenshot with an addition as well.

I said I’d never miss you, but I guess you’ll never know

Where the bridges I have burned never really led home

Can I come home?

They met outside the old frat house (now shut down) a week later, staying awake until sunrise just catching up on all that had happened since they last saw each other (and a little bit of what happened when they did). She brought sparklers and he brought nine years of unreleased song lyrics.

And when his band’s next single was called Opening Pandora’s Box on Friday the Thirteenth, well, everyone but Emma just thought they were being their usual melodramatic selves.

Yeah, songs about her weren’t all that awful after all.

#cs ff #cs au ff #cs au #keisha writes #things i love #captain swan #emo music #BAM I PUT THEM TOGETHER #if you like this let me know?#because I think we'd be friends

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paint-pilot · 4 years ago

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shit it’s been a second, guess it’s time to update again

edit: holy christ this is long, i’m gonna readmore it. tl:dr tyler has many badweird feelings but is getting through it. fun body changes, including hair growth and an unexpectedly nice voice. surgery and legal matters are Annoying. tw for menstruation

it is truly bizarre to think that i’ll have been five months on t in a little under two weeks. another month after that and it’s half a year. it’s uhh...weird. quarantine has just made this all feel weird. it’s like i fast-forwarded through this whole journey i was supposed to go on i guess? like i got randomly torn out of my life one day in march with no warning and then just as suddenly got spat out in august with a new life - new name, new face, new major, new identity - and no transitional period whatsoever. my classmates, my professors, my students, they all have only known me as tyler. and only ever will know me as tyler. and that’s great! it’s great, and i’m truly just blown away by how markedly easy it’s been and how weirdly good my timing was in transitioning. but it almost feels like i’m still a ways behind everyone else, i guess. i’ve spent so much of my life hiding, and lying through my teeth, and covering my ass every second of every day to protect myself, and i don’t have to do that anymore but the instinct is 100% still there and that honestly doesn’t feel good. of course i’m not making any of it up - i’m happier now than i’ve ever been, and i know i’m making the right choice - but it still persistently keeps feeling that way.

it’s just difficult, i think, to balance wanting to be read as male (and, to a large extent, wanting to keep my transness hidden both for safety reasons and so people don’t start treating me differently) and finding it difficult to hide this truly massive life change that, like, four people are really seeing anything of. and y’all, i guess, lol. it’s one thing to talk about all this in therapy, but it’s another entirely to just be able to share it with strangers and not worry about it being weird.

i was writing this with the intent of it being a mostly happy update but i guess there is some negativity boiling up so. gotta be honest, i guess? there’s a lot of fun trauma stuff i’ve been going through lately that i won’t get into but it’s culminated with this bullshit in this really fun way where my mom gets upset because i get kind of uncomfortable when she shows me childhood photos or tells stories about me as a little kid and then i just break down for reasons i really can’t discern. i’m going to try and articulate this, and who knows how messy it’s going to get, so i apologize if it gets kind of incoherent from here on out. as far as i can tell the root thing that she really gets upset about is that i’ve “thrown away” my whole previous identity. like, not a direct quote, but “you can’t just pretend [deadname] never existed. because she did, for a long time.” and...sure, i guess. i know this has been hard on my mom. i know she was raised in a conservative family, and while she has worked hard to adopt an accepting and open mindset she still doesn’t 100% grasp all of it and will make mistakes. i’ve made my peace with that. and yet. it’s not so much, really, that i was this other person and then became tyler, y’know? tyler did not appear suddenly two years ago where she once stood. tyler put on a mask, even before he knew he was tyler, because tyler was scared and ashamed but people seemed to like her and, for a time, she was an easy person to be. and i hated her. that is so fucking scary for me to say, and i’m not sure i’ve admitted that until literally right this second, but i did. not because she was a bad person. because she had a voice and a face and a body that i hated. because people saw her and assumed they knew me. because even she had many faces, because there was no real base or identity to her, just traits designed to paint a pretty picture and make people like her. because i knew, when i finally threw her away, people would miss her. compare me to her. expect me to be like her.

