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baepsaetan · 4 years ago

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Novocaine Enough | Yoonseok | Part 1

Amazing banner credit to @joonscore

Part 2 -> Part 3

Pairing: Yoongi x Hoseok

Wordcount: 6.1k

Genre: Exes to lovers, angst, smut

Rating: 18+

Summary: Four years later, and Yoongi is still an itch under his skin. Hoseok is trying to move on, from his past life and his past love, but there are some voids that can’t be filled. Some needs that can’t be met. And when Hoseok enters a club and hears the music of the man he left so long ago, he realizes that some addictions can’t be healed by anything as simple as time.

Warnings: Swearing; implied, mentioned and past drug use/abuse (cocaine, ecstasy, weed, alcohol); past overdosing; mutually unhealthy relationship dynamic; explicit (kinda angry) sex, including biting, oral, gagging, rimming, edging, marking, barebacking, thigh riding.

Ao3 Link: here

A/N: This took me a disgustingly long time to complete, but I’ve limped to the finish line! I wouldn’t have got there without @ditttiii, who helped me talk through an early version of the fic. Also major thanks to my beta @birbdae for cleaning up this long piece!

Is there anything he loves more than stepping into a club for the first time? The easy answer is yes, but in the moment – in the present – right now – Hoseok can’t give the easy answer. Shoving through the door is like plunging into water, waves of heavy bass surging against him as he submerges into the half-remembered music and suddenly warm air. The change in temperature is a welcome relief after the cold outside and only serves to reinforce the sensation of entering a thicker atmosphere. Breathing in against the sudden pressure, Hoseok does a grateful little skip as he pulls off his beanie and gloves.

Next to him, Taehyung laughs, the deep sound competing with the heavy music beating at Hoseok’s eardrums. “Not even on the dance floor and you’re already starting?”

Tossing his head to get his dark hair out of his face, Hoseok grins. “That suggests I ever stopped.” He hadn’t. Not really. Once you start to dance – to inhale the music and turn it into pure, unadulterated movement – you don’t really take a break. You just… slow down, sometimes.

His companion grins, a boxy affair with no ridicule in it. And why should there be? Taehyung is a dancer, too, and a helluva good one, if Jimin and Jungkook are to be believed. (They usually aren’t, but in the case of a possible new crewmember, Hoseok is willing to lend a little belief.) He’s known Tae for a year now, since Taehyung became friends with Jungkook in one of their classes and started hanging out with the crew, but it wasn’t until a week or so ago that Kookie persuaded him to show off his stuff. Apparently, in the past, there’d been some kind of accident that stopped Taehyung from dancing, yet according to Jimin and Jungkook, that hadn’t shown at all when he finally broke out in front of them.

Hoseok will see the truth for himself soon enough, anyways; it’s not like they came to the recently opened club to just stand around. His eyes flick eagerly at the thought, scoping the place out.

It’s pretty packed, and given how huge a club it is, that’s saying something. This is one of those open area concepts, all sprawling space with two bars pushed off to the corners, and a much smaller upper area, almost an oversized balcony. On the far side of the club there’s a DJ booth that’s swarming with people in front of it, so much so that he can’t see through the crowd to whoever is getting them so pumped. And there are more people streaming in by the second; he and Taehyung have had to shuffle to the side several times since they stepped inside, and by now they’re almost plastered against the wall. That would have been disappointing, except that according to Jin, on Saturdays the floor gets cleared at around 11 and the serious dancers get to have a go at it for a while.

In the meantime… Spotting a gap in the crush of bodies, Hoseok takes his chance and darts almost seamlessly through, throwing over his shoulder as he does so, “You want something to drink?”

His companion follows, albeit more slowly. Not that Hoseok can blame him; Taehyung is broader than he is, making knocked shoulders and collisions almost an inevitability. When Hoseok makes it to the nearest bar, he’s left the other behind.

It gives him plenty of time to hover around the edges, admiring the form of the bartender, who puts Taehyung’s shoulders to shame. The man in question isn’t exactly the picture of grace – not like those in Hoseok’s crew – but his energy is so loud, so vibrant, that it makes up for nearly dropped glasses and a few hesitations as he mixes the drinks for various customers. The breathtaking smile helps; the way he goes from 1 to 100 the second anyone tries to complain about the wait time probably helps, too.

Red-faced and outraged, he’s chewing out some poor guy for that exact offense when Hoseok finally finds room to sidle up to the front of the bar. “And if you think I’m making you another Manhattan after that comment, you can stick it straight up – oh. Hey, Hobi!”

The offender slinks away as Hoseok shakes his head in mock seriousness. “Is Namjoon paying you to bartend or to insult customers?” he shouts over the deep resonance that’s currently more a feeling shuddering across the floor than a sound.

Jin’s indignation doesn’t fade so much as evaporate entirely. Blinking with easy complacency, a small smile playing across his face, he turns and begins prepping the order a girl apologetically yells at him. “Just to bartend. The insults I give for free.”

“Wow, a star employee.” Fake seriousness dissolving into something more real, he asks, “Will Namjoon be around tonight? I wanted to ask him about the competition the club is hosting.”

It takes a few moments to reply, Jin’s hands and concentration caught in the mixing profession before he pulls himself away. “Not until a lot later, if at all,” the bartender replies eventually. “He’s looking after Remi tonight, so if he comes it’ll be after she goes to sleep. And can you imagine Joon leaving her alone?”

“No,” Hobi admits. Namjoon dotes on his daughter so much (the few times a month that he gets her) that it would be a miracle if he showed up tonight. Which is a little inconvenient for Hoseok, but the vague annoyance is buried under the reminder that being a good dad comes before being a good club owner.

He stands in fidgeting silence – silence surrounded by sound and people – for a few moments, playing with the studded collar of his black jacket, watching Jin work, and trying to enjoy the music. Taehyung must have been caught by someone, which is fine and not unsurprising given that it’s Tae. However, the absence of his companion, and with Jin mostly absorbed in his drinks, has mild anxiety trickling under Hoseok’s heels and through his fingertips. He rocks on the former and drums the latter against the sleek black leather of his pants in an attempt to drive the restlessness out. It doesn’t work particularly well, but automatically he finds himself adjusting his movements to the rhythm of the bass, and the focus required does help.

Each song is mixed so well, there’s no weird or awkward moment for his concentration to snag on, and the transitions are seamless, so smooth that the DJ must have curated this tracklist with individual attention to each end and beginning. Not unheard of, exactly, but certainly a pleasure when compared to many of the jarring amateur attempts Hoseok has been subjected to before. Last they’d talked, Namjoon had mentioned he was looking to hire another DJ for his new club, and if this is the man… well, Hoseok just hopes he’ll be the same guy who’s doing their dance competition, too. Another question – or request – to throw Joon’s way the next time they meet.

He’s just about to resign himself to submerging back into the crowd in search of Taehyung when the boy in question pops up, all teeth and warm apology. “Sorry, hyung! I saw a friend I haven’t talked to in a while, and you were so far ahead already I didn’t think I could call you back, and I figured it wouldn’t hurt to talk for a bit so I paused and then I’d lost you and –”

“Don’t sweat it.” It’s always been a marvel to Hoseok that such a rambling and excited apology could sound sincere, but Taehyung makes it work one hundred percent. “Let me grab you something. What do you drink?”

“Oh, well, I like whiskey sours, but you don’t have to –”

“Whiskey it is.” As he turns away, Taehyung’s surprised expression isn’t lost on Hoseok. Yeah, he isn’t often this direct, but the young man’s never seen him at dance practice and besides, the music is scraping under his skin, rubbing his bones the wrong way in the best way possible. It’s forcing him into a different form.

Suiting word to deed, he returns to the bar, puts in Tae’s request along with his own. Like a cheerful despot towering behind his counter walls, Jin takes the order before other people’s, waving off the muted outrage of his customers with shameless ease. It’s good to see his relatively new job hasn’t reformed him too much; it’s not that Jin’s ever actively rude or cruel. but he just has one pace, and that pace is his own.

For all that Hoseok admires that quality in his friend, it still has him flushing and ducking his head apologetically at the accusing looks. He’s quick to grab the drinks, but when he tries to shove money at Jin, the other man waves him off. “My treat,” the bartender calls. “When you all start dancing, everyone’s going to get thirsty and I’m going to be getting tons of tips!” His laughter quickly spikes too high to be heard in this crowd, but he’s still laughing as Hoseok, even more flushed, winds through the press of bodies with the glasses held high.

When he reaches Taehyung, his companion just sips his drink, but Hoseok downs his. The burn down his throat is no more intense than the burn he feels building in his muscles. A different kind of heat.

He finds himself shifting, his body beginning to ache with impatience. Tae is an entertaining person, but Hoseok's restlessness is blazing through his concentration, leaving cinders in its wake, and words of any kind – no matter how entertaining – are a poor thing in comparison. While he's always eager to move when at the club, this is a new level of agitation, a heightened awareness of the sounds and heavy ambience, and at first, he doesn't know what has him so on edge.

They talk some more, just waiting, really, for Jimin and Jungkook to arrive. Taehyung doesn't have a car and Hoseok had agreed to drive him, and Jimin was going to drive Jungkook after a late class. They should be here within half an hour or so, though in the meantime Tae, ever obliging, grabs he and Hoseok two more rounds of drinks. It's while he's grabbing the third round that the impatience becomes less of a hum and more of a howl, and Hoseok grasps with a sudden jolt that it's because of the song that's currently playing.

Whoever is mixing this music is really doing an amazing job; the song modifications, amplifications and beat alignments almost make the atmosphere come alive, and all it needs is an avatar to show off just how much energy it really has. He could be that. He should be that. It’s almost like he and the DJ are in a private conversation, and they’re egging him on, jamming little pinpricks into his joints, demanding he dance.

His mouth is dry – too dry – but that's nothing new when he's in the club, and Hoseok hardly notices it. The next song has just come on, as seamlessly as the last, and with a sharp pang of understanding, Hoseok realizes why he feels so tense, even more so than usual.

This DJ – whoever they are – has similar tastes as Yoongi. The powerful flow of thudding music is creating something in Hoseok, a kind of nostalgic frenzy, and it makes him swallow hard, swallow again with the feeling of shards of glass and regret slipping down his throat. He hasn't heard a DJ who favours reverb and synth choruses so much since the last time he'd guested at one of Yoongi's gigs. How long ago was that? Four years? He can hardly remember.

To remember is absolutely not why Hoseok is here.

"Hyung?" Taehyung says something to him, has said it more than once, to judge by his tone. Hoseok snaps his eyes to the other man's face, his breath abruptly staggered. "Hyung, are you okay?"

"Yeah," and to Hoseok’s ears his voice sounds tinny, strained. "Yeah, I'm fine. Jimin and Jungkook should be here soon, right? I should go grab some alcohol for them."

"Do you wanna take your shot?"

"I will after. Be back in a sec."

"Sure...?" Taehyung's eyes are sharp and probing, uncomfortably and unexpectedly keen, and Hoseok can't remember if he knows about Yoongi. He definitely wouldn't know Yoongi – none of his friends do – because they didn't know Hoseok back then. So – there's no point in explaining. No point in bringing it up. Hoseok swallows again, and walks away, needing to escape. Although he can't escape the music.

He also can't help how his gaze skitters to the DJ booth, there and back again, short looks that can't penetrate the barrier of people crowded around it. It can't be him. It can't. The last time he saw Yoongi...

You didn't come here to remember, he reminds himself savagely.

Jin has seemingly even more customers pestering him than before, and just hands off the drinks without a fuss. This time, hypersensitive and too raw to accept charity, Hoseok makes him take the cash, pressing it to the counter when the bartender tries to decline. Head tilting, thick eyebrows furrowing, for the first time this night Jin looks something other than melodramatic, and Hoseok doesn't want that. He came here to dance, for Christ's sake, not have someone notice a mini-meltdown!

Hefting on a smile that feels like it weighs one thousand pounds, he brushes off his friend's concern and darts away, carrying a tray of glasses. He's hardly taken a few steps before he downs his drink. Too much, too fast, especially for him, but he needs the soft buffer of alcohol right now. Hoseok won't look at the DJ stand. It's not him. There's no way it could be Yoongi. And even if it were...

It's not.

And even if it were, what would he do? Go down on his knees and ask for forgiveness? Punch him in his bleakly certain face? Or–

It's not him.

The music resonates around him – through him – in shuddering waves, jarring his weak attempts to tamp it down, and Hoseok is starting to feel feverish with the familiarity of the flashbacks flickering through his head. He's definitely had too much to drink. He just – he needs to do something. He needs to move.

It is with a huge wash of relief that he gets back to Taehyung and sees Jimin and Jungkook have arrived. Jimin is dressed in faded denim jeans and a glittering blue and yellow jacket, though the jacket will probably be off by the end of the night if other nights are anything to go by. Jungkook is a little more subdued, just wearing a simple white t-shirt and black jeans, but his outfit makes the tattoo sleeve on his left arm pop. Both of them are standouts in the crowded space. Add in Taehyung with his black and white patterned shirt and matching headband, and Hoseok really can’t blame the number of eyes he notices settled on the trio.

Taehyung is oblivious to it. “You’re back!” he exclaims, leaping forward to help Hoseok with the drinks.

Jimin’s sultry expression – he calls it his performance face – is something he wears as easily as his brilliant jacket, and he shrugs it off with just as much aplomb when his gaze lands on Hoseok’s tight look. Eyes flickering about as if he could spot the problem, his smile becoming warmer but tinged with concern, the small man accepts the glass from Tae and then asks, “What’s up?”

A grin can be a work of art, and Hobi turns this into a masterpiece. All ease and bright lines, no clouds in this painting. He’s not quite as good at lying outright, but the noise probably masks his beat of hesitation. “Nothing! I’m just excited to get started.”

“Makes two of us,” Jungkook comments, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he nabs a shot from Taehyung.

“Three!” Taehyung chimes in. They all fall silent, turning expectantly to Jimin.

He’s still watching Hoseok, his lips lightly pursued. Hobi can’t help his nervous titter at the close examination, turns it into a more raucous laugh. “You’re not excited, ChimChim? Come on, we’ve been talking about this for weeks!”

At last, Jimin breaks eye contact, if only to shove back the unruly silver bangs tumbling across his forehead. “I’m excited,” he says, apparently deciding to drop whatever he’d seen on Hobi’s face. “Just hope there aren’t too many rookie dancers around. We don’t wanna make them look too bad when we start.” The look he wears is nothing short of angelic, but Hoseok knows well enough the competitive edge that lurks under that innocent façade. Jimin likes to win.

Jungkook huffs a fervent agreement. He likes to win, too. He’s good at it. Actually, they all do, and they all are. There’s a reason Hobi’s put this particular team together.

Right. Something to focus on, instead of the shadow of memory that the music keeps trying to make more substantial. With a playful nod, Hobi notes with false regret, “Well, if Tae is as good as you say, they might be out of luck.”

“I’ll do my best!” the man in question promises earnestly, and Hoseok can’t be sure, but he thinks he sees a flash of… something… in Taehyung’s eyes. Maybe not the same sharp need to win that Jungkook wears blatantly and Jimin cloaks yet never lets go of, but something. Passion, at the very least.

Hell, it works for Hoseok. Who cares what drives his people, as long as it's driving them to work hard?

As long as it isn’t driving them straight off a cliff.

He knows exactly where that thought comes from, and unbidden he turns to the DJ booth. It’s still too crowded to tell who’s working there. Probably a good thing. At this point Hoseok doesn’t know what will hurt him more; if the DJ isn’t Yoongi, or if it is.

The rest of them are talking and drinking, and he listens with half an ear, half a brain, half a being. The other half is straining to tell if the music really is as familiar as he thinks it is. If he can match that melody with that moment, or that bass with that breath, or that reverb with that regret. It’s stupid, pointless, harmful, but he can’t make himself stop. How funny, that he could have sworn he was over this. Had drummed it out of his muscles and his head both. God, if only he could dance.

Like an answer from the heavens – or maybe elsewhere – the music suddenly cuts off. A voice comes on the mic, clear, crisp, and familiar, but not who Hoseok was half expecting. It’s Jin. “Hey ladies and gentlemen and everyone else. As ya’ll know, it’s time for the Saturday dance off! If you fancy yourself a dancer, stay where you are, otherwise get your ass out of the floor area marked by the thick black lines. If you didn’t know there was a dance off today and you don’t like it, there’s a big ass door under the exit sign. I think we’re over capacity anyways.” With a loud blare of feedback, he cuts off.

Slowly at first, then more quickly, people start wandering out of the space Jin had indicated, crowding against the walls, or heading to the smaller area upstairs. He thinks he sees a few people leave after the announcement, but that might have just been a coincidence. By the time things have cleared, there are some twenty people on the dance floor, not including his crew.

This is exactly what he needs to clear his mind. Hoseok observes those left, his head tilted, an easy smile unconsciously gracing his lips. He can tell at a glance a few people are just idiots who want to flail around and call it dancing. There’s nothing wrong with that, exactly, but experience has taught him that people like that usually get pretty embarrassed when they suddenly find themselves next to professionals. Unless they’re really drunk, in which case they’ll just be a slight distraction. Nothing his guys can’t handle.

As for the rest… Hoseok actually recognizes two women, a couple he’s met at a few competitions, both official and underground. They’re good. Really good. His smile grows, and amid the tingling warmth of all the alcohol he’s had, there’s a fiercer burn, a kind of exultant excitement. He’s too drunk, probably, but this is crystal clarity, a heatwave burning everything unimportant and leaving just his focus and his friends.

And the music. The DJ regains control of the mic system, and he’s starting off with something heavy, almost ominous. The bass is shaking the floor, shaking Hoseok’s foundation, and he finds himself shaking in response, with little tremors of tension. Whoever’s running the music, they know how to start a show, and Hoseok is aching to finish it.

This isn’t an actual competition, of course. No judges, or set songs, or styles. It’s freestyle, and if there’s any kind of critic, it’s the crowd, already buzzing with anticipation and adding to the air of expectation. Hoseok breathes in and it feels like he’s inhaling something far more than air.

Because this isn’t run by anyone official, there are no rules about who can start, or how, or when. While Hobi and the rest of the serious dancers size each other up and feel out the rhythm, a trio of wasted kids stumble into the center of the floor. Their awkward floundering is laughable, and so Hoseok does laugh, a joyful sound echoed by Jungkook and Taehyung and a good deal of the crowd and competitors. It’s not unkind, at least not on Hobi’s part; he’s just too excited to reach the level that’s so far above these people to keep back the explosion of mirth.

Jimin’s lip is lightly curled when Hoseok glances at him, but though he isn’t laughing, he’s squirming in place, clearly impatient to start.

Why keep him waiting?

“You ready?” he asks his crew, a redundant courtesy. They are. “I think we go low for this one? I’ll take the center? Let’s go… Jimin, then Jungkook, then Taehyung? And keep heavy on the left?” Phrased as questions, but they aren’t, just more courtesy, letting Taehyung know how he wants to approach this. They’ve already discussed general four-person set-ups, with Tae and without. The other two know what Hoseok wants. Everyone nods, short, sharp.

He steps forward. Not far. Not really enough to crowd the hammered trio’s space. Just enough to announce their presence and give them room to work. His friends follow, and Hoseok can almost feel them at his back. The wide grin has faded, replaced with an unintentional intensity that, unbeknownst to him, makes it hard for people to look away. Most of the laughter in the crowd dies, replaced by wire-tight quiet.

In that quiet, he begins. Slowly to start. Why hurry perfection? The music pours into his marrow and he turns it into movement, gives it form and features for the simple price of sweat. Jimin, Jungkook and Taehyung join in several beats later, not quite matching his moves or each other, but close. Distorted shadows. They flicker in time with the rhythm, a collection of power moves loosely connected by breaking. Hoseok breathes, draws in the crowd’s awe and admiration, and turns it into fuel as he burns through everything but the music.

Worries, memories, regrets, nothing can survive the blaze of his concentration, and Hoseok feeds them to the flames with ruthless abandon, glad to feel them smoulder to ashes.

His moves become sharper, harsher. Everything gets so much more defined when he dances. The audience, his friends, his body, they all assume a stark clarity, almost painfully distinct. He doesn’t worry – he just moves. The music pulses all around him, urging him on, a nameless connection, and as the fluid lucidity gets even sharper, he prepares to speed up.

Soon – in fact, at what feels like exactly the right moment – the song flows into something else. Faster and more electronic. His body reads it almost before his mind does and Hoseok feels himself changing his motions to fit. More popping now. It feels right to hit the floor, so Hoseok does, in a totally controlled spin on his back that nonetheless looks wildly, perfectly out of control. He stops with a shoulder roll that allows him to transition to his feet, making room for Jimin to step forward and claim center as the crowd cheers.

Jimin is… fucking beautiful. The thought is a vague spark without solid form in the midst of Hoseok’s movement, but it’s true all the same. He dances differently than Hoseok or Jungkook, more gracefully, like any second he could swap his bones for the wind and begin to fly.

Not immune to the effect, but far too disciplined to fall for it (much), Hoseok keeps up his pace next to Jimin, letting himself relax even further into the music. The drunk trio are long gone, shuffled off in embarrassment, but some of the others are inching closer. They’re being polite – letting his crew get in a full rotation – but that’ll end soon enough. He relishes their interest. Not because he has something to prove, or particularly cares what they’re thinking, but because once they start to respond, it’ll be another bar to aim for, another goal, one more reason to keep dancing. And God, does he want to keep dancing.

Jungkook is next, powerful, demanding. He hits each move like it’s personally offended him, smashes into the poses as if he wants to break through reality and reach some other plane. When his feet hit a series of rapid beats in quick succession, it’s enough to get the crowd, already primed, to start whistling and whooping.

Hoseok finds himself doubting his choice to put Taehyung last. From what he’s seen from the corner of his eye as they’ve gone, Tae has kept up fine, his movements slick and confident. Maybe just a hair slower than the trio, but that could easily be chalked up to a lack of familiarity, given how much the other three have practiced together and how long Taehyung has been on a break. Still, asking him to follow up what Jimin, Jungkook, and Hoseok himself have already shown… He’d thought it would give him time to settle any nerves and see how they all approached being center, and Jimin and Jungkook had sung his praises to the high heavens, but now it seems like it might have been cruel.

Taehyung moves into the middle, and for some reason there’s a sudden swell of appreciative screams. Not from anything Hoseok can see from behind and to the side – maybe Tae had made a particularly great expression? The screams don’t really… stop… after that. From what Hoseok can observe, he gets it.

Turns out it wasn’t cruel to put Tae last. Like, at all.

The man is a consummate performer. Several times, when Taehyung’s supple steps put his back to the front and Hobi can see his face, he’s almost literally struck by how good his facials are. Passion is the name of this game and Tae plays it to perfection, his expressions conveying such a range of intensity that it’s a surprise he hasn’t started a fire with his glower alone

Hell, Tae winks at him at one point and Hoseok finds himself grinning at the smug audacity, breaking his own fierce look. Whoops.

He whips it back on, but they’re almost done, anyways. Another group has edged closer, brash with impatience, and a few seconds later start their own dance. Of course, Hoseok’s crew doesn’t give way immediately – like you could snatch the crown that easily – and for a little bit they’re actually dancing against the other crew. It’s a brawl of sorts, Hoseok’s favourite kind of fighting. It doesn’t last long enough (it never does), but it’s exhilarating while it does. The fact that their opponents are pretty good is just gasoline added to the flames.

However, if a good dancer knows how to step while on the stage, a great one knows when to step off the stage, and as the most recent song winds down, Hoseok stops himself. Unwillingly, painfully, but he does. He gives a short bow to the opposing group, granting them the floor amid a cascade of cheering.

When he and his crew walk away, the shouting just gets louder, deafening in its wild appreciation. Exhilaration swells under his ribs, threatening to crack them with its overwhelming force. For just a moment, Hoseok hears the cheers, feels the way his body is still crackling with energy, remembers how good it had felt to move, and he’s complete. For just a second.

And then the moment is gone.

The rest of his friends are grinning under the praise of the clubgoers, a little playful swagger in their steps as they jostle each other, giving compliments and insults on the individual executions each had pulled. Jimin snags his jacket from a girl who had picked it up from the floor, waves with giddy appreciation at her. They’re quick to find a good spot to watch the other dancers, the crowd happy to give way after what they’d shown. A couple of people offer to get them drinks and Jimin accepts while Jungkook and Taehyung beam. They’re all practically glowing, flush with success. They’d done well; they deserve to be proud. He’s proud of them.

He can feel proud and still be hollow, right? The sudden empty fatigue hits him like a cement truck going 100. It’s almost always like this after he dances, and the more intense the performance, the harder he gets hit. Hoseok abruptly becomes aware of the sweat pouring off him, the waves of heat billowing across his skin, the strained, quiet pain of muscles stretched just a bit beyond their limits. He’s… tired isn’t right. He could do three or four more routines like that, all in a row, without getting truly, bodily exhausted.

Drained. Yeah. That’s it. Like he’d poured something vital into each move, spilled himself across the floor, until there was too little of him left.

Jimin and Jungkook know him well enough to give him a little space after a dance, but Taehyung isn’t in the loop yet. “Hobi-hyung!” Sweat has darkened the younger man’s light brown hair, and if it weren’t for his headband, it probably would have been dripping down his face. “Hyung, you were incredible! You have to teach me how to pop at your knee like that, I’ve only ever done my upper body!”

The disconnect is there, unbearably strong. It will fade in the next few minutes, leaving him just fatigued instead of full-on wrung out, but in the meantime Hoseok makes himself laugh. Taehyung deserves that much, even if it sounds strange to his ears. “Only if you teach me that expression you were wearing during the chorus while you were center. Think I saw a few people faint when you looked their way.” He laughs again, trying to make the sound more natural. Pretty much fails.

Taehyung seems grateful for the compliment, nonetheless. He bobs his head, flashing a boxy grin. “It’s not a fair trade. Making faces is easy; I think I’d have to be high to move like you were, if I ever could.”

His jaw abruptly tightens, tension arcing through his throat. So quick he wouldn’t have noticed if he weren’t expecting it, Jungkook and Jimin exchange a glance. They know (almost) all of his history. Jimin reaches out, plucks at Taehyung’s shirt sleeve. “Come on,” he whines. “Didn’t you see me? Don’t you think I was cool, too?”

It’s a masterful attempt at distraction, though Taehyung seems inclined to dwell on Hoseok’s moves. “Well yeah, of course! But what hyung did was –”

Jimin interrupts him. “Anyways, I want to introduce you to one of our friends,” he says cheerfully. “Seokjin-hyung. He works as a bartender here.”

“Oh, but Hoseok-hyung already–”

“I’ll come too!” Jungkook chimes in, and together they drag the bewildered Taehyung into the crowd and away. A kindness, letting Hoseok have this moment of weakness. What had he done in another life to deserve these people in this one?

What had he done? For just a second, a memory enters his head, of a few colourful blue and red tablets sitting in an outstretched hand. A voice, achingly ironic and raspy, asking, “You ready to get ecstatic?”

He couldn’t have said if it was the pill or the voice that he longed more violently for after the sodden rush of dance-inspired euphoria was gone. Given the way his eyes cut to the DJ booth, Hoseok supposes he has his answer.

He has his answer, but he doesn’t have what he wants. The press of people has dispersed with the dance-off, the clubbers are more interested in crowding the square than swarming the DJ, leaving his view clear for the first time tonight. There’s a girl working the booth. Not someone he recognizes.

Not Yoongi.

A shaky exhale splits his clenched teeth, and Hoseok closes his eyes. He hasn’t been listening to the music since they stopped dancing – not really – but it sounds different now. No longer as intimate, the connection between him and the rhythm is broken. Had he just imagined that bond before the dance-off, made up that gut-wrenching familiarity? Given that he hasn’t taken any drugs tonight, he seriously doubts that he has the creativity to imagine something so vivid.

Maybe the girl DJing learned in the same style as Yoongi. Maybe that’s what set him off.

He hasn’t had any drugs tonight, but he’s still coming down from a high. That’s how it always is, after dancing. He told his friends, his family, that he got clean, but it was a lie. Hoseok just replaced ecstasy, his drug of choice, with something else. Movement instead of MDMA. Not a bad trade. He couldn’t have made a career off of being a chronic user, after all. Couldn’t have found happiness, either. Probably.

His mouth is bone dry, and he’s lost sight of his friends. They’re probably busy harassing Jin. For a while Hoseok watches the other dancers, fingers tapping out a pattern on his thighs in time to the beats, grateful for the chance to pull himself out of his despondency with a bit of friendly critique. From what he can see, the group that went after them is the most skilled so far.

The couple he’d recognized earlier haven’t gone yet, and they’ll shake up the ranking, but slowly Hoseok settles into the comfortable conclusion that his crew is the best one here. It doesn’t matter – there are no announced winners – but it’s promising for the actual competition coming up in a few weeks.

Things get better. He gets better. He always does. By the time the couple finishes their piece – with a flourish of partner flips that have him joining the raucous cheering – Hoseok is back to feeling energized by the sweat still slick on his skin. He’s back to being overjoyed by the music beating against his eardrums, back to savouring the crush of bodies and noise and life that scream nothing more than here you are, right now, isn’t it amazing!

Even stepping in a thick puddle of someone’s spilled drink isn’t enough to dampen his spirits.

With a grin and a lighthearted curse, Hoseok heads to the bathroom, intent on wiping off his shoes. Sticky sneakers are a fact of life at clubs, but given that it’d been a mini lake of beer and he hates the sensation of his feet peeling across the floor, this seems to be a justified trip. Even better, the dance-off is finishing; he won’t be missing anything.

It’s as Hoseok is leaving the washroom, shoes squeaky clean, that someone grabs his arm from behind. Hard. He startles with a yelp that’s barely audible over the raucous noise of the club, his heart rate spiking. Moving jerkily with the admittedly excessive alarm pounding in his chest, Hobi turns to berate whichever of his friends thought it would be funny to sneak up on him.