so i don’t know. i don’t have a satisfying way to wrap this up, because i honestly don’t know how to face this because i know it is absolutely not just the trans thing that created this situation. i’m kinda warring with myself, because i do kinda want to go back through this blog and delete photos of myself with long hair and whatever (because jesus, i’ve had this thing since i was like 14) but i genuinely don’t know if that’s healthy. i know i’m going back on my bullshit, fretting this way and that over whether something is “healthy” as though that’s an objective term without considering what’s going to make me happy, but honestly? i don’t know anymore. i keep sensing the mental block - the swathes of my childhood that i cannot recall, just vague, constant unease - and i don’t really know if i want to dig into all of that and learn what lies underneath because i’m sort of afraid of it. like i said, i’m happy now, happier than i’ve ever been, and i’d sort of like to just leave it like that. but i guess the length and tone of this post might argue otherwise.

anyways. anyways. enough mental health therapy, more actual hormone therapy updates since that’s what this goddamn thing is supposed to be i think? i’m finally starting to grow some noticeable hairs - my chin hair is coming back after my mom made me shave it before i left for school lol, as are a handful of mustache/lower lip/sideburn hairs. i keep feeling phantom bugs on my legs/feet and i’ve only just now recognized that that’s just leg hairs brushing against places i’m not used to. my appetite has picked up like absolute hell again, too, so i don’t know if i’m just having a metabolic spurt or what. also, i’ve started bruising more? idk what the hell that’s about - i fucking never bruise unless i’ve been hit Hard, and i kind of assumed testosterone would make you less likely to bruise, but then that’s probably just not related to the hormones at all. i was gonna put this in the tags but seeing as this post is already so long i might as well put a readmore and just put this here lol: my period is late, like, four days late, which is exceedingly unusual for me and might mean i’m finally done. or almost done. fingers crossed.

my voice has started to settle, it seems like. i popped out an e2 yesterday, which is Sick, but i’m not as focused on that anymore as i am on the actual quality of my tone. which is...good? i’m not just a baritone, i’m kind of a good one, at least it seems like. i’m really working right now on just getting familiar with my instrument - i’m second-guessing my pitch sensitivity a lot, but i think i really just need to drill and practice until everything starts feeling like second nature again. but since the musical didn’t happen for me, my coach wants to enter me in a classical solo competition next spring. so...no more retirement from competitive singing. i’m back! and thank god, because i’m starting to go crazy without being in musical work lol.

jesus fuck, i have a lot to say. i should probably split this into two posts but i don’t care. i am frustrated; i tried to get an appointment with a pro bono legal program for a name change, but it happened today and i wasn’t invited so apparently i’m on my own. and i’m frustrated. i’m trying to look at internships and shit for next summer, but i kind of can’t apply right now because my legal name and sex don’t line up with my presentation, and i don’t really know how easy it is to get away with that in this day and age and especially in my field. genuinely, if anyone has any advice, i’d appreciate it. i don’t know how long this will take, i don’t know what the requirements are, i don’t know if i’m better off just applying now and hoping they don’t eliminate me before ever getting me an interview. and, of course, i’m working on getting consultations for top surgery, but i keep catching myself procrastinating that. which seems weird, but listen. i’ve said it before but i have to emphasize, i am capital-t Terrified of getting this surgery. i know i need to, i know it will make things better for me, i know now is the time, i know i hate binding and can’t really get away with not doing so, but jesus fuck i am so frightened of anesthesia it’s not even funny. but i guess i’m mostly just calling myself out here and telling myself to quit being a big baby, schedule the thing, and give myself a few months to prepare.

anyway. that’s all i have to say. i’d apologize for ranting, but honestly...i dunno. i know at the start of all this a handful of you requested these updates, and i have to imagine it’s because at least some of you are transitioning, are thinking of doing so, or know someone who is or will be soon. and i just hope someone out there can at least relate, because there honestly just aren’t a lot of comparable life changes out there. or maybe this is just therapeutic for me, that’s fine too.

i have two midterms next week i should be studying for. i should do that.

#t.txt #not horses #the puberty diaries #menstruation mention

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strayneoculturekids · 6 years ago

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enemies to lovers AU Doyoung x Reader

Summary: Your roommate was the worst possible person ever, always fricking nagging. The only person you’re able to complain to is your online friend, and in return, you listen to his complaints about his roommate. You two find out you got to the same college and finally he tells you his name, turns out he’s actually your roommate.