Freezes. Stares. Doubts.

Hoarsely ironic, Yoongi observes, “Still as jumpy as a cat on hot bricks, huh?”

#yoongi x hoseok #yoongi #hoseok #yoonseok #sope #yoonseok smut #thebtswritersclub #networkbangtan #my fic

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youvebeenlivingfictional · 4 years ago

Text

I’m Always Curious Part Twenty Seven

Previous Part | Next Part | Masterlist Notes: I hope everyone’s having a good week 💕

Sooo..... How are we doing................ Also for this week, new character incoming, the person I was picturing when I wrote Eli Durling is Michael Ealy, in case y’all want someone to picture

Warnings: ….Angst again I know my bad again

Also cursing and mentions of canon-typical violence Summary: I took the hands that were offered to me in introduction and did my damnedest to keep contact.

“Jett Reno, engineering.” Engineering, how was it I always wound up rooming with someone from engineering?

The problem was, with my separation from the Enterprise and the wounds of Somonia still fresh, I found myself desperate for connection where my life had been voided of it.

Jett, Tilly-- I took the hands that were offered to me in introduction and did my damnedest to keep contact.

-- “What brought you to Starfleet?” I could tell by the strained way Jett was asking that she didn’t do small talk for fun the way Tilly did. I’d been on the Hiawatha for a couple of days and we’d hardly talked when we’d been in our quarters together. Neither of us had pushed to fill the silence. But now, Jett was making the effort to… Chat. Maybe it was an attempt to stop my harried pacing in the cramped craft, but I could hardly keep still. My first official mission was set to begin in just a few minutes-- I was piloting a new federation attack fighter with an experimental cloaking device into Klingon airspace for the purposes of picking up subspace chatter. The Hiawatha would be in range as it ferried the first few war-wounded to Starbase 515. As soon as I collected what transmissions I could, I was to return to the ship, and then we’d jump to maximum warp -- barring any complications. “... My dad was an attaché to the Federation when I was growing up. I was brought to a lot of planets when he had custody. And when I was home there were a lot of different languages around me. I was just... curious.” Jett grunted. “What about you?” I asked. “I was always taking shit apart when I was a kid,” Jett leaned away from the control panel, “I had a teacher at school that steered me to circuit analysis. Kicked off from there.” She pulled off her gloves, turning back to me. “Good thing she jumped in when she did, I was electrocuting myself like, once a week. My mom was a doctor, said electrocuting yourself is frowned upon.” I smiled a little bit, “You know, I’ve heard that.” “Apparently everyone but me had.” “When you joined Starfleet...You ever think you’d be doing something like this?” “Helping a language nerd fly into enemy space? Can’t say it was in my top five. Did you think you’d be a pilot?” I shook my head, shoving my hands into my pockets, “No. I always liked flight sims, but steering was the furthest thing from my mind. I had this...Grand idea of going to new planets, building bridges between cultures… Not getting my ass bounced from ship to ship to ship and keeping my head down in the hopes I don’t wind up on Admiral Cornwell’s bad side…” I sighed, shrugging, “But we put our dreams away.” Jett’s brows were furrowed, and I could see the question she wanted to ask, but instead asked: “You got a plan after this?” “After the mission?” “After the war.” I was quiet for a moment, turning to survey the control panel. “... I think I’d rather focus on what I’m gonna do after the mission, not get too far ahead of myself.” Jett pursed her lips, nodding a little bit, looking around. “You oughta get off of this vessel if you don’t wanna join me for its maiden voyage,” I warned. Jett grunted, picking up her toolkit and heading for the ramp. “Try not to get blown up out there,” She said over her shoulder, “I did good work on this ship.” “I’ll do my damnedest,” I called back.

It became routine for Jett and I to chat before missions - occasionally making plans for what we would do once I got back. My missions tended to vacillate between two types: either a transmission intercept, or a mission type that protocol labeled a 22-9-14. 22-9-14 operations consisted of approaching a Klingon craft, deploying a tracking and transmission device, and piloting the hell out of there before any Warbirds could catch wise. It didn’t always work of course -- which was why Eli and I started calling 22-9-14s ‘Tag and Runs’. Lieutenant Commander Eli Durling was a security officer stationed on the Hiawatha for the purpose of handling Communications-based missions. I’d known of him while I was at the Academy. He had been a couple of years ahead of me, and we had a few mutual friends, but as we'd been focused in different course tracks, I'd never had occasion to really interact with him until now. He’d graduated top of his class, and had been stationed on a ship in the Mempa sector until the war had broken out.

Durling reminded me of Pike, a little. When he wasn’t focused on the mission at hand, he was fairly easygoing, lighthearted, and made it a point to follow orders - when those orders were the right course of action in a given situation. Eli wasn’t above changing course mid-mission when something took a bad turn, and he wasn’t afraid to go to bat for me with command for doing the same, either. He covered my back, and I covered his.

“You should see the job Durling did to his phaser canons,” Jett half-yelled, half-grumbled from under the control panel. I eyed where her legs were in view, just beside my pilot’s seat. “Something tells me the job was done by a Klingon Warbird and not by Eli himself.” “Well if he hadn’t gotten spotted by a Warbird, they wouldn’t have chased him, fired at him, and fucked up his phaser canons.” “...You might have a point there.” “I’m wounded, lieutenant,” I heard from just behind me, and I turned to see Eli ducking his head to step onto the craft. “I really hope you mean emotionally," I teased. Eli’s lips twitched into a smile, and I returned it. It was moments like this that his attractiveness was...Really not lost on me. He was handsome, with golden, copper brown skin and gentle blue eyes. His smile, which was turned at me now, was typically kind -- a kind smile that could turn flirtatious or teasing at the drop of a hat. “I’m broken up inside,” Eli reassured me. “Mm, mhm,” I nodded, “What’s going on?” “I’ve got some news.” “Is it that you learned how to fix your phaser canons yourself?” Jett asked, sitting up from under the console. “Sadly, no.” “Sadly? That’s not sadly no, that’s morbidly depressingly no,” Jett grumbled as she took my hand to help her up, “You have any idea how long it’s gonna take me to fix those when you inevitably fuck them up again?” “Well, not long at all. The lieutenant and I are being transferred.” Jett and I let that sink in in silence as the three of us stood in silence. It felt like a punch - but Reno recovered faster than I did. “...Well, godspeed to whoever takes you over, Durling. You’re an engineer’s worst nightmare.”

“I’ll miss you, too, Reno,” Eli chuckled before turning to me, “We’ll be shipping out once you get back, as long as everything is status quo.” “Got it.” “Be careful out there.” “Yessir.”

I watched Eli go before I lowered my eyes, making a careful study of my shoes. I’d been on the Hiawatha for two months now. It was only just starting to feel… Not like the Enterprise, but like a safe space again. “Well,” I said after a moment, “Least you’ll be getting your room back to yourself.” “Looks like it,” Jett agreed, “Don’t get all mushy on me, huh?” I shook my head, pushing back my upset and flattening my expression before meeting her eye: “I was about to ask the same of you.” Jett nodded. “Would’ve been nice if we could’ve seen this through together.” “Would’ve,” I agreed quietly. “But we put our dreams away,” Jett reached out, slapping me on the shoulder before picking up her toolkit, “Don’t get blown up at the last minute. It would be a hell of an anti-climax.”

I scrolled through the contacts on my PADD stilling over Sidhu, Thira for a moment. The little status bubble beside her name read ‘Active’. Despite the fact that Eli and I were stationed together on the USS Pinnacle, and had been for months, I was antsy for news of the Enterprise. I’d reached out to Cornwell for an update on the crew, but I had yet to get an answer from her. I couldn’t blame her. She was entrenched in strategy, but I was desperate for news -- especially after the news of the Hiawatha’s loss had reached us nearly a week after Eli and I had been re-stationed.

I scrolled further down on the contacts list, tapping on the contact name for Tilly, Sylvia. I eyed the ‘Active’ bubble beside her name before tapping on the small video icon. I lifted the PADD up to my face, grinning when Tilly came into view. “Hi!” She greeted, waving. “Hey there. How are you?” I asked, shifting back on my bed. “Oh…” I watched Tilly glance at her surroundings before she answered, “Lorca’s on the warpath.” “The literal warpath or the metaphorical one?” Tilly laughed before sighing, “Both.” I winched, “Sorry, Tills.” “It’s not all awful,” She shrugged, “I have a roommate again, actually. Michael Burnham.” My brows rose. I knew of Michael Burnham - her name was splashed across briefings in relation to the war and the Battle of the Binary Stars. But I’d known of her, first and foremost, through Spock. He’d never spoken of her in honeyed tones, mind, but I knew that he regarded her highly. What was all of this doing to Spock? I couldn’t imagine him having to reason himself through this with limited intel from the Federation at such a distance-- “Hello? Hel-- Hello? Did I cut out? Am I frozen? Are you frozen?” I was jolted from my reverie at Tilly’s waterfall of questions. “I’m sorry,” I smiled, “Got distracted-- How’s the roomie situation?” “Well she frowned about as much as you did when you got on board.” “I warmed up.” “So did she,” Tilly smiled, and I relaxed a little, folding my legs up under myself. “Glad to hear it.” I looked away from my PADD as the doors to my room opened. “Hey, Eli,” I greeted. I saw Tilly’s eyes widen, and I glanced down to see her smoothing her hair down hurriedly. “Eli, you remember Tilly,” I added as he crossed to my bed - I’d introduced them on a previous call. “Course I do,” He smiled, sitting down beside me and giving the screen a wave, “Nice to see you again, Sylvia.” I grinned as a flush as red as her hair well up on Tilly’s cheeks. “Hi,” She answered, matching Eli’s wave. Her gaze was directed away from the screen as an announcement that I couldn’t make out crackled on her end. “Ahh-- I have to go,” She said hurriedly, turning back to the screen, “I’m sorry!” “No, don’t worry about it,” I shook my head, “Be careful.” “You guys, too!” Tilly chirped before hanging up. I looked down at the screen as it winked off. I eyed the contact for Sidhu, Thira, one more time before swiping away from my contacts. Eli leaned back against the wall, shifting further back on my bed. “If you put your shoes on my bed, Durling--” “I know the rules, kid,” He chuckled. I rolled my eyes. He’d taken to calling me that weeks ago, and I couldn't get him to shake it. “What’s got you in here, anyway?” I asked, “New mission?” “Can’t sleep.” I frowned, glancing over at Eli before I turned back to my messages. I had a new message, but where the hell was it? It wasn’t from Cornwell, I’d already checked. “Something wrong?” I pressed. “Just one of those nights. Ever have one?” “Oh, all the--” I froze, damn near dropping my PADD at the sight of the unopened message. It was recent - minutes old. And it was from Una. “...You okay, kid?” Eli’s knee nudged mine, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the words ‘You’re on the Pinnacle?’.

“I-- I um… Yes. I have those nights all the time. Think I’m gonna have another one of those nights tonight.” Eli crowded closer, peering over my shoulder. “Bad news?” “I don’t know yet… Can you gimme a minute?”

It had started with Paledore, apparently. He’d been looking for something I’d sent him a while ago, some verb conjugation that I'd worked on, and he’d noticed that my status was active. He’d figured that it had to be a fluke, and he’d gone about his business. But it had happened again and again, and he’d brought it up to Thaleh, who had brought it up to Spock. Spock had done some digging, located me in Starfleet's medical database at the Academy, and then in the ship’s records for the Pinnacle. He had brought that information to Una. Una, who was now staring at me through a video feed. Her face was carefully blank. I’d seen that look before -- I knew that she was making a concentrated effort to not give anything away. Una could be hard to read in the first place, but I may as well have been looking at a statue. My heart was thudding low in my chest, beating out a panicked, jittery tattoo that usually only accompanied the running of a 22-9-14 and a Klingon Warbird on my tail. “...So,” I started, “How’s the Pergamum?” “You’re alive.” I gave a small nod. “Yeah, they’re not trucking a corpse around on the Pinnacle for the sake of filling the new communications specialist minimum.” “You’ve been alive this entire time and you’re making jokes?” Una seethed. It chilled me through the screen and I lowered my eyes, swallowing thickly. “I know you’re upset--” “Upset?” She repeated with a scorning little laugh, “I have spent the last year watching the repercussions that your loss has had on this crew, on Pike-- and you’re making jokes.” Guilt spun through me and wobbled like a top. “Can I explain?” “I wish you would.”

I took a deep breath, steadying my nerves before I told Una what had happened - all I could remember. Soivo, Somonia, Cornwell, my time on the Discovery and the Hiawatha. Una’s face remained unmoved throughout. My only indication that the screen hadn’t frozen was Una’s occasional shift in her seat. Once I’d finished my explanation, Una gave a small nod. “Well… That certainly lines up with the timeline that Spock put together.” I couldn’t help but smile a little at that, even as I ached at the mention. “Of course he put a timeline together,” I muttered, scrubbing my hand over my eyes. I sighed, quiet for a few moments. “How are you all?” I asked, “Will you tell me that?” “You don’t deserve that answer.” I clenched my jaw, hot tears prickling at my eyes as I felt my entire being want to fold in on itself. “Una, please understand--” The video feed cut, the message on the screen indicating that the call had been terminated from Una’s side. My fingers curled around the device, my chest racking with sobs as I curled forward.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I heard behind me, “What did that punching bag say to you?” I raised my hands to stop the bag from swinging back and hitting me before I turned back to see Eli. After Una’s abrupt end to our call, I had cried until I couldn’t anymore - until my sobs had been dry and my breathing had been hiccups. And then, when the hurt had still ebbed through me, when I saw that there were no transmissions waiting for translation or missions for me to run, I went to work the rest of my hurt out on a punching bag. “I’m not in the mood, Durling,” I cautioned quietly. My voice was hoarse from its rough use earlier, and my body and nerves were rung raw from the war, from losing Jett -- from my call with Una, and from the news that had hard followed - the Discovery had been destroyed. My last call with Tilly had been our last call. Eli took a couple of cautious steps closer to me, looking me over. “I can see that. Came to offer my assistance.” I arched a brow. “Assistance?” I repeated, “The bag over here offered the same thing and look where it’s wound up.” Eli smiled a little. “You’re gonna run yourself ragged like this,” he warned. I shook my head a bit, biting the inside of my cheek to staunch a fresh wave of tears. “I already have, Eli, I can’t--” I took in a deep, shuddering breath, “I can’t rest my head right now. That’s just a fact.” “Neither can I. Maybe we can help each other out with that.” “I’m not gonna ask you to help me.” “Why not?” “You see the mood I’m in?” I nodded toward the bag, “At least one of us needs to be in a condition to fly.” “I think I can handle you.” I arched a brow. “Eli,” I warned softly. He took a step closer, warm blue eyes and kind smile pointed at me with all softness and sincerity. “Kid,” he murmured, “You don’t have to worry about being gentle with me.” Tag list: @angels-pie ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @mylittlelonelyappreciationtoo ; @how-am-i-serpose-to-know ; @onlyhereforthefandomandgiggles ; @inmyowncorner ; @tardis-23 ; @2manyfandoms-solittletime ; @paintballkid711 ; @katrynec ; @hypnobananaangelfish

#I'm Always Curious #captain pike x reader #Captain Pike/Reader #Captain Pike Imagine #Captain Pike x You #Captain Pike/You #christopher pike x reader #christopher pike/reader #Christopher Pike x You #christopher pike imagine #Christopher Pike/You

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toflyandfall · 5 years ago

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YAY :D! OK, I wanted to please ask what your thoughts were on Dick and Shawn's relationship. Did you feel it was in character? Did you feel it made sense? Did you want them to last or did you feel it came out of left field and didn't make any sense? How did you feel about the pregnancy scare and how they broke up ("I know what I said/did was shitty but we can fix this. We can make this work!") - does it sound like Dick? I'm also happy ur still here. I'm so used to asking you & Shelly so thank u!

I'll be honest with you, anon--DC burnt me hard with the Spyral travesty and then putting Tom King on Batman and keeping Seeley on Nightwing, so I don't keep up with current DC comics. I don’t enjoy them and nearly without exception I don’t find them to be written well or in character. However, you're very sweet and I want to help fill the meta void in your life, so I read through Dick and Shawn's arc together and here's my analysis.

I’m dividing this into two parts. The first half will be as objective as possible and analyze your questions on whether Dick seems in character, what he says during the break up, etc. It’s roughly chronological, starting when we first meet Shawn and continuing through to the break up itself.

The second half I’ll put under a readmore, as it’ll answer your questions about my more subjective opinions about the arc.

Let’s start by looking at Dick’s previous and most happy relationships to see what good indicators for an in-character relationship would be.

Getting physically involved with someone -before- having a secure emotional connection with them is not in character for him. All of Dick's major relationships have been preceded by extended periods of mutual flirtation and bonding before physical overtures. His most significant and longest lasting romantic connections began by building emotional and romantic attachment before sexual intimacy, frequently paired with a shared history together that precedes even the flirtation.

There’s significant canon evidence that he’s demi sexual: a comprehensive, though hardly exhaustive, collection of it can be found here and here (the latter half of the second link relates to the Grayson series specifically, but overall it offers a nice long view on his relationship history since character creation and also addresses beyond-canon factors at DC that impacted some relevant canon writings.) Whether you use the label demi for him or not, it’s canon that he’s not comfortable jumping into bed without a secure emotional connection.

So let’s look at Shawn’s relationship with Dick through the lens of relationships in which he was the happiest and most comfortable. Those relationships have these things in common:

He has a stable, safe emotional connection to the individual.

He is willing and comfortable engaging in banter and flirtation.

Relationship is based on mutual respect and affection, often paired with shared history together.

Now, let’s look at Shawn’s relationship.

Their ‘history’ together (as Defacer and Robin) is antagonistic, and their interaction in the past leave Dick feeling uneasy. Sure, he seems to think about her situation, but as this panel reads, the kindest that can be said of any emotional connection there seems to be here is one-sided pity.

Nightwing #10 (Nightwing: Back to Bludhaven)

Once they meet again, she’s his boss. Even or perhaps especially in the world of #MeToo, it’s important to address workplace relationships, particularly boss/employee scenarios, with care and sensitivity. Seeley sidesteps this by just…having her later quit the non-profit she founded and giving Dick her position for a while. However, even if she’d just worked in HR at an equal level with him when they met instead of being his boss, let’s look at the amount of participation he shows in their first meeting:

Nightwing #10 (Nightwing: Back to Bludhaven)

There is a lot of her talking and almost none of him. He’s not engaged in their interaction here. Where he tries later as Nightwing to engage more personally, he’s immediately shut down. The most dialogue we hear from him is in his own head—in their first meeting, the ratio of her dialogue to his is literally 22 sentences to 9. Of those 9 sentences, one is a lie he gives to avoid establishing an emotional connection with her, another she interrupts, and three of which were less than five words long: “Sorry.” “You can call me Dick” and “Thanks, Ms Chang”. Even taking the workplace environment into account as best we can, this is not meeting any of the three criteria for Dick to be feeling emotionally attachment or attraction. No one would look at those 9 almost-sentences and that flashback and say, “Ah yes, this man is deeply infatuated with her.”

This is made even more jarring by the fact that the internal narration frequently doesn’t match the actual scenes we’ve witnessed.

Nightwing #11 (Nightwing: Back to Bludhaven)

Nothing about the few sentences Dick has managed to finish around Shawn when this narration comes up has said ‘attraction’, physical or otherwise, but the dialogue here reads like Dick was laying the flirtations on thick every time he saw her. Same with when they talk about the flashback scene later. There’s a lot of cognitive disconnect between what Seeley wants to tell us happened and what we actually see and hear and have evidence of between the characters.

If you’re wondering why I’m examining these initial interactions with particular depth, it is because frankly, these are the most interactions the two have together for roughly the first five issues of their ‘getting to know each other’ phase...and when they reunite at the end of those issues, we are supposed to believe they are already heavily, life-changingly in love. So, for all intents and purposes, this scattered handful of conversations is all we have to analyze to examine whether this fits the qualifications for whether Dick would feel comfortable and emotionally attached enough to approach a physical relationship.

We have three chances in their various guises for Dick and Shawn to meet and start developing that all-important rapport. This is our first initiation to their relationship and it certainly doesn’t read as a positive one. The next one, she yells at him and kicks him out—again, a whole page of her dialogue to a fragmented sentence of his. The third one, the flashback panel posted above, they don’t even speak to each other. Two of them are actively red-flags of being unable to establish a closer connection with that person; the third is a neutral connection. This is not the kind of two-way interaction we see where he’s comfortable and interested in someone, and this is not an emotionally secure connection.

Shawn disappears for three issues or so, during which they have, obviously, no interactions.

The very next after that, by the end of it, she lunges into him to kiss him.

The next issue after that, they’re evidently in honeymoon heaven and already shacking up.

Trust me, we’ll be going over that under the readmore later.

Back in the area of the objective, if you ever need to know the number of days Tim Seeley thinks is needed for two people with self-admitted enormous trust issues to form the ideal Hollywood manic pixie dream girl relationship, we were given a careful timeline.

68 days—first date

Nightwing #15 (Nightwing: Back to Bludhaven)

62 days—first intercourse.

Nightwing #15 (Nightwing: Back to Bludhaven)

Six days. Not even a week.

They’ve met each other, then met each other’s parents and are living together and are one baby scare away from the suburbs in less time than it takes for someone to finish a semester at college. It took literally longer for the issues of Nightwing where Shawn was an absent character in her own arc to get published in our real lives than it did for their on-panel romance to go from not even knowing each other to Nightwing (not Dick, but Nightwing) kissing Shawn (not Defacer, but Shawn) upside down in the middle of the city.

Trust issues, amirite?

Nightwing #15 (Nightwing: Back to Bludhaven)

Meanwhile during that mostly off-panel ‘dating’ period we have these wildly out of character moments. In particular, there are two noteworthy things.

Shawn says she never would have pinned Dick for being a traditionalist.

That directly contradicts…well…most of the statements people close to him have made of his dating views, and also his own self-stated views of them, whose top tracks include things like “…this might sound unhip, but I feel strange about living with someone I’m not married to”, “I gotta be honest, Roy—I couldn’t make love to someone I didn’t really love”, and “Love should be between two people”.

We have a direct parallel of an in-character Dick moment walking someone home after an early date to use for comparison.

Nightwing #31

Things Dick does in this panel: reassures his date there is no pressure for sex and the night will not be ending that way, plan out just about the most traditional date experience, and engage in light-hearted mutual bantering.

Additional relevant context around this panel: Dick and Clancy have known each other for months and have a friendly, mutually respectful connection. Dick’s turned down a sizable number of invitations from her because despite living in the same building, the vigilante life made it difficult for him to make and keep plans. This is their second date because Dick had to bail in the middle of their first. It took months both in comics-time and in real-time of developing a mutual interest to lead up to that first real date. And by then, the reader is invested in the status of that relationship, too.

To contrast the then vs now, we also have in that same moment with Shawn Dick, of all people, ignores a phone call without a second thought in favor of trying for a booty call. On the first date. Let’s take a look at Dick and Clancy’s first date, 9 issues earlier than the one we just saw.

Nightwing #22

Dick is a chronic workaholic, with all the associated inability to disconnect from his work while in relationships even during date night or intimate moments. It’s perfectly reasonable, considering that with his lifestyle choice, that phone call could be life or death for someone he loves, a stranger, or many, many someones, and it’s put significant strain on his past relationships when dating those not actively in the superhero lifestyle. Clancy is, again, a great example of this--despite genuine interest on both sides, he blew her off at least half a dozen times because of vigilante emergencies before they even got to their first date. And then despite their great rapport and a genuine interest in being there, he still ditched her in the middle of it when his phone rang.

What we see in Seeley’s Nightwing #15 not only runs directly contrary to significant chunks of his history and personality, it also tells a deeply upsetting story of a world where exists a horndog Dick Grayson who would risk other people’s lives to get laid with a chick he’s known less than a week.

They handle vigilante interruptions more in character in later issues once the relationship is established, but...yikes.

Not in character.

We’re going to take a little jump here to move from discussing whether their relationship is in character for Dick to whether their breakup was in character.

In general, it actually is pretty in character for Dick to panic himself into commitment in a romantic relationship even if he’s not really sure about it. Dick is very interesting that way: he runs away from platonic relationships under tension, either by throwing himself into casework or by literally setting up in a new location. If his romantic relationship is undergoing trauma, however, he's very capable of reacting the opposite, like in this example with Kory.

Team Titans #2

There’s even an awkward Devin Grayson incident where he thinks a woman is serial-murdering her husbands, fake-marries her to solve the case, uncovers the real killer who wasn’t her, and feels bad enough afterward that he offers to date her for real. (An interesting side-note: this makes Devin Grayson responsible for not one but two of Dick’s emotionally compromised almost-marriages. This one, at least, came before she jumped the shark with the dreaded Catalina Flores arc.)

Nightwing Annual #1

So let’s take a look at where Shawn’s exact circumstance falls in against those.

To me, the lines that sound the most like Dick are actually the lines he says that cause their break-up.

Nightwing #23 (Nightwing: Back to Bludhaven)

Dick has a lot of darkness and anger in him. He’s a lot like Bruce and he’s a lot scared of how much he’s like Bruce. We’ve seen several timelines where Dick’s had biological children and we’ve also seen how he tempered Damian’s darkness when Bruce was lost in the timestream. Though this arc and timeline does not show it well (and that’s a whole different meta), we have the advantage of having known how Dick behaves as a father in a way this particular Dick has never had to experience. And we know that when kids are in the picture he does work hard at repressing or concealing his anger and darkness to be a good role model, often in a way he isn’t sure he has the capacity to do when there are no children involved. Despite some of the specific phrasings being iffy, the general sentiments here do feel like legitimate concerns Dick would have.

With this knowledge, that moment felt significantly more honest to Dick Grayson’s character than most of the rest of their relationship.

Nightwing #25 (Nightwing: Back to Bludhaven)

The actual break-up dialogue itself is…well, it’s not out of character, exactly, because as shown, Dick has been known to clutch onto potential romances hardest when he feels they’re about to slip away. But the delivery of it isn’t in character. Yes, in general, Dick has a temper and he lashes out. However, he’s clearly aggressive and angry in this panel, where previous experience has showed us he should be at his most emotionally vulnerable and pleading. Dick, who is a generally emotionally closed-off person despite his extroverted demeanor, reacts to these kind of romance scares by showing emotional vulnerability in ways he frequently is unable to do during the relationship itself. And the panel that he’s apologizing for as being a crappy thing to have said, is…as mentioned, the panel that comes closest to a consistent Dick Grayson.

And the thing they’re fighting about is that Dick missed a job interview because he was doing Nightwing things. Shawn fell in love with Dick knowing he was Nightwing (somehow), he’s been Nightwing the whole time they dated, constant interruptions and all, but she breaks up with him because somehow 'the thing I always loved most…you.’ apparently wasn’t one that included the Nightwing schedule. She also seems to be both blaming him for wanting the baby and also accusing him of not wanting it. At the risk of getting off-topic and subjective, I’ll be honest and say Shawn’s dialogue here makes no sense to me at all.

Dick’s tried not being Nightwing, in both pre-52 and new-52. Dick spends a fair amount of pre-52 time either bouncing from job to job or lacking a day job entirely. In both pre-52 and new-52, the Dick she’s claiming is the one she’s always loved the most…doesn’t exist anywhere I can think of. Certainly not anywhere during their on-panel relationship.

Now that we’ve looked at what we see of Dick and Shawn on-panel, it’s time to talk about the impact this has off-panel.

I happen to have been re-reading a lot of Chuck Dixon’s original Nightwing’s run lately. And here’s the thing. Clancy’s been showing up consistently in that run as someone Dick could be attracted to for for oh, about...two full graphic novels now (that’s 17 single-issues) and they haven’t so much as gone on a date, let alone shared a smooch. It takes 20 issues before they make it to the first date we saw from Nightwing #22. I don’t remember if she’s in every single issue of that period, so I’m going to round down by probably a lot and say that’s a minimum of a year when this was getting published for us as readers to get to know her and how she interacts with Dick, to get interested and invested in a potential relationship. In comics-time, it’s weeks before Dick actually sees her face, not just hears her voice. Even if you’re reading post-publication like me, that’s hours and hours where we watch she and Dick bond and banter and develop a mutual interest.

That’s build up. That’s emotional investment developed over time.

I’m not saying every single relationship has to take more than a year’s worth of issues on-panel to develop. However, she does summarize one of the single biggest struggles for DC’s cadre of writers over the last few years. Basically, the problem I have with this beyond just the characterizations is the same that made me stop reading from New 52 onward: DC constantly trying to skip out on the process of creating meaningful emotional build-up or connections but still expecting to cash in on an emotional payoff.

You can’t go from ‘kissed once’ to ‘been together for years like an old married couple couple vibes’ off-pages like Nightwing #15 tries to do. Even if you expect the readers to believe the protagonist now feels that connection (which, frankly, I don’t), we don’t have that connection to the relationship. It’s a cheap paper cutout with no actual emotional content behind it--why should we care if it tears under pressure? We have no stake in it; we don’t know why the protagonist has a stake in it. It’s meaningless.

As a reader, my experience with Shawn and Dick’s relationship is as follows: a) they meet in a scenario where she is his boss (strong do not date vibes) b) they meet as vigilante and paroled ex-villain and she doesn’t even let him finish a sentence (would not date) c) they show a flashback where they don’t even speak to each other (Robin pities her; no ‘date/no date’ vibe data gathered), d) they share a confusingly out of nowhere ‘emotional’ moment that didn’t match up with my prior understanding of either what I extrapolated from the flashback or what I saw in their on-panel interactions (vibe check, please??) then she disappears for several issues into police custody (no ‘date/no date’ vibe data gathered) The very next time she sees him, she betrays him (STRONG do not/would not date). Then all of a sudden at the end of that issue she kisses him.