College AU, enemies to lovers AU

Genre: fluff, kinda slight a little bit angst but like not really, crack(?)

BTW “Y/U/N” means your username and for the sake of the story it can’t be your actual name

You walked into your shared dorm where you found your roommate sitting on the couch, scrolling through his phone. He immediately turned his eyes to you when you walked in as if he was waiting for you to return.

“You didn’t clean up after yourself this morning, so I did it for you”

Now, normally, cleaning up after someone when they forgot to do it is considered a nice gesture and you would’ve thanked them. With Doyoung though, his tone was so passive aggressive and you were much more than sure that he did it just so he could rub the fact that he’s cleaner than you in your face.

You grumbled a barely audible thanks, quickly going to your room so you didn’t have to look at him any longer.

You’ll admit, Doyoung is handsome. Probably the best-looking person you’ve ever met. But oh god was he annoying. Every second you spent with him was another cell gone from your brain. His constant nagging and passive-aggressive responses to everything were the worst things you had ever gone through.

You made it to your room, shutting the door behind you and immediately getting out your laptop from your bag, sitting down on the floor, placing the laptop in your lap because both you and Doyoung were too broke to afford two desks so you bought one and split the price. But the desk was in the room Doyoung was currently in and there was no way you were spending more time with him than absolutely needed.

You opened your laptop and got up the messaging app you used to message your closest friend. You’re pretty sure he knew like everything about you, and you knew everything about him. Including the fact that you were...pretty kinky. Hey, he was your closest friend, like you weren’t gonna tell him about all that.

[Y/U/N]: hey

[dongie]: heya, what’s up? You seem in a bad mood

[Y/U/N]: how were you able to tell that from one word

[dongie]: cuz i’m smart, unlike someone I know

[Y/U/N]: shuddup, you wish you were as smart as me

[dongie]: yeah yeah, just tell me what’s up

[Y/U/N]: my goddamn roommate is nagging again, he’s so annoyingly passive-aggressive. ughhhh save meeee

[dongie]: trust me, I wish I could but I gotta get to class like right now and unlike someone, I actually care about my grades

[Y/U/N]: wow thanks for making me feel better

[dongie]: I know, I know, I suck but hang in there. Your roommate is just a total dick. I gotta go now, love ya!

[Y/U/N]: love you too you absolute dummy

You smiled when you read his message. You guys told each other that you loved each other pretty much every day. It wasn’t a romantic thing but it definitely got you flustered, even after he had said it so many times.

This was basically routine for you two. You texted all the time but at least twice a day, you both would complain about your roommate to each other. He hated your roommate along with you and you hated his roommate along with him. It was a winwin situation. (A/N: sorry for my shit pun making skills)

Just as you were about to start studying, you heard the door slam shut, making you jump. Geez, could he be any louder? You thought, annoyed but glad that he was gone so you could use the desk.

The next day came around and you were so rudely awoken to the noise of the door being opened and then slammed shut. Again.

“Seriously?! I don’t have any classes until the afternoon! Could you be a little quieter?!” You yelled

No response.

Usually, he would argue back so you can guess that he had just gone to one of his morning classes and in fact, didn’t just come back from staying out ridiculously late after his night class yesterday.

Doyoung sucked. Like really sucked. But he was always on time for rent and never invited anyone over without your permission, plus he wasn’t a party guy and never trashed the apartment. He was just a dick in his attitude, not his behavior. Which you guess is the only reason you tolerated him.

You grumbled, rolling over on your side and grabbing your phone, seeing a message from your best friend.

[dongie]: hey, you up yet sleepyhead?

[Y/U/N]: ya, unfortunately

[dongie]: my roommate just yelled at me while I walked out of the apartment :(

[Y/U/N]: aw, my poor baby, you must be so devastated

[dongie]: I literally cannot tell whether you’re being sarcastic or not

[Y/U/N]: I’m being sarcastic. Anyways, what are you doing right now

[dongie]: I deserved that

[dongie]: and i’m just walking to class

[Y/U/N]: it just occurred that I never asked you what college you go to?

[dongie]: oh yea. I go to insert college name here

[Y/U/N]: ...

[dongie]: ?

[Y/U/N]: ...I go there as well...

[dongie]: ...

[dongie]: so you’re telling me that we’ve been going to the same college all this time and didn’t know?