My context for their relationship is based on two ‘emotional’ conversations of dubious quality and consistency, one ‘look’ where their dialogue contradicts my own understanding of the on-panel events, a shouting match or two, and a very major betrayal that just happened to work out alright for everybody but is never actually addressed. Most of her introductory arc where we’d be piecing out how she fits in with Dick and how they interact together, she isn’t even there for. They’ve known each other for less than a week. I the reader have known them for, in my case, maybe an hour of read-time.

And the very next time I see them, I’m supposed to believe, and more importantly, feel emotionally attached to the fact that They Are The Most In Love Couple To Ever Be In Love.

Trying to put a timeline on intimacy as a gimmick instead of establishing genuine emotional connection never works. Yes, maybe we knew that one person in high school or know someone in college who falls hard and often and met and married someone within two months, but Dick Grayson has never been that person. Maybe this style of flashback manic pixie romance would be more believable if they’d tried it on a different character with a different history and personality, but it especially never works on a character like Dick Grayson with a strong history of being slow to decide his feelings and even slower to jump into bed.

In order to work, the entire arc that follows with the kidnapping by Pyg is predicated on the fact that I, the reader, am supposed to already care about Shawn’s relationship with Dick, and that I, the reader, believe in the validity of Shawn’s relationship with Dick and in Dick’s commitment to it. But I haven’t been given time or reason to do either of those things by the time that arc starts.

You cannot shortcut relationships and expect them to be meaningful to the reader.

So they threw in a baby. Because even if you don’t care about a relationship, everyone cares about babies.

Throwing in a baby to up the emotional stakes is just a further step up that same problematic cheap-shortcuts ladder I was talking about: like in a stereotyped failing marriage, if you feel like you have to add a kid just to put meaning into your relationship again, maybe what you actually need to do is take time and consider what that relationship is built on.

#dick grayson #dc #nightwing #meta #tim seeley #panels #o.c.#relationships #asks #anonymous #analysis #shawn tsang #character analysis #relationship analysis #long post #love and relationships #I realized toward the end I hadn't addressed the pregnancy itself very much but I covered the jyst of my thoughts on it in the readmore #Dick's reaction to it felt like it was separate from his relationship to Shawn so I stuck to what it seemed like you were more interested in

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thecleverdame · 6 years ago

Text

Control and Release - 17

Series Masterlist

TEDTalk!Sam x Reader

Summary: With the rest of the staff caught in a snowstorm, you find yourself acting as a personal assistant to the notorious Sam Winchester.

Warnings: Dom/Sub, humiliation, embarrassment, sexual objectification, mutual masturbation, spanking, cum play, fingering, anal play, orgasm control, nipple clamps, dub-con, breath play. This chapter contains an 'active shooter' scenario.

Beta: @ilikaicalie

Words: 5k

Parts 18, 19, 20 & 21 are currently available on Patreon for a monthly pledge of $2.50. This includes early access to all my stories and Patreon exclusive content. >> CLICK HERE <<

One Month Later

“Hello, earth to Y/N.” Millie’s hand is waving in front of your face as you snap to attention. “Jesus, what is going on with you?”

“Nothing.” You shake your head, tapping the mouse to wake up your computer. “I’m just tired.”

“You don’t have to tell me, but don’t assume I’m an idiot.”

You’ve shared a little, she knew you were seeing someone, now you’re not. But you’ve never gone into details. She guessed once that your mystery weekend guy was some married man with a wife and kids. You let her live with the assumption. It’s easier that way.

Millie tilts her head, eyes flicking to Lexi’s empty desk. “Did Lexi tell you she’s working on some super secret project for the boss man?”

You want to throw up. Of course she is.

“She told me,” you confirm, typing in your password twice before getting it right.

“What do you think it is? I mean I love the girl, but she’s not the sharpest tool in the shed.” Millie looks at you, frowning in concern.

You have a pretty good idea what kind of special project Sam’s assigned her to, the same kind you worked on. He was bored fucking you so he moved on to someone younger, firmer and dumber. As much as you try to fight it, your mind can’t help but conjure up images of her on her knees sucking his cock.

“Seriously, are you okay?” Millie places a hand on your shoulder and you flinch, looking up at her. “You’re all over the place.”

“No,” you shake your head, sitting back in the chair. “I don’t think I want to work here anymore.”

“Seriously?” Millie hunches down, getting close to whisper, “did Max do something again? Is someone bothering you?”

“No, he’s actually been really apologetic after he was put on his corrective action plan,” you snort. “I’m just fucking done. This place is a black hole and I need to move on.” You look at Lexi’s empty seat. “I’m gonna go talk to Pepper and put in my two weeks. Then I’m gonna let you take me out and get me drunk.”

After a few shots of tequila, you sit at the open window of your apartment, sipping a bottle of water and watching the city lights at night. For the better part of a year, life was focused around Sam, when you’d see him next, what would happen. Now that excitement is nowhere to be found and you're left with the realization that you’ve let the other parts of your life fade into the background. There’s a kind of emptiness that you’ve struggled to fill, a void that you’re learning to live with.

Above all else, you feel foolish. While you want to feel betrayed, you simply can’t. He was always up front. He told you time and time again it was nothing more than sex. But your logical mind and your heart aren’t always working together. Developing feelings for someone like Sam Winchester was bound to end badly, you knew that from the start.

If nothing else, Sam taught you a lot about yourself. Sex with him was eye-opening. He showed you how to openly desire all the things that you hid for so long. Not only do you know what you like, now you know how to ask for it and you’ll never be ashamed of what turns you on again.

It’s been one hell of a rollercoaster but it’s time to leave. Not just W & S, but Boston as well. It’s time to start over. In a couple of weeks, you’ll be in Chicago, a place where you know no one and no one knows you. It’s for the best, here your memories are haunted, little pieces of Sam everywhere. At least you learned a lesson.

As you lay down to go to sleep you glance at the bedside table. There’s a small vibrator in the drawer. You’ve tried to masturbate several times since your final goodbye but you can’t quite get there. All your fantasies somehow morph into Sam at the end and it pulls you right out of the moment. Perhaps more distance will help you get back to normal.

You fall asleep dreaming of a new life, somewhere far, far away.

Two Weeks Later

Juggling a comically tall stack of folders you head to the conference room.

You’re late for your last meeting as an employee of W & S. It’s your project hand-off, going over all your active cases with Pepper and Millie. Only a few more hours and you can kiss this place goodbye for good.

It’s as you open the door and flick the light switch, you’re met with a chorus of happy voices.

“Surprise!”

You jump back, breaking out into a smile at the room full of colleagues in party hats. There’s a sheet cake in the middle of the table with We’ll Miss You! scrawled across in blue frosting.

“You scared the shit out of me!” You laugh, dropping the files onto the table.

“That was the idea,” Pepper smirks, sliding a paper cup of punch across the table. “It’s not a surprise unless you shit yourself.”

“Honestly I didn’t expect this. I didn’t think anyone would care that I left,” you confess, looking at an envelope with your name written across it.

Millie is already cutting the cake, handing you the first piece. “Are you kidding, we all love you. It’s gonna be boring without you. Don’t get too excited about your gift, it’s only an Ikea gift card.”

“I never thought I’d say this,” Pepper leans in, dipping her finger into the frosting on your plate. “But I sure wish you were staying, Lexi is a nightmare.” You both look up at Lexi who’s babbling on in the corner of the room clad in a skin-tight pink dress. “I long for the days of your slow walking and crappy notes.”

“Good to know I’m appreciated in hindsight,” you force a smile, trying to focus on anything other than thoughts of Lexi and Sam.

There’s a faint, repeating noise in the distance, it’s out of place but you’re not really paying attention.

“Hey,” Max slides in beside you. Millie sighs but backs off. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry, for you know, saying that stuff about you. I was a dick.”

He has been making an effort, there’s a subtle hint of that nice guy you met before he turned into a full-fledged bastard.

“Yes, you were.” You roll your eyes, offering him a smile. “I forgive you, but only if you don’t do it to anyone else again.”

“I swear,” he nods, a hand over his heart. “Lesson learned, I-”

He pauses to listen to the popping in the distance. The room falls silent.

“Is someone setting off fireworks?” Pepper stands up, moving toward the window.

“That’s not fireworks,” Tim Bellamy from accounting stands up, walking to the door of the conference room and looking out into the hallway. “That’s gunfire.”

“What are you talking about?” Your heart speeds up to gallop, a low simmer of panic setting in. Right on cue, all the lights shut off, the whirl of the air conditioning stops.

There it is again, closer than before. It sounds like it’s coming from a few floors down.

Pop

“Someone’s shooting,” Millie whispers, looking to you with eyes the size of saucers.

“Security will stop whoever it is,” Pepper’s voice is broken as she wrings her hands together, staring at the open door.

“What do we do?” You look at Tim. You don’t know much about him, but you do recall that he’s a combat veteran, a Marine if you remember correctly.

“We run,” he confirms, taking off his suit jacket and throwing it on the table. “If you're wearing heels, take them off. Get rid of anything that’s going to slow you down or make noise.”

You reach down, slipping off your pumps, bare toes sinking into the carpet. You’re sweating now, listening to the burst of gunfire coming in rapid succession. For a moment it’s getting closer then there’s a break, silence.

“Follow me.” Tim inches toward the door, peeking out into the hallway. “If you get out into the open don’t run in a straight line, zig-zag back and forth. Doesn’t matter if anyone’s shooting at you, make yourself a hard target to hit.”

“This isn’t happening,” Millies cries behind you, her hands on your hips. “Oh my god, this can’t be happening.”

“Quiet,” Tim turns back, looking at each one of you. “Stay silent. Follow me now.”

You trail after him down the hall, everyone moving in silence, grasping each other’s hands. The hallway opens up into a sea of cubicles. You’re headed toward the red exit sign at the other end of the room, it’s the door to the stairwell.

Without warning the door slams open, hitting the wall with a thud. Millie yelps, Lexi screams from somewhere in the back. Trevor from IT comes sprinting toward you, sweating, in pure panic.

“He’s coming!” He yells running past you in a sprint.

“Who’s coming?” Max yells.

“Brent!” Trevor calls back, his voice faint as he disappears around the corner at the other end of the room.

Brent.

“Fuck,” you breathe, remembering the day he was fired, how it took multiple security guards to wrestle him out of the building. “Where do we-”

Your voice turns into a scream as Brent appears in the doorway. He’s holding some kind of huge rifle, the kind you’ve seen in movies as he jams in a fresh clip. He looks up spotting your group.

“Run!” Tim shouts, stepping in front with his arms spread wide.

Time slows down and you have a thousand thoughts at once.

You should have called your mom this morning.

You’re not wearing matching underwear.

You should have told Sam how you felt as soon as you felt it.

You’re going to die on your last day here, you should have left last week.

If you’d have gone to college, none of this would have ever happened.

There is an ear-shattering pop and Tim’s body jerks back, careening into you before he hits the wall and his knees give way. He’s clutching his stomach, blood pouring from a wound. You’re frozen in sheer terror, a scream erupting from your throat as Brent advances.

There’s a shout from the other side of the room, a woman you’ve never seen before shrieks drawing his attention. There’s a spray of bullets in her direction and you watch in horror when she sinks behind one of the cubicles.

Turning back to you Brent looks calm and focused as he takes aim and shoots off another round, hitting Max in the upper thigh. One more step and he shoots again, the bullet hitting Max’s chest and this time he falls to the floor.

Brent is close now, his eyes narrowing as he hones in on you.

“Please,” you whisper, shaking uncontrollably as you raise both hands in front of your face. There is no sight or sound, everything comes to a halt as you take a final breath. “Please don't kill me.”

Brent just snorts, raising the gun and pointing it at your head.

Sam comes out of nowhere moving with a speed and power that you would have never known he was capable of. He drives the heel of his hand up into Brent’s chin, snatching the rifle from him in the same move. Swinging the butt of the gun around he whacks Brent in the head hard enough that it makes a sickening crack. Blood begins to pour from the wound as Brent’s knees buckle and he collapses to the ground.

With a series of methodical movements, Sam disassembles the firearm as if he’s done it a million times before. In ten seconds flat it’s lying in pieces on the carpet. He kneels next to Brent, patting down his unconscious body and pulling away two handguns that are tucked into his waistband. Sam takes those apart as well, leaving the pieces on a nearby desk.

“Are you alright?” he asks and you realize he’s talking to you. You blink, your mind a blank slate looking from Brent to Sam who’s standing in front of you, one hand on each shoulder. “Y/N?”

“I think so,” you mutter, staring at him in disbelief. All that fear is suddenly gone and you’re numb, physically and emotionally, save for the nauseous feeling in your belly. You explain calmly, “I think I might throw up.”

“That’s okay,” he cups your face for a moment, both hands under your jaw, giving you his undivided attention. “Are you hurt?”

You shake your head no, turning away from him to vomit onto the floor.

“Oh my God!” You hear Lexi’s high pitched shriek coming up behind you. When you look up she’s throwing herself at Sam, wrapping arms around him. “You saved us!”

Sam just looks at you, his arms dangling at his side as she presses her head over his chest.

“Ohmygod, ohmygod,” Millie’s arms are around you, trembling as she squeezes tight. Wiping your chin you heave again, the last of your stomach contents coming up. “You’re alright, you’re gonna be alright.” She keeps repeating, rocking back and forth as she strokes your hair.

It’s not exactly soothing for you, but it seems to be what she needs, so you let her cradle you.

The next few minutes are a blur. Every moment melts into the next. There’s a swirl of activity, police and swat officers swarming the room. Several people are talking at you but you can’t hear them, your ears are ringing and you’ve got tunnel vision. Someone moves you, there’s a hand on each arm and you’re walking but not sure where or how.

The next thing you know you’re in Sam’s office, sitting on his couch. He’s standing near his desk and you’re surrounded by a dozen agents with ATF and FBI emblazoned on their clothes.

The voices come in and out of focus. There’s a man sitting next to you, his mustache is untrimmed, creeping over his upper lip and for a moment it’s all you see.

“Y/N?” he asks, leaning closer. “Can you hear me?”

“She’s in shock.” A female voice comes from somewhere in the background. “We have an ambulance on the way. We needed to get the critical cases out of the building first. We can have someone drive her-”

“I can hear you.” You clear your throat, feeling like you’ve been shot with a tranquilizer. A hush falls over the room and you look from the man in front of you to Sam. “I don’t wanna go to the hospital. Please don’t make me.”

“Okay,” Sam nods, walking over and sitting on the coffee table in front of you. “She can wait until tomorrow, can’t she?” He looks at the officer next to you.

“We don’t recommend it.” Another voice answers.

“I don’t want to be here anymore.” You look around at the strangers staring at you like a zoo animal. “Sam, I want to leave.”

“She shouldn’t be alone in this state. Once we have her emergency contacts we’ll send a car to take her home.”

“That’s not necessary she’s going home with me.” Sam reaches out, squeezing your knee. “We can set up a time tomorrow afternoon for interviews.”

You sit in silence next to Sam as the car makes the drive to Newton. The world whizzes by as you look out the window, your mind a blank slate devoid of any real thought. Sam doesn’t say anything, you’re vaguely aware of him looking at you from time to time. By the time you reach his house, your mind and body are starting to equalize. You follow him into the house, looking around at the all too familiar surroundings. Nothing's changed since the last time you were here.

Sam walks directly into the kitchen, opening up a cupboard and pulling out an empty trash bag.

“Take your clothes off.” He instructs calmly. You snort, eyes widening, unsure of how he can even think that you’re going to comply with his commands- “You have blood on your clothes,” he explains and you feel instantly sheepish. “Undress and take a shower.”

You look at him, a combination of betrayal and exhaustion. There’s a lot you want to say, but instead, you pull your blouse over your head, then shimmy your skirt down your hips. He holds open the bag and you place both inside, then strip the rest of the way, peeling off your panties and bra.

Naked, you pad down the hallway to his room, leaving the light off as you find the way to his shower and climb inside. You sit down on the tile under the warm water, pulling your legs up to your chest. You stay just like that until the water runs cold and you have to get out.

When you finally get out, you halfheartedly dry off, leaving the towel on the hook and a series of wet footprints on the hardwood of his bedroom floor.

Sam is sitting on the edge of the bed but stands up the moment he sees you. He must have used the guest shower because his hair is wet and he’s wearing a plain white t-shirt and blue and white striped pajama pants.

You just stand there in the nude, staring at him, a million thoughts colliding at the same time.

“Why am I here?” you ask quietly. You’re not sure if you want the answer, you’re still upset with him, raw over your last conversation.

“Because I want you here.” He responds evenly. “You were traumatized and I-”

“I’m not the only one who was traumatized,” you interrupt. “I don’t see anyone else here.”

“No, you don’t.” He raises his chin, jaw locked in place.

“How did you know how to do that? What you did to Brent, I’ve only ever seen people fight like that in the movies.”

“My dad,” he explains, running his tongue over his teeth under his upper lip. “Winchester 101.”

“Right,” you nod, feeling water dripping from the end of your hair, down your back and over your breasts. “You’re a hero. You came to save us. Guess you’re not a total asshole.”

“I am a total asshole. I don’t give a shit about anyone else.” This confession comes out just as simple as everything else while you stare at each other. “I came for you.”

“Why?” you ask imploringly, stepping forward. “Why didn’t you come for Lexi, she’s your ‘special project’ now.”

“You think I’m sleeping with her?” He raises an eyebrow, letting out a humorless chuckle. “Well, that’s what I hoped you’d assume. I wanted to hurt you because I am an asshole. I wanted you to move on. But I’m not fucking her. I have her reporting back me on Peter Kelson. He’s leaking information. He wants to fuck her, so he drinks too much and tells her more than he should and then she tells me. That’s all.”

“I don’t understand you,” you sigh, defeated. “You said you were bored with me. You cut me out like I was nothing and now you’re telling me you put yourself in front of a bullet for me?”

“I lied.” He shrugs, looking to the side before forcing his gaze back to you. “I was, I am, uncomfortable with the way I feel about you. I want to be with you, I care for you. That’s not something I know how to do anymore. I gave up on that concept a long time ago.”

Your heart does a little skip in your chest, first the worst day of your life and now this. Whatever this is.

“You can’t just...do this. You walked away from me like I meant nothing to you.”

“I wanted you to hate me,” he confesses, eyes transfixed on yours waiting to see if you’ll bolt.

“I did.” You shrug, stripped bare of pretense. There’s no room for anything to be left unsaid, not anymore. “I do, hate you. The way you treated me made me feel small...insignificant.”

“I know,” he nods, blinking twice, before looking at the floor to gather himself. “But you’re not.”

“I care about you.” You look down at your hands. “But how can you say that? You were going to let me leave. Let me move halfway across the country.”

“You would have been fine.” He steps closer, face tightening in displeasure. “You were hurt, and pissed at me, but you would have moved on. I was going to let you go but I couldn’t let you die, I couldn’t go through that again-” His voice wavers and he pauses, searching your face. “I make a shitty partner in every sense of the word. I’m selfish and impatient. I don’t like relinquishing control. I don’t like to talk about how I feel or my past. I’ll hurt you and you may end up hating me in the end...but I don’t want you to go. I want you to stay in Boston, to stay with me.”

“You haven’t apologized yet, apologized for hurting me like that.” You swallow, watching his jaw set wishing you could just read his mind. It would make this so much easier.

“I’m sorry.” He implores and for the first time you see a side of him you would have not imagined existed. He looks vulnerable, sad and desperate, completely out of character.

“Will you try?” you whisper, tears brimming in the corners of your eyes. “It’s one thing to say that you’re terrible at relationships but it’s another to accept it. You put so much energy and commitment into your work, Sam. Are you going to give me at least some of that? Because if you’re not going to try, then there’s no point.”

“I’ll try,” he nods. “I give you my word.”

“Then I’ll stay,” you murmur as his hands cup your face, sliding along either side of your jaw.

He leans down to kiss you, lips meeting gently for the first time. As adept as he is in the bedroom, you wonder if he’s kissed anyone like this since his girlfriend all those years ago. He’s hesitant, the gentle press of his mouth to yours growing more passionate as you slide your tongue forward. That first kiss grows, hands pulling and grabbing, anything to be closer to one another.

He’s naked before you hit the bed, whipping his shirt over his head and stepping out of his pants before he picks up and spreads you over the mattress. For all the sex you’ve had, all the spanking and groping and sucking, you’ve never felt him like this. The heat and heft of his body take your breath away. This much skin on skin is like a drug as you wrap your legs around his waist, holding him tight as he kisses you long and deep.

His cock is thick and hard, poking your thigh as you whimper and moan underneath him. Your fingernails dig into his back holding on, desperate to have him just like this. You could drown underneath him in this bed and die happy here and now.

You’re both making up for lost time, his mouth sealed to yours as he moans against your lips, pulling back only long enough to suck in a breath before tasting you again.

Spreading your legs wide you watch as he notches of the head of his cock in your pussy. That first push inside makes you gasp as he stretches you open. Your mouth opens wide against his as he slides home, filling you to the root.

“Fuck, Sam,” you whine, fisting one hand in his hair as he strokes in and out, setting an easy pace that’s far from the usual. “You feel so good like this.”

“Gonna make you cum so hard,” he mumbles against your lips. Grabbing a fist full of hair he tugs your head back, slowly pulling your neck taught. “Look at me.”

“I am,” you promise, eyes opening as his cock moves inside you. It’s a full feeling that sends a tingle up your spine and then fans out in all directions. While you can’t orgasm from just this, the stretch of his shaft feels incredible. For a long time, he fucks you just like this, the weight of him pressing you down into the bed, his chest laying over your beasts, and his mouth sealed to your lips.

While he’s not exactly gentle, he’s also not as rough as he has been in the past. His breath is hot as he buries his face in your neck, grunting and panting with every stroke. Tonight is about pleasure and connection and you’re practically humming on every level as the world fades away and only this moment exists.

Sam props himself up on his arms, breathing heavy as he rocks strong and deep. One hand cups your breast, just holding you as you stare up him, his hair hanging down, swinging with the movement of his body. He dips down for one more kiss before lifting himself up enough to wedge his hand between your bodies in search of your clit. His mouth seals shut in concentration as he thrusts steadily, making gentle sweeps over your bud.

It doesn’t take long, you’re already drenched in pleasure and with the addition of his touch, you swell with satisfaction.

“Can I cum?” you pant, mouth falling open as you hold back, waiting for his permission out of sheer force of habit.

“Yes,” he gasps, pressing forward, holding his cock deep and rubbing your clit and you come undone, clenching and pulsing around him.

“Oh God,” is all you can muster, twitching and jerky underneath him.

He knows what you like, you prefer when he keeps his cock buried in your cunt as you cum instead of fucking you through it. It makes everything better, perfectly stuffed and stretched as you pull him inside, muscles tightening with each wave of pleasure.

He waits for you to come back down, letting you fall limp as he picks up the pace fucking you quick in a half dozen hard thrusts before he cums with a series grunts and groans as he fills your pussy, spilling thick and warm until you feel his seed leaking over your ass.

“Fuck,” he groans, collapsing on top of you.

You wrap yourself around him, holding him tight while he’s still inside you. The first time he tries to pull away you don’t let him so he settles between your hips and you kiss and touch each other until you finally release him.

Rolling off you he lies on his back, breath quick with one hand on his chest.

Everything is sticky, not just the mess between your legs but every inch of your skin is covered in sweat, most of it his. It feels claustrophobic, a rising crescendo emerging from somewhere deep inside. It starts as panic in your gut but twists into something else, an overwhelming sadness. An instant snapshot of your own mortality.

You almost died. Other people did. You were this close. So close.

All you can think about is the vast nothingness of not existing. The concept of simply being snuffed out is overwhelming and terrifying. You want to think about Sam, this new stage of your complicated relationship. You’re desperate to focus on the man lying beside you, the person you’ve missed for months who’s just confessed his feelings for you. But all you see in front of your open eyes is the image of Brent with that gun.

An unexpected sob tears from your throat and you slap a hand over your mouth in surprise. Sam actually jumps, jerking up into a sitting position as you wail, suddenly in hysterics. The panic returns, tightening your chest as your vision blurs and you roll onto your side, curling into a ball.

“Hey,’ his hand is hesitant, patting your hip. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” you blubber, body shaking like a leaf. “I just feel...everything. I can’t breathe.”

“You’re in shock,” he speaks calmly from somewhere above you. He touches you with fleeting hands, out of practice with a gentle touch. “I should have taken you to the hospital. We can go-”

“No,” you sob, reaching out for him. “Just stay here with me. Don’t leave.”

You cling to him, burrowing into his neck as he lies back. His arm hesitating before wrapping around you. This is arguably the most intimate you’ve ever been with each other and it’s the truest test so far. You don’t need a doctor, you need something to ground you, make you feel safe.

And right on cue Sam fills the need as if you’d told him what to do.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he whispers, a big hand stroking up and down your back. “Everything is going to be fine.”

“People died,” you close your eyes, pressing your nose over his rough five o'clock shadow. “I almost died.”

“But you didn’t.” He reaches down, pulling the blanket up over you both. “And you’re not going to, not for a long time.”

“Are you sure you want this?” You ask softly, fingers curling into the sparse hair of his chest. “All I can think is that you’re going to walk away again.”

“I won't,” he breathes, both arms tightening around you. “Try not to worry about that now. There’s going to be plenty of time for us to talk about this. Just close your eyes and try to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

You stare across the room at the open door of his closet, listening to his heartbeat.

“Everything is going to be different now,” you whisper.

“I know,” he murmurs, already on the verge of sleep. “That’s how we move forward.”

#control and release #sam winchester smut #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester fanfiction

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near-seth-experience · 5 years ago

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This is a long, personal, 3 in the morning kind of ramble. Writing as if I'm explaining things to others tends to help me get my feelings out. Don't feel obligated to read this, but you're welcome to. I'm mostly just thinking out loud here. I'm on mobile, so sorry if this gets long. I don't know if Keep Reading cuts are possible on the app, and if they are I havent learned how to insert them. I'll probably delete this later so whatevs.

I think this topic could apply to a lot of selfless people out there, so I think putting some things into words might be helpful to others.

Anyways, I've thought about this before, and I'm not sure if I've ever talked about it, but I'm pretty sure I've pinpointed a pretty massive reason why I feel lonely and incredibly dissatisfied all the time:

I've always felt that I was considerate to a fault. I'd never put my needs ahead of the needs of others. To this day, I still have lots of difficulty when it comes to looking after numero uno. I learned early on that I needed to keep others appeased in order to feel safe. My siblings frequently butted heads growing up, and one of them often had these big fights with my dad. Lots of tears, yelling, a rare hole in the wall, that kinda thing. It fell on me to keep tempers from flaring. Ultimately, I became the kid my dad always called when he needed help with yardwork. I became the kid who would hand my mom a soda after a heated phone call with a high-maintenance sibling, and I'd sit and let her vent to me. I became the kid who would unload the dishwasher or take out the trash without being asked to do so. Whenever things got heated, I would shift into the role of family de-escalator. Point is, I've always lived for others, and no, this isnt one of those posts talking about living for yourself, yadda yadda yadda. I'm thinking in a different direction, but it'll wrap back around.

Recently I've been trying to think of this in a positive light. As shitty as things might have been, I've grown up to be incredibly considerate. It's one of my better qualities, the beginning and end of my list of good things I can confidently say about myself as a person. It was always out of necessity or fear. It was always pretty damn unappreciated. It always kind of felt like I was everyone's bitch. But it was good of me all the same.

Now that I'm my own person, I've realized two things. Firstly, I love helping out. I love knowing that someone is better off for having me by their side. It's kind of why I loved proofreading in my college English courses. I loved being thanked and feeling valued and wanted for my efforts. I loved the gratification of knowing that someone's story or essay received better marks thanks in very small part to my help. I love knowing I made a mark in someone's life for the better in some way. My personal golden rule is essentially to ask yourself at every turn if there's some little thing you can do to ease another person's burden. If the answer is yes, and the means are within reason and your comfort zone, do it.

The second thing I realized was something that is said a lot: relationships flow both ways. Nobody in my life— not my 2 or 3 superficial friends, not my family, literally nobody— has deserved the amount of effort I have spent for their sakes. I'm burnt out. I'm dissatisfied with my life because everything I do for the sake of another person feels like a chore. I am constantly taken for granted, and the only reason I still bother is because it's even tougher to go against my nature and do nothing. It's not like I'm asking for recognition, but just once I'd like to hear sincerity when someone thanks me. Even better, I'd like someone to legitimately care enough to look into my eyes for a change, see how not-okay I am, and ask themselves if theres anything they could do.

I can only think of one time that has ever happened, and the circumstances are still a trigger of mine so I'm gonna keep the story brief.

(TW Death & Animal Death. Skip this next paragraph if you need to)

My senior year of high school, a freshman was found dead in the school swimming pool. No foul play suspected, people just didn't see him go under during or between gym class. Real tragic. So the school goes on lockdown while they look into things, and then they cancel the rest of the day. I go home, and I find my dog dead. She was old and losing vision, and she fell into our backyard swimming pool. It was partially drained for the winter, so she didnt drown, we think falling down four or five feet onto the concrete of the shallow end while blind may have just been a massive shock. Heart attack, or she hit her head or something. Who knows. Anyways, my mind connected the two events. Two pool-related deaths on the same day. For the first class on the following day, my teacher arranged the desks in a big circle and it was honestly a really good hour-long discussion about loss and grief, but it hit me so hard that people thought I knew the freshman student. The teacher, and a friend of mine both came up to me after class, I told them what happened, got a hug from the friend, and sent home for the day by the teacher.

(/End TW)

That was the only time in memory where someone has ever looked at me and knew I wasn't alright, and I imagine it must have been very obviously written on my face. Now, back to the point. The amount of times I've seen the troubled faces and heard the troubled voices of those I care about and did any little thing to help is severely disproportionate to the amount of reciprocation. It's like I actively look to see if people need me, but they never even care enough to consider looking if I need them.

So, here are my takeaways:

I'm dissatisfied with life because I'm tired of bending over backwards for people who don't even deserve to have me, and that's basically all I'm doing with my life.