You sigh, trying to calm down your racing heart as well as trying to prevent yourself from throwing your phone against a wall as hard as you possibly can

[Y/U/N]: yep, that’s exactly what i’m telling you

Immediately, you feel your phone vibrate and look to realize that he’s calling you. Like anyone would be, you were surprised but answered the call anyway.

“Holy SHIT”

is the only thing you heard before silence and very ragged breathing

“I just screamed that in the middle of the street.”

“Dongie?” you asked, trying to hold back a bit of laughter

“Yep that’s me”

His voice sounded familiar but you couldn’t really put it to a face. It was over the phone so you couldn’t hear him that clearly

“so...are we meeting up?” you asked, trying not to freak out

“I’ll be fucked if we’re not”

You finally let out a laugh and you got a small chuckle in return. The only thing that went through your mind in that second is how beautiful is laugh was and how you wanted to hear more of it.

“I haven’t even told you my real name yet,” he said, slightly breathless “It’s Doyoung”

Your eyes went wide and before you knew what you were doing, you immediately hung up. You threw your phone at your floor, looking at it as if it were the most cursed object in existence

“...fuck,” you said aloud, just about ready to yell at the top of your lungs

You hear your phone vibrate again, most likely Doyoung trying to call back. You pick it up and deny the call, hands shaking.

[dongie]: Y/U/N?

[dongie]: hello?

[dongie]: what happened?

[dongie]: are you ok?

You turned away from your phone, trying to distract yourself. But it just kept vibrating because of Doyoung’s consistent and confused messages.

After a while, the vibrating stopped which you assumed was because Doyoung had reached his class.

About maybe two hours had passed and you voiched for studying on the desk the entire time. Normally you would procrastinate and leave it till last minute like every other completely logical college student, but all you needed right now was something to distract yourself with.

You heard the door open and turned around to see Doyoung, his eyes and shoulders droopy and his lips contorted into a frown. You had never seen him so sad in all this time living with him. It definitely hurt your heart.

“hey” he said quietly, quickly brushing past you to go to his room

You were frozen. You were pretty damn sure that you had never felt this bad about anything in your entire life. Ever.

You took in a deep breath and picked up your phone, your heart beat picking up. Your fingers shakily moved to call Doyoung. As soon as you hit the button, you heard a thump come from his room, as if he had fallen off of his bed and immediately after a very loud and worried hello, which you heard from your phone as well.

“Hey...”

“why did you hang up?! Did I do something?! Are you ok?!” you could hear everything he was saying loud and clear from his room

“yeah, you did”

“What is it?! I’ll do anything to fix it!” he sounded so desperate, making your heart ache even more

“yeah. You nag way toO FRICKIN’ MUCH” you said, getting louder with each word, making sure Doyoung could hear you from his room

There was more loud thumping and suddenly Doyoung burst out of his room, his eyes meeting yours. His hair was dishevelled and his eyes were wide.

“FUCK” he shouted before sighing extremely loudly “THIS IS THE OPPOSITE OF HOW I WANTED TO MEET YOU”

“tell me about it” you said, trying to control yourself, not believing you had never noticed the resemblance between your online friends’ personality and Doyoung’s personality.

You both stared at eachother for a long time. Once the you had both calmed down, it started getting really awkward.

“I- this is too much” he said, confused

“Don’t worry, it took me a while to process it too”

Without warning, Doyoung started walking up to you and put his face at the same level as yours. You could see red rising to his cheeks and he opened his mouth.

“I love you.”

“You- you what?” you said, heat rising to your cheeks as well

“You’re annoying as fuck. I know you think I’m also annoying as fuck. But you’re also funny and you listen to my worries and always manage to make me smile with your utter stupidity, and I know that I also somehow manage to make you smile. I love you.”

you blinked a few times before what he had said completely registered in your brain.

“...I love you too. You absolute dummy” you said, a bit hesitantly

He smiled and pulled you into a slightly awkward hug. You would work out the fact that you two complained about each other to each other without knowing for who knows how long. For now though, let’s just focus on all the things you loved about each other.

#doyoung #kim doyoung #nct doyoung #nct kim doyoung #NCT #nct imagines #doyoung imagine #nct fluff #doyoung fluff #fluff #imagines #nct crack #doyoung crack #college au #enemies to lovers

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