I'm lonely because that covers literally everyone I know personally.

So fuck 'em.

I feel like I have some kind of void inside me, and don't think I'll ever have true fulfillment in this regard unless life throws me a cheesy series of events that results in me finding my soulmate or at least something mutual. (Lmao, yeah right. Press X to doubt).

People often say "live for yourself" or "you dont need others to be whole" in regards to this kind of thing. While that's generally sound advice, people do have different natures. Living for others is how I live. There's no way around that, it's who I am, so my interpretation of "living for myself" is choosing for myself who to live for.

#sethposting #no idea how to tag this #might delete this later #golly oversharing sure is fun!

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cyberneticlagomorph · 6 years ago

Text

>Cyberneticlagomorph is live on Caster! 🔴

>the stream opens with Jack leaving his little ranch house out in space, he nearly stubs his toe on a mammoth pile of seedlings and farming supplies that someone has delivered right to his door. He silently moves the items to the nearby empty barn while the chat starts to fill up with regulars and strangers alike

>"kingofsteves: yooo two streams in two days? It's like he almost has a schedule [emoji of a very smug looking turnip with eyebrows but no eyes]"

>jack isn't saying much, he's likely ignoring the stream or else lost in thought. Several people are yelling about space and want Jack to do some kind of tour but he probably has something else planned

>after all the items are stored he does numerous flips through the cold, thin air, aided by the lack of gravity, much to the chat's overall delight. While turning lazily in midair he just sort of watches everything swirl by

>"Today we're on the hunt for stardust at the request of one of my newer Tumblr mutuals, if you aren't following my blog already you really should as I am way more active there. "

>some kind of fancy graphic shimmies its way on screen and proclaims the urls of his other social media in true streamer fashion. Jack gives a shout out to his cousin for making said graphic and promotes her Caster channel.

>He's flying again now, swooping through the void on those strange leathery wings towards the coral market and all the wonders it holds. He is met by a chorus of curator song, the place is abuzz with activity. But instead of swooping into the market proper, he swings around to land on the deck of Mr Spirits' ship, the Skintwister.

>he is met by the usual shanties and rough-looking crew peddling their wares, those he bought the boat and fishing rod harpoon... thing from give him updates as he passes. He is looking for Mr Spirits.

>he finds the old bat deep in the belly of the Skintwister, conversing with a thick, brick shithouse of a bat. She is dripping with jewelry and fine fabrics, lounging upon a pile of gold and treasures, curled ever carefully around several very large eggs

>as old as she is, she's still very beautiful and powerful, with jaws that could easily take someone's head off. The entire chat wonders if she's single.

>"internmarce: PLEASE TELL THESE TWO BATS THAT I LOVE THEM MORE THAN I THINK I'VE EVER LOVED ANYTHING IN MY WHOLE AFTERLIFE??? [Several amorphous emojis that radiate a deep pining and thirst for affection but don't really have a shape that makes any kind of sense]"

>Mr Spirits escorts Jack back to the deck, asking him what he's come for, if he is interested in items from Mr Treasures' hoard. Mr Treasures being the bat seen just earlier. Jack asks the old skyfarer if he knows where to find stardust.

>"Ah, bold little thing you are, to hunt for something as grand as that. For the right price I can have one of my crew take you to the place you seek, but be warned this isn't an easy task." rumbles the old bat

>the chat is flooded with affectionate emojis and thirsty proposals of marriage. Jack accepts the terms and Spirits calls over another curator, the one that sold Jack his fishing rod.

>they speak in Correspondence, the language of fire and stars. It kinda hurts to see and hear but jack is doing his best to bleep it out and translate it on screen which is no small feat. According to the subtitles both captain and crewbat are discussing taking jack out to hunt 'fallen stars' , and after a few moments preparations (which jack spends bouncing around the market, window shopping), jack and the crewbat set off in a smaller vessel, out into the Lawless void yonder

>not a lot happens for quite awhile, just sailing, sometimes in silence, sometimes with odd little shanties sung by the crewbat. They call themself Mr Hooks, they're young for a curator. Maybe the species equivalent of 20 or so. They seem very sweet.

>jack isn't paying much attention to the scenery anymore, just sprawled across the little boat's deck with his head back, watching things go by. The roar of the Wilder-winds is near musical here, it tents the sails and urges the boat along at impressive speed.

>Mr Hooks slows the boat to a crawl suddenly and urges Jack to stand. It points at something in the distance, Jack has to adjust the zoom on his eye in order to see it.

>it's a long streak of light, serpentine and golden, behind it is a trail of glittering dust like glitter but base boosted. Upon further inspection, it appears that the streak of light is some sort of creature, it's a bit like a fish, a dragon, and a snake all rolled into one, with a great fiery mane around it's head and face

>"our prey" says Mr Hooks, steering the vessel back into the winds, the chat and jack both are bursting with excitement. Most of the chat wants to marry this strange glowing creature, the rest is loudly pleading that Jack not hurt it.

>the creature turns suddenly and makes a beeline for the little boat, much to everyone's alarm.

>soon its upon them, the creature now curling around the ship and by god is it MASSIVE. A titanic stellar serpent, covered in blazing eyes, and countless soft feathers. A huge fin runs the length of its spine and its head is wreathed in sun-fire, yet its eyes burn somehow brighter

>Mr Hooks gently, but firmly, grabs jack by the back of his neck as the creature begins to speak in a voice without gender or langue, a voice somehow understandable by anything and everything. Musical and clearly amused as it circles the vessel like a shark

>"hello little lost star, won't you sail away with me? Can't you hear the Wilderness calling to you? Come, chase comets and taste stories with me. Lose your Lesser skin and be a star again, won't you? Please? "

>thanks to Mr Hooks firm grip, jack is unable to move, he hesitantly, sadly refuses. The great star-thing doesn't ask again, but seems to pout, huge eyes studying the ship and its passengers.

>"til we meet again then, little star." it uncoils and zips away, leaving a thick cloud of shed feathers in its wake. They soon turn to glowing ash without the warmth of their host to keep them lit. Mr Hooks fetches something like a large ladle on a very very long pole and a simple jar from the supplies they've brought.

>jack and Hooks take turns scooping up the ash, the stardust, and pouring it into the jar until it's full to the brim. Jack holds the thing up to his face so the chat can see, his awestruck smile distorted in the glass

>"mission accomplished"

#ic #action post #ic action #post is viewable icly #caster stream #internmarce #tagged for mention

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spideyxchelle · 8 years ago

Note

Hey ,I love your job

So….this headcanon got out of hand. I’ll admit that I tried to write it in headcanon format but my life was like NAH. so here, have a fic. and for those of you that don’t want to read it on tumblr…here is the ao3 link.

The first person he asks for advice on MJ, completely by accident, is Vision. After Thanos’ War, Tony makes good on his promise to put Peter’s quarters next to Vision’s room. A newly indoctrinated Avenger, apparently living next to Thanos is the superhero equivalent of hazing and Peter is the fresh meat. During training, because Peter still has one year left of high school he’s gotta complete once the summer is done, living next door to Vision is an adventure.

Vision is not really a computer, he’s not really a person, so his manners and people skills leave something to be desired.

Nothing is more terrifying than waking up in the middle of the night because Vision is walking through the walls to get to his room. Right through Peter’s bed. He may have screamed the first few times. The rest of the team definitely laughed.

And it’s because of that stupid walking through walls trick that makes Vision the first person he talks to about his crush on MJ. Because Vision manages to morph into Peter’s room in the middle of the night while Peter is…while Peter is doing a nightly activity and MJ’s name is on his lips.

“Physical stimulation, Mr. Parker?” Vision observes from where he floats in Peter’s room.

Peter yells and tanks the sheets up around his waist, “What the hell, Vision? You can’t just. You shouldn’t just. This is my room!”

“Apologies, Peter. I was merely going to bed myself.” Vision offers a congenial smile.

“Get out!” Peter yelps.

The following morning Peter has still not recovered from the embarrassment and Vision doesn’t make it any easier to forget when he sits down next to him at breakfast and politely asks, “Who is Michelle?”

Peter buries his red face in his cereal, “Come on, man.”

Vision doesn’t relent, “Is she your partner?”

“No,” Peter squeaks. He clears his throat and tries again, “No. She’s just a girl I go to school with.”

“But-” Vision tries to piece out, “You were stimulating yourself as you thought about her.”

“Dude,” Peter drops his spoon in his bowl, “Can you not?”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Vision insists, which Peter can’t help but be suspicious of. Vision doesn’t get embarrassed like normal people, nothing seems to faze him. Everything is fact, everything is reason and if Vision doesn’t understand why being caught jacking off is embarrassing Peter can’t explain that to him. “No,” Vision continues, obviously sensing Peter’s discomfort, “It isn’t. I pleasure myself regularly with thoughts of Wanda. And, sometimes, we engage in sexual activity to our mutual pleasure.”

Peter offhandedly wonders if he can stab himself with his spoon. Then, almost like an afterthought, he shyly asks, “How did you do that? With Wanda?”

“Ah,” Vision sits taller, “I insert my-”

“No! No, no, no,” Peter shakes his head. “Not,” he groans, “Not that. I know how that works. I’m talking about…how do you get a girl you like to…like you back?”

“There is no secret to mine and Wanda’s happiness,” Vision says after a moment of contemplation. “I am myself as she is herself.”

“So,” Peter pushes his cereal with his spoon dejectedly, “Be myself?”

“Precisely.”

And while he doesn’t take the advice to heart, he does have trouble looking Vision in the eye for two weeks.

So that’s something.

The next Avenger he talks to about MJ is Doctor Banner. It gets around the compound really quickly that Vision caught Peter rubbing one out because Vision tells everyone. All of the guys spend every bit of every day ribbing him about it and the only place he finds a stitch of silence is in Doctor Banner’s lab because, well, he’s MIA, again.

After Bucky and Natasha got together, apparently they knew each other way back when in Russia, Doctor Banner went a little rogue. He pops in and out when he feels like it, but the Hulk becomes less and less of a staple of the team and more of the occasional MVP.

Peter is banking on Doctor Banner being out of town all summer, so when he goes hiding on the fifth day of teasing and finds Doctor Banner back in his lab he tries not to look so disappointed.

Bruce notices, “I can go, if you want.”

“No,” Peter jumps in, “Its your lab. I just have been…”

“Hiding,” Doctor Banner finishes for him. “I’ve heard.”

Peter flushes, “I really hate living next to Vision.”

“Oh, it’s not so bad,” Doctor Banner mumbles, “You could have ended up next to Cap. He screams, you know.”

Peter plops himself down at one of the lab benches, “What? Why?”

“PTSD. Plus, my running theory is 70-something years on ice did something to his brain. Steve’s vitals never run quite right.”

Doctor Banner says it so matter-of-fact and it startles Peter. Captain America always felt so untouchably perfect to Peter. He was the guy in the reels at school, he was the big man on the team that everyone looked up to, who even Peter looked up to…big fan.

“Is there anything we can do?”

“Is there anything we can do for Wanda when she gets her headaches?” Bruce begins, “Or anything we can do for Bucky when he hears his trigger words? Or anything we can do for Tony when he has an anxiety attack? Or, or, or.” Doctor Banner rests a comforting hand on Peter’s shoulder, “This is a building of broken people, Peter. We do something by making the world better. That’s all we can do.”

Peter bites the inside of his lip. “Do you think we’re all too damaged for normal?”

Doctor Banner picks up some alien technology tool and tugs goggles down over his eyes, “Why?”

“There’s this girl. Her name is MJ,” Peter glances behind himself at the door, checking that no one will walk in and hear him after the week of boner jokes. “She’s…woah, you know? And I want-” What did he want? He wanted so much it always felt like his chest was going to burst. “-her?” It sounded like a question. “No, her,” he repeated, more affirmative.

Bruce patiently put down his project, “Normal isn’t something that exists for people like us. But that doesn’t mean that you don’t deserve happiness, Peter.”

“What about you, Doctor Banner?”

The doctor went doctor and Peter itched to speak, to fill the void in conversation. Finally, thankfully, Banner spoke, “There is a thing as too much damage, Peter.” He went back to his project now fully engrossed, “Close the door on your way out.”

He doesn’t even really ask Thor for advice on MJ. It’s more like Thor offers.

And it’s terrifying.

Peter is sparing with some droids in the combat arena when Thor comes bursting into his practice. His loud voice booms, “Spiderling!” Peter is so frightened he doesn’t aim his web at the last opponent and gets nicked in his shoulder by a rubber bullet.

He grips his shoulder and hisses at the pain. Thor slaps Peter on the same shoulder and lets out a hearty laugh, “I have heard that summer training with the team has been unkind to you. Since you were caught mid-”

“Thor, that’s my shoulder!” Peter yells as Thor proudly slaps Peter on the shoulder again.

“Yes,” Thor observes, “So it is.”

Peter tries not to scowl. He fails. “What do you want?”

“I have come to offer my good council on the fairer sex. You are,” Thor gestures lamely at Peter, “small and willowy and your looks are less refined than a traditional handsomeness.” Peter’s frown deepens. “But you are strong and have a good heart. These things will help you win your lady.”

“Thor,” Peter practically growls, “I appreciate your,” he searches for Thor’s word, “council. But…I’m good.”

Thor’s eyebrow raises suspiciously, “If that were true you would not need self gratification. Your lady would, no doubt, assist you.”

“I said I’m good!” Peter tosses the rubber bullet across the room and storms out of the arena leaving Thor behind.

He didn’t want to practice anyway. Hmph.

Peter literally bumps into Natasha two and a half weeks after the Vision incident and she doesn’t try and roast Peter about anything. In fact, she even apologises when they collide.

If he didn’t like MJ so much, Peter thinks he might like Black Widow. He wonders if its a spider thing. He’s Spider-man, she’s Black Widow. It feels almost poetic. Or it would if Bucky wasn’t so gigantic and scary.

She steadies herself and Peter, bracing her hands on his shoulder, “You okay, kid?”

“I’m good,” Peter nods.

“Good,” she smiles and he finds himself smiling back. “How’s camp going,” she easily inquires, “That’s what Tony’s calling your training, right?”

“Right,” Peter sighs. Actually, Tony called Spider-man Summer training The Underoos Do Better Initiative summer camp. He had even had special stationary drawn up with the camp name to send weekly updates to Aunt May. Peter loathed it.

“And you’re settling in okay?”

“As best I can, ma'am.”

“Natasha,” she corrected, “You can call me Natasha.”’

“Natasha,” Peter squeaked, “Cool.” He bite his bottom lip to keep from losing any cool he had left but it didn’t work, “I’m sorry. My best friend loves you. You’re so cool.”

Black Widow, no, Natasha looked taken aback and Peter wished he could take all of his words and shove them back to nothingness where they belonged. So stupid, he chastised himself.

But she didn’t run away or call him names. Actually, she softened, “That’s sweet. Is this your girlfriend?”

Peter paled, “Girlfriend?”

“Oh, sorry. Just…Bruce…Doctor Banner, I mean, mentioned there was a girl you liked. I just figured…” she trailed off.

“No,” Peter shook his head, mortified, “No girl. Well,” he gulped, “I don’t have a girlfriend, is what I meant.”

“But there is a girl,” Nat smirked conspiratorially. “Is she nice?”

Peter nodded, a blush creeping up his neck.

“And smart?”

“The smartest person I’ve ever met,” he didn’t hesitate.

Natasha pocketed her hands, “And you feel better when she’s around?”

Peter paused. He did always feel better around MJ. His whole world since getting bit by the spider had been a whirlwind of spectacular triumph and unimaginable tragedy. His life didn’t always feel like it was his, more like a series of events that were happening to him all tied together by his need to do good and to protect the people that couldn’t protect themselves. But MJ made it all slow down. When he was with her, damn, he felt like he was in the moment. In fact, being with her sometimes felt like the only moments that mattered.

“She makes this,” Peter gestured around the facility, “bearable. I’d be, I dunno, less without her.”

Natasha pat Peter on the shoulder and he relished the touch. Not because she was a beautiful, capable superhero but because for a second her comfort felt like Aunt May. And it struck him just how much he missed his aunt. And how lonely she had to be all alone this summer.

The last Avengers Peter speaks to about MJ are Captain America and Iron Man, together. Tony’s having it out with Cap in the lobby of the facility when Peter tries to slink by them unseen.

Tony tugs Peter under his arm and smiles ruefully at Captain, “You like it here, right, Mr. Parker?”

“Well, Mr. Stark…”

“Don’t bully him into the answer you want, Tony,” Steve snapped.

Peter tried to interject, “The thing is…”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony waved off Peter and glared at Steve, “You just hate the fact that he’s thriving. Its like you want him to fail.”

Captain America narrowed his eyes and took a predatory step toward Tony and Peter, “I would never want him to fail. But,” Tony rolled his eyes at the but and Steve spoke louder, “BUT I want him to live, Tony. He’s a teenager. He’s got friends and a home and a life outside of this. We didn’t let him choose. He got pulled into this and he got pulled into this because of you.”

Mister Stark dropped the arm around Peter and stepped toe-to-toe in Steve’s face, “I didn’t make him put on that suit. I sure as hell didn’t make him fight in the war against Thanos. That was him. And it’d be damn irresponsible if I knew he was going to fight whether or not I said he could without the best tools to protect him!”

Steve scoffed, “Oh is that what you’re doing? Protecting him?”

“Yes,” Tony sneered, “I am.”

“Okay!” Peter’s voice broke. The two older men looked over at Peter and he suddenly felt like he should have run away. Slipping past them, staying out of this conversation, was a lot smarter than trying to interject. Even if the conversation was about him.

He swallowed thickly, “I just, I am really grateful for the chance to be here. And Mr. Stark is right,” Tony stood a little taller and Captain America frowned, disappointed, “I would have fought with or without the training or the suit. But…Mr. America, Captain…um, sir, is also right.” Tony’s eyebrow crinkled in displeasure and Steve stood a proudly, “I do have friends and people at home. And I miss them. I don’t think, or well, I don’t know if I’m ready to spend the whole summer away from them quite yet.”

Tony’s shoulders fell, “You saying you want to leave?”

“I’m saying,” Peter mumbled, “I miss my aunt and my friends. And I’d like to spend the weekends at home during the summer. Ned’s got a summer camp Monday through Friday anyway and MJ doesn’t like-” Peter found his voice trailing off.

The whole Vision incident had tainted talking about MJ at headquarters for Peter. He had grown to expect the teasing and the poking and the prodding. And so he braced from impact, for the sting of the two older men teasing him, but it never came.

Instead, the two older men were sharing a look that Peter couldn’t quite explain. If he had to pin it down it felt like experience. Like they both knew a time and a place where maybe their version of MJ had existed. Maybe she still did. Maybe they knew what it was like to want to be somewhere else, with someone else.

Tony rolled his shoulders back, “You will arrive 8 am sharp on Monday mornings, got it, kid?”

Peter’s face lit up, “Yes, sir, Mr. Stark, sir.”

“Or I’ll revoke your weekend privileges. Training is serious business.”

Captain America crossed his arms over his chest, a smile bright and bold taking up half of his face, “You have fun, Peter.”

“Not too much fun,” Tony countered. “Use protection. I don’t need any spider-babies running around.”

Peter’s face paled, absolutely mortified he shook his head, “I’m not…we’re not…besides, she doesn’t even know….it’s not like that.”

“You tell that girl you like her, Peter. Because you never know how much time you have with somebody,” Steve spoke with more conviction than Peter had ever heard him speak before.

“I can’t tell her,” Peter blanched.

“Sure you can,” Tony shrugged, slipping his sunglasses on, “Easy.”

“Maybe for you.”

“I agree, you don’t have my zeal but you’re a good kid, Parker. And that girl would be stupid not to like you.”

When Happy drives Peter back down to Queens late-Friday night he isn’t sure what to tell MJ. Aunt May, for one, is thrilled to have Peter back under her roof even if its just for part of the summer. Ned has been slowly collecting Episode VIII legos for them to build together all summer and has already made plans to sit on the Parker’s couch all day Saturday eating May’s food and building legos. But he can’t bring himself to text MJ, to tell her that he’s gonna be home on the weekends.

She knows why he’s upstate, he told her a few months ago after Thanos and everything about Spider-man and she hardly seemed surprised, so he doesn’t have to lie. Yet, he can’t seem to send her a simple text. He hovers his thumb over her contact and never quite clicks it.

When he gets home, after May squishes his face for an appropriately aunt-y amount of time, Peter decides that a text is probably not going to be enough. He pulls on his suit, slips out his window and swings across Queens to her apartment window. He toes open the door, literally with his toes, and climbs inside.

It’s late, Happy didn’t drive him back until camp was over and May spent over an hour coddling him, so he doesn’t expect to find her awake.

She’s not quite asleep from what he can tell but her eyes are drooping and the book in her lap is falling to the side of her bed. He drops his feet gingerly to her floor and catches the book just before it hits the ground.

That catches MJ’s attention. She blinks awake more and stares at Peter in disbelief, “You’re…are you here?”

“Irondad is letting me out on the weekends,” he can’t help but smile.

She takes her book from his hands and smacks his forearm with it, “And you didn’t text me?”

Peter winces for her benefit and tears off his mask so she can see his smile, “I didn’t know what to say.”

“How about, ‘oh MJ coming home this weekend’? That seems reasonable.”

“Vision caught me jerking off,” is the first stupid thought that comes to Peter’s mind. And for some reason he voices it. He’s not sure what makes him so ridiculous awkward and terrible but, man, once that’s out in the open he can’t exactly take it back.

She blinks at him, “Um…okay? Why are you telling me about this?”

“I just,” Peter coughs to try and stifle his blush, “Being upstate after he told everyone was a little much. I needed a breather.”

“Because Vision caught you jerking off?” Michelle has the audacity to smirk at him.

“Don’t say that,” Peter groans.

“What?” she teases, “that Vision caught you jerking off?”

“MJ,” he warns.

“Sorry. I won’t keep bringing up that Vision caught you jerking off.”

He steps toward her, “MJ. I mean it.”

“Vision caught you jerking off, did you know that?”

“MJ, stop it,” he takes another step and suddenly they are crowded against her desk so close that he can count her eyelashes.

It’s the kind of closeness that makes Peter nervous and he suddenly wishes he had a better read on MJ. She looks unmoved but he hopes that she’s at least feeling something. Anything for him.

He can hear Vision in his head telling him to be himself. And Doctor Banner saying he deserves happiness. And Thor reminding him he is strong and has a good heart. And Nat bringing up everything about MJ that makes being a superhero bearable. And, finally, Tony and Steve letting him know that it is okay to be a teenager, to have fun (just not too much).

“MJ, I-”

“We should date,” MJ beats him to the punch.

And Peter imagines he must look like he got punched. “W-what?” he stutters.

“We should date,” she repeats, looking more irritated with him than before. “You’re gone a lot so we don’t really have the time to beat around the bush. So we should date.”

“Yeah,” he grins, “Yeah, I’d really like that.”

“I know,” she states proudly.

Peter narrows his eyes, confusion pooling, “How do you know?”

“Because you definitely jacked off to the thought of me at the Avengers’ headquarters.”

“I did not!” Peter feels the heat in his face. It’s so embarrassingly intense.

“You totally did.” And she kisses him quiet. Their first kiss isn’t passionate or lingering or long. It’s a reassuring peck of the mouth, like MJ is sealing her closing argument on the case of the Avenger Tower Jack-off. “Otherwise it wouldn’t have been, like, the first thing you would have told me after not seeing me for weeks. I was on your mind, Tiger.”

“Tiger is not going to be a thing,” Peter replies, dumfounded from the kiss.

“So you don’t deny you jacked off to the thought of me.”

He grumbles, “I might have.”

And MJ looks so delighted he can’t even find it in myself to be mad. He kisses her, again, more properly this time. Actually, he thinks, he’s almost kind of glad that Vision caught him that late-night in the towers.

Almost.

#anon #asks #headcanon ask #headcanon #this got so out of hand guys #take over 3000 words of nonsense #spideychelle #and that is what this is #this is straight up nonsense #STRAIGHT UP

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divorceyourring · 6 years ago

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A Story Of Sexual Assault In Marriage · Divorced Moms

Sexual consent in marriage or a relationship takes on a very gray hue compared to the traditional views of sexual assault. Incredibly, researchers estimate that 10 to 14 percent of married or formerly married women have experienced at least one forced sexual assault in marriage by a husband or ex, according to the National Online Research Center on Violence Against Women.

Walking down the aisle does not give your husband blanket consent to have sex with you at any time. No still means no.

Sexual experiences should be enjoyable for both parties! That’s the whole point, right? (Well with the obvious exception of procreation.) Marriage starts out (usually) because you love each other. Sexual intimacy takes things to another level. But what happens when one partner isn’t in the mood?

In any long-term relationship, there will be times when one partner wants sex and the other doesn’t. It’s part of the natural rhythm of life. A loving relationship has something called sexual communal strength, which is each person’s motivation to meet their partner’s sexual needs. Sometimes, the person who isn’t in the mood delights in seeing their partner happy by meeting their needs, so they oblige because they too gain pleasure. This is still a mutually beneficial situation.

Unfortunately, sometimes this can turn negative. When coercion is involved or when a person ignores their own needs, we enter the territory of unmitigated communion. Those mutual benefits are missing. As you can imagine, this can lead down a slippery slope of dissatisfaction, resentment, and negativity. (And yes, marital rape.)

Sexual coercion is defined as unwanted sexual activity that happens when you are pressured, tricked, threatened, or forced in a non-physical way.

That means that using guilt, continually asking after being told no, yelling, calling names, and threatening to withhold something else from you if you don’t submit are all acts of non-consensual sex and toe (and often cross) the line of rape. Yes, even in marriage.

Sexual Assault in Marriage: Forced Consent via Coercion is Not Consent.

Lack of consent, while you are sleeping or drunk, is not consent either.

Legitimate consent is the presence of an enthusiastic “yes” (verbal or non-verbal) void of manipulation, threats, or head games, not just the absence of a “no”.

My Story

After the drinking began, this part of our relationship began to go downhill. I disliked being close to him more and more. His actions annoyed me, his breath disgusted me, and his constant hounding made even the idea of sex less desirable.

I would say no. I would say I was too tired. I would use the kids as an excuse, anything to avoid a fight or him getting angry.

At first, I wanted to protect his feelings. I would oblige as often as I could bear, but I would spend the entire time just hoping and praying one of the kids would start to cry. Often they did and I was saved.

Over the years it got worse. Every pop of a beer can, every drunken sway was another nail in the coffin our relationship in general, never mind in the bedroom.

But he never saw that. He saw a spiteful, cold woman who didn’t desire him.

I saw in him a selfish, addicted man who put himself before all others.

I would give in to avoid the badgering and fighting. It was often easier to submit and just get it over with.

I would shudder at his touch at least half the time. I can’t say I never got any enjoyment out of it, of course. There were some decent times over the years but it got harder as time went on. I couldn’t always escape in my mind enough to give in to the moment. I would imagine I was with other men. A few of my favorite TV characters got me through the nights over the years.

Sometimes he’d notice and give up. Sometimes he didn’t care.

Was that really consent?

Was saying “no” the first five times in an evening but eventually giving in consent? Was saying “fine” or “I guess” truly consent? What about saying nothing? What about drawing back when he touched me?

Was this really enjoyable for him? How could a man who insisted he loved me treat me in this way and be perfectly ok with it?

Sexual Assault in Marriage

It’s absolutely mind-blowing that 10 to 14 percent of women who are or have been married have been assaulted by their partner, don’t you think?

Why might it be this way, you wonder? For starters, marital rape wasn’t even a crime in all 50 states until 1993. That means that until then, women were still treated more like property than free citizens. In the United States. In a lot of our lifetimes, or at least our parents’.

And still it continues, not just in gen X or Y, but millennials too, even though we grew up in a changing world that appeared to set women free.

There is something fundamentally wrong, in my opinion, with a culture that essentially allows this to go on still. How is it ok to coerce someone into the most intimate act between two people? And even more disturbing is: why would someone want to have sex with an unwilling “partner”?

I’ve heard stories from many women in my single moms’ community of sexual manipulation and coercion.

“With my ex, no wasn’t an option he accepted often. Woke up to him on top of me more times than I can count.”

“I was guilted all the time and made to do things I wasn’t comfortable with because I didn’t want him going somewhere else to get his needs met. He did anyway though.”

“You can’t deny me the right…”

“If you don’t, I will…”

“Since I have to beg for sex you’ll see how it feels to beg for something that you need.”

“If you won’t have sex with me, I’ll find someone who will.”

The back rubs that could never just be.

The constant insistence where you just finally give in to make it all stop.

Drawing the Line

I recall the day I told him NO, forcefully, and with confidence.

And I told him I wasn’t doing it anymore. At all. Maybe ever.

We’d been trying to save our marriage. He’d gotten sober to appease me once he realized I had one foot out the door, but none of it felt genuine or real. (And it wasn’t, as he has told me since then.)

I did it unwillingly for years and years and completely disrespected myself in the process.

I had a lot to think about and I didn’t need to be doing something I was regularly coerced into overshadowing it all.

You see, I still wondered if it was my fault. If there was something I had to change inside me…could change inside me…that would make me want him and love him again.

Months later he tried to make things better by sending me several links to articles that tried to imply what a horrible human I was for not having sex. They included such gems as “letting Satan into our relationship” and that “God was crying” over it. (His addiction had nothing to do with any of this, of course.) He made it clear that he was unwilling to let me try to heal at my own pace, and that he was seeing my harnessing of my power as a betrayal to him rather than something I owed myself.

I had always thought that his nastiness over sex was more related to his drunkenness but it wasn’t — he actually meant it. No matter how much I tried to get past the barrier and negative association I had with him and sex it was all about his comfort and not mine in the end.

He couldn’t accept that when I set a boundary of no sex while I sorted out the future of our marriage that it was his fault. He tried to use guilt, religion, obligation, anger, and more to make me change my mind.

In the end, the only way for me to break my chains was to set myself free.

